Parashat Vayigash 5784

Last year, one of my students at Luria named Judah looked up from his snack one day and just blankly said to me, in a way only a third grader can, “Hayley, did you know that all doors are portals?” Without knowing Judah, and only hearing this story, you might think that Judah was a kid into the esoteric, mystical sides of life, as many kids are at that age (magic, harry potter, etc). But, Judah is not. Which made the moment all the more powerful and palpable and…random. It was the type of delivery only a third grader could muster, the kind of delivery that just hangs in the air, without any context whatsoever, the kind of delivery that makes you think deeply about the fact that, he’s right, every door is a portal. While the word portal literally means a gate or entrance (particularly a large and imposing one), we generally use it to mean something more mystical than that, something that transports you–literally or figuratively. 

In this Parsha, we have another Judah, the original Judah. וַיִּגַּ֨שׁ אֵלָ֜יו יְהוּדָ֗ה, the first words of our parsha meaning, and Judah approached/drew near to Joseph. This word וַיִּגַּ֨שׁ, our Parsha’s namesake, the BDB dictionary tells us, is a less frequent synonym of the root קרב, which makes up the word Korban–an offering used to draw ourselves close to Hashem. Also the word Kiruv–reaching out to another Jew to bring them close to community, tradition, and God. 

Judah didn’t merely step towards Joseph, he drew close to him in truth and vulnerability, allowing for Joseph to show his true self, as we learn וְלֹֽא־יָכֹ֨ל יוֹסֵ֜ף לְהִתְאַפֵּ֗ק, Joseph could no longer hold back. He cried a cry so loud that all of Egypt could hear.

19th Century Hasidic Master, Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter, also known as the Sfat Emet notes the connection between these two moments, saying:

“Joseph was no longer able to hold back.” For it is written: “Judah approached him” (gen. 44:18). The “him” here refers to Joseph, to Judah’s own self, and also to God. The meaning is as follows: Judah offered nothing new in his words, nor did he have a good claim with which to approach Joseph. But as he clarified the truth of the matter, salvation came to him. “Truth grows from the earth” (psalm 85:12).

Judah, both my 3rd grader friend and the one in our Parsha, is the one who draws forth truth through radically and honestly approaching himself, God, and Joseph. Perhaps it is only in this threefold connection that the space was made for Joseph to let go, eventually bringing healing to all the brothers and the entire family lineage.

It’s the vulnerability in our story that is the portal, the portal to healing, growth, and understanding.

Last week, my best friend since third grade came to visit me from Minnesota. In our almost 30 years of friendship, we have been through a lot together. When we get together, it’s the type of familiarity you have with family, no need to clean your apartment before each other arrives, no need to “host” in a particular way. We’re just…together, and it’s beautiful, laughter-filled, and soul-nourishing.

This visit, however, there was stuff. Stuff to talk about, to work through, regarding our perspectives and experiences of October 7th. Molly, though being raised around Jews and thoroughly steeped in my family, isn’t Jewish herself. I noticed a silence from her after October 7th, and though I didn’t realize it until we were face to face, I was deeply hurt about that silence. Like a stream bubbling forth, this upset kept creeping out of me. I kept bringing up things about October 7th, about the antisemitism on that day and since, about how as a Jew and a Rabbi, I do sometimes fear for my safety. 

Molly approached these conversations like any of the countless conversations we’ve had throughout our lives, conversations where we throw our ideas back and forth, sometimes debate, sometimes ponder together. She was trying to comfort me, saying that not all non-Jews feel the way about Jews that I am fearing, or that I am seeing on the internet. That maybe I am safer than it seems. But, this wasn’t like any of our countless conversations in the past, I kept responding with anger, with shut down. 

Later, she looked at me, tears in her eyes, and said, “I love you but I feel like you aren’t really open to hearing me,” and I looked at her, also crying, and said, “You are absolutely right. I’m not open to hearing you right now.” It was a sad truth, but one that felt deeply important to acknowledge. In that moment, with vulnerability as our portal, we ventured into a completely different terrain than we had in our almost 30 years of friendship. I explained to her the way that antisemitism impacts many Jews’ inner lives. The way that, on some deep level, many of us have had the feeling that it wasn’t quite safe to trust others, whether or not rational. I explained that October 7th (and the response from many afterwards) was, for many of us, a confirmation of that thought/fear. 

Molly heard me, and I could see and feel that, like the brothers’ seeing and hearing Joseph’s pain for the first time, that she heard and saw my pain–our pain– in a new way. The vulnerability we both shared was, like in our parsha, a portal towards healing. 

In this time of extreme pain, grief, tenderness and anger, may we still muster the courage to approach one another, come close to one another with truth and vulnerability. Knowing that, it is only through being connected to ourselves and our experience that we can make space for others to do the same. 

Shabbat Shalom.