Rabbi Shaya's Thoughts

We see that some people choose not to be a part of the society in which they grew up. We see this more often in tightknit communities, like the Jewish community, where someone may have grown up in a Jewish home, but as they get older, they might choose a different path. The question is, how does G-d look at this individual?

In this week’s Torah portion, Shmos, Moses asks G-d, When the Jews ask me your name, what should I tell them? G-d responds: I am who I am. 

This response is an interesting one, as it doesn’t sound like a name as much as a statement. What does it mean?

The Midrash gives us illuminating insight. I am G-d to those who choose me. And I am still the G-d to those who reject me. The Midrash is telling us, Although there are Jews, and there always will be Jews who will not appreciate the relationship between Me and them, I am still making my commitment to them. I am choosing them!  My commitment to the Jews is real.

Now, this is a beautiful statement from G-d, promising that He will never forsake us. However, we don’t have to look far to see that was not the case. Just a little while later when the Jews were allowed to leave Egypt, according to many opinions, a large percentage of Jews didn’t leave Egypt because they didn’t believe in G-d and felt that they had been forsaken! How could it be that they were forgotten? Why didn’t G-d save them even though they didn’t have an appreciation for G-d? Didn’t we just say that it doesn’t have to be a two-way street?

The explanation is that there is a difference between our connection to G-d before the Torah was given at Mount Sinai, and after.

Before the giving of the Torah, each person, including the Jewish people, had the ability to choose to be connected to G-d or not to be. However, at Mount Sinai a unique bond was created between the Creator and the created. G-d was infused within our relationship—not only with a love as a parent has to a child, but our essence became connected to His essence. A bond was formed that can never be severed. G-d became personal to us. We can hide, we can run away, but we cannot cut the connection. We might try, but He will not permit it because He has made a commitment to us.  

Therefore, when we say “L’shana Haba B’Yerushalyim, next year in Jerusalem, with the coming of Moshiach, may it happen speedily in our days,” no Jew will be left behind, because we have G-d's commitment to us!

If G-d is committed to us, we too should be committed to Him.

 What happens when you as a parent want to bless your child, but you are really disappointed in something that your child has done in the past, something that really is unforgivable? Everything else about the child is good. What do you do? You can’t ignore the past bad deed, but you also want to acknowledge the positive. How do you balance it all out? 

You send a hint. 

Jacob, in this week’s Torah portion, Vayechi, had this exact challenge when it came to blessing his children Shimon and Levi. Jacob was on his death bed giving his last blessing to each of his twelve sons, but when it came to Shimon and Levi, he couldn’t forget how they brutally killed all the males in the whole city of Shechem. True, their intention was to save their sister, Dina, (after she was violated by their prince, Shechem himself), but they did make a treaty, and even more so, was the whole city guilty by extension? With one sentence chastising these two sons, Jacob delivers a powerful message and teaches us a lifelong lesson. 

Jacob says, "Out of anger you have killed a person …" Wait a minute, didn’t they kill all the men in a whole city? If it would have been just one person, might Jacob have forgiven them? Maybe. Therefore, we must conclude that Jacob was saying either that they killed the men of the city so swiftly because their anger didn’t subside (and they didn’t get tired of the hard work) until they killed everyone, or that they felt that everyone was guilty as a unit, as if they were all one. 

With this one statement, Jacob is also giving them a compliment—although he cannot bless them—and this is where the lesson for us lies. 

Jacob is saying: Look, I might be upset at you for what you have done. We made a treaty not to harm the people of Shechem, so long as they converted (i.e., the men would be circumcised); then we would marry them and they would marry us; we would not look back and we would all get along. However, you made me look bad. But I still want to look at the positive lesson in all of this. You had a passion to defend your sister, you didn’t let your energy subside until you finished the job. Or better said, your energy took you over, to the point where everyone became one person. They all merged into one. You believed in something, and you carried it out until the end. The process took on a life of its own.

Now imagine, Jacob is hinting to his children, Shimon and Levi, or many years later, you and I, that same drive to do good. Even if in the beginning we might be motivated by some personal gain, once we start rolling, our action picks up speed and it takes on a life of its own to the point that it cannot be stopped. It becomes a force of its own. How much can we accomplish? That good cannot be stopped. It gets all wrapped up into one; we forget who even gets credit for it, nor do we care, because all that we want is that outcome to be accomplished. 

Many people become one. Many deeds become one. We all become stronger.

 We all have family and friends who have wronged us at some time or another. We know that the right thing to do is to live and let live, but that is easier said than done. We wonder to ourselves, did the person really want to offend us? Do they know how badly we were hurt? If they knew, would they be able to apologize? These and other thoughts start to get the better of us and it is not easy to just let go. How we move on becomes the nagging question.   

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, we learn about the story of Joseph and his brothers. Unbeknownst to the brothers, Joseph had become the viceroy of Egypt at the time they came from Israel to buy food; there was famine in Israel as well. In a powerful government position, Joseph could choose to take revenge on the brothers for selling him into slavery. But when Joseph finally reveals himself to them, instead of punishing them, he takes the high road. He tells them that although their actions were bad, it is those actions that gave him the ability to help them now. Wow! 

Let’s unpack this. How was Joseph able to live and let live? How was he able to look beyond what he went through and not take revenge? The answer is powerful: It was because of their actions, not because of their intentions – perhaps we can even say, despite their intentions – that he was brought to where he was that day. Joseph was able to look at the end result, not at the steps that were taken along the way.  

How was he able to do that? Because he knew that deep down in the recesses of their souls, his brothers did not want to harm him. True, their actions didn’t align with their souls’ desires, but that is why, ultimately, while they did something terrible, that didn’t make them bad people. Joseph was able to look past all of that and see deep into their souls’ truest desires, and see only good. 

Joseph gives us, his progeny, the gift of being able to look at others with this same compassion and kindness. To find good in others and to see them for who they really are, even if their actions don’t always align. 

Just as in the story of Joseph, we see that when he treated his brothers with kindness, he was able to reveal within them a liking toward him, and he toward them. So, too, it is with us. When we train ourselves to be kind to others, we eventually bring out within ourselves and within others, a kindness that we might not have known existed before.