Parshat Vayigash: First history lesson
By Rabbi Avi Billet
One can assume Paroh was referring to the availability of Egyptian products, Egyptian agriculture (which dried up during the famine), Egyptian culture, Egyptian technology and innovation. Was Paroh indicating this promise would remain in effect for the duration of the famine? For the remainder of Yosef’s life? For the remainder of Paroh’s life? Until such time as the family would want to leave? Indefinitely?
Netziv points out that sometimes, Biblical characters say things with a certain intention, while their words end up having a different meaning. For example, in 37:20, the brothers said, “Let’s kill him, and then we’ll see what become of his dreams.” While they were being cynical, their words “We will see what become of his dreams,” became prophetic.
Here too, says Netziv, Paroh was unaware that his words “the good of the land of Egypt will be available to you,” was a pre-ordained prophesy: Avraham had been promised that his children would be strangers in a strange land, and G-d meant for “all of the good of Egypt to be available to them” so their stay — even while enslaved — would never lack the amenities of Egypt.
Nonetheless, it is quite clear that the family does not take Paroh up on his offer. As they leave Canaan, G-d tells Yaakov (46:2-4), “Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for you will become a great nation there. I will take you down, and I will also bring you back up from there.” The next two verses tell us that in addition to their entire families, they bring all their cattle and property. This is confirmed again at the end of the chapter (46:32) — “they brought with them their sheep, cattle and all they had.”
When leaving home, they have no idea how long they will stay in Egypt. As was the case in every exile, for better or for worse, the Jews got comfortable in their new environment. They enjoyed everything Egypt had to offer them — the open space, the endless supply of food and water, the culture. While different rabbinic sources indicate they were ultimately redeemed from Egypt because they maintained their names, language and secrets, and guarded themselves from speaking lashon hara and protected their wives from sins of a sexual nature, it would seem, they were otherwise completely assimilated into Egyptian society — idolaters and all!
In essence, the descent to Egypt was the ultimate paradox. On the one hand, since you don’t trust the host nation’s promise to completely provide for you, you bring your own possessions and supplies. On the other hand, because you so appreciate the hospitality, you assimilate almost completely into the culture, only maintaining a minimal smidgen of your old identity — enough to indicate you’re “different” within your own circles and in the general culture, but other nationalities would not be able to distinguish between you and your host nation.
We live in the greatest nation the world has ever seen. The principles of freedom upon which this country was founded — most notably separation of church and state — gave us the chance to thrive in a way that throughout history has ultimately led to persecution or expulsion from other lands.
In a world of parable, however, the Jewish people are experiencing Egypt all over again. Not in a sense of slavery, but in the sense that even those things that helped us maintain our identity in Egypt — names, language, clothing, and separation from lashon hara and immorality — are being blurred.
In many hearts and minds, intermarriage is no longer “rebellion”; it is a fact of life. Lack of Hebrew literacy and Jewish knowledge is no longer “because it’s not for me”; it is not even on the radar screen. With the exception of small communities, we all dress the same. One can argue it is not even worth opening a lament about lashon hara and immorality, because it will never end.
History has a lot to teach us, and as is often the case, history does indeed repeat itself.
When it is time for the ultimate redemption, will G-d recognize us at all?
As soon as Paroh learns of the arrival of Yosef’s family, he invites them to return to Canaan merely to bring their father and families, in order to settle more permanently in Egypt.
“Do not even concern yourselves with your vessels/belongings, for the good of the land of Egypt will be available to you.” (45:20)
One can assume Paroh was referring to the availability of Egyptian products, Egyptian agriculture (which dried up during the famine), Egyptian culture, Egyptian technology and innovation. Was Paroh indicating this promise would remain in effect for the duration of the famine? For the remainder of Yosef’s life? For the remainder of Paroh’s life? Until such time as the family would want to leave? Indefinitely?
Netziv points out that sometimes, Biblical characters say things with a certain intention, while their words end up having a different meaning. For example, in 37:20, the brothers said, “Let’s kill him, and then we’ll see what become of his dreams.” While they were being cynical, their words “We will see what become of his dreams,” became prophetic.
Here too, says Netziv, Paroh was unaware that his words “the good of the land of Egypt will be available to you,” was a pre-ordained prophesy: Avraham had been promised that his children would be strangers in a strange land, and G-d meant for “all of the good of Egypt to be available to them” so their stay — even while enslaved — would never lack the amenities of Egypt.
Nonetheless, it is quite clear that the family does not take Paroh up on his offer. As they leave Canaan, G-d tells Yaakov (46:2-4), “Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for you will become a great nation there. I will take you down, and I will also bring you back up from there.” The next two verses tell us that in addition to their entire families, they bring all their cattle and property. This is confirmed again at the end of the chapter (46:32) — “they brought with them their sheep, cattle and all they had.”
When leaving home, they have no idea how long they will stay in Egypt. As was the case in every exile, for better or for worse, the Jews got comfortable in their new environment. They enjoyed everything Egypt had to offer them — the open space, the endless supply of food and water, the culture. While different rabbinic sources indicate they were ultimately redeemed from Egypt because they maintained their names, language and secrets, and guarded themselves from speaking lashon hara and protected their wives from sins of a sexual nature, it would seem, they were otherwise completely assimilated into Egyptian society — idolaters and all!
In essence, the descent to Egypt was the ultimate paradox. On the one hand, since you don’t trust the host nation’s promise to completely provide for you, you bring your own possessions and supplies. On the other hand, because you so appreciate the hospitality, you assimilate almost completely into the culture, only maintaining a minimal smidgen of your old identity — enough to indicate you’re “different” within your own circles and in the general culture, but other nationalities would not be able to distinguish between you and your host nation.
We live in the greatest nation the world has ever seen. The principles of freedom upon which this country was founded — most notably separation of church and state — gave us the chance to thrive in a way that throughout history has ultimately led to persecution or expulsion from other lands.
In a world of parable, however, the Jewish people are experiencing Egypt all over again. Not in a sense of slavery, but in the sense that even those things that helped us maintain our identity in Egypt — names, language, clothing, and separation from lashon hara and immorality — are being blurred.
In many hearts and minds, intermarriage is no longer “rebellion”; it is a fact of life. Lack of Hebrew literacy and Jewish knowledge is no longer “because it’s not for me”; it is not even on the radar screen. With the exception of small communities, we all dress the same. One can argue it is not even worth opening a lament about lashon hara and immorality, because it will never end.
History has a lot to teach us, and as is often the case, history does indeed repeat itself.
When it is time for the ultimate redemption, will G-d recognize us at all?
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