Parashat VaYigash Genesis 44:18-47:27
Don’t you know that a man like me practices divination? At the end of last week’s parasha, Joseph asks his dumbfounded and shell-shocked brothers this question, upon producing the silver goblet from Benjamin’s saddle bag. Seemingly imputed for stealing, Benjamin might face severe punishment.
“Seemingly” imputed – because Benjamin did not steal the goblet. Joseph did not use magic or divination. He had planted the goblet into Benjamin’s saddle bag to manipulate the unfolding of events and to test his brothers once again: Would they stand up for their youngest brother, Rachel’s only other son?
This is yet another example for how people – Joseph, like Jacob and Tamar – interfere and become God’s partners on the way toward redemption – a redemption, to be sure, that coils up into a many-layered spiral and that remains unfinished both in the Torah narrative as well as in our foreseeable future, whether we practice divination or not.
Now, in the immediate context of Genesis chapter 44 however, one person “redeems” himself, as the English goes: Judah, who steps up in Benjamin’s defense and takes responsibility
Then Judah went up to him and said, “Please, my lord, let your servant appeal to my lord, and do not be impatient with your servant, you who are the equal of Pharaoh. (Genesis 44:18)
The Hebrew verb translated here as “and he went up” is וַיִּגַּשׁ – the verb that gives the parasha its name: (Va)Yigash. It introduces a long discourse, in which Judah pleads with Joseph by recapitulating the events that led up to this precarious moment. While “went up” implies that Judah mustered courage when he walked up to a more powerful authority, the Hebrew offers more semantic connotations:
The root nun-gimmel-shin expresses a coming forward, a drawing near in an intimate or risky manner: In modern Hebrew, words for collision, clash, and arguing, even sexual intercourse, can stem from this same root. And Judah does all of this – by approaching the powerful and seemingly hostile Egyptian governor, he makes himself vulnerable, as intimacy can do. His long discourse could be perceived as pushing back, as arguing, as confrontational and might result in a clash worse than the situation the brothers are already in.
Yet Judah’s frank, vulnerable, courageous, and transparent action and speech lead to Joseph finally breaking down and revealing his identity. Subsequently, Jacob and the rest of the tribe move down to Egypt.
Judaism teaches that in the big picture of repairing the world, of tikkun olam, humans are not free from playing their part in the collective effort. Judah’s drawing near, his compassionate discourse expressing regret, teshuva, and accountability, is his personal contribution to the larger Israelite redemption narrative. It also underscores b’diavad, after the fact, the legitimacy of his line as one of the messianic lines: As I discussed during Parashat VaYeshev, the child he sires with Tamar is an ancestor of King David, traditionally the ancestor of the Messiah.
What does this mean in secular terms? What can redemption look like in the day-to-day? One answer is embedded in the English term, to “redeem oneself”: Humans can redeem themselves by correcting mistakes sincerely and sustainably. Tikkun olam begins on the interpersonal level, by mending relationships with fellow humans as much as possible. It requires us to draw near and make ourselves vulnerable and accept the risk that we will get push back or even cause a clash. It might mean speaking truth to power.
Sometimes, we have already sown the seeds for what we want or need to say, need to do before we are fully aware of it, and only in hindsight might meaning become manifest. This is a powerful dynamic to consider as the Gregorian year slowly fades out, and the Jewish year continues.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch