Vayigash Sermon - with a tribute to Newtown, CT victims

The "untimely" and unexpected theme of Vayigash:  death?

A friend of mine sent me an email late Thursday night, with the link to an article entitled, "Boynton Beach, FL- Orthodox Man Killed While Riding Bike," asking if it was someone from the shul. The accident took place on Jog about 2 miles from here, and the deceased was identified in the article as Zev Gross from Delray Beach. [With condolences to his family - mentioning him was not to trivialize his tragic death, but to indicate how 'difficult' this week was.]

            From last Friday until now, the news has been ablaze with stories about, and the aftermath of, the Newtown, CT tragedy in which 26 people were killed by an insane individual. I will not talk today about gun rights, or about mental illness – which seem to be the two largest focuses of discussion in the aftermath of the tragedy – nor will I address the downsides of a culture subsumed with violence in video games and film. That last point is not a discussion for our mature audience – we can distinguish between video games and films, and reality.

            But I am going to address thoughts we may have from time to time, about mortality, and what it all means. Not that I have all the answers because I don't. I don't know if I have any of the answers.

            To round out my week, the "Ethics" class in my Melton class was on the topic of "Suicide." I started the class asking if anyone in the room knew someone who had done the deed. And while I am one of the younger people in the room, I was also one of the few who raised a hand. I knew a few people who have done this – one in particular which was quite devastating for me. So, in preparing for the class, I took a very unwanted stroll down memory lane.

Ironically, I saw another news item that Bernie Madoff's brother was sentenced to 10 years in prison. Which reminded me of Madoff – which took place 4 years ago, and whose deeds caused a number of suicides, including his son's who committed suicide two years ago, and who's Yarzeit, also ironically, was this past Monday.

            What a week.

            Concern over death plays a surprisingly significant role in the parsha we read this morning. When Yehuda presents his passionate plea to Tzafenat Paneach, hoping he can melt the ice cold heart of the ruler he stands before, he mentions that "We told you that if our younger brother leaves our father, our father will die. And when we told our father about what you said, he told us, 'You know my [deceased] wife gave birth to two sons. One went out, and he's been torn up. You're going to take this one, and an accident will befall him. My old age will drown in sorrow on my journey to Sheol.' We can't return to our father without our youngest brother, because their souls are linked together. If we return home without youngest brother, HE WILL DIE. I swore by my life that I would take care – that if I don't bring him back, I will have sinned to my father all the days of my life.       

            The Or HaChaim notes in last week's parsha, that Yaakov was convinced to let Yehuda take charge, because Yehuda was not only willing to sacrifice his life in this world, but his world to come experience as well.

            Yosef can no longer play his charade, he reveals himself, and takes the necessary steps from his angle to assure his father continues to survive.

But the brothers were concerned with how to break the Good news to Yaakov – they didn't want to kill him with the amazing news of Yosef's rise to power. This is why the midrash informs us Serach broke the news. Because she was nicer, sweeter, and not involved in any way - she would not have to answer any accusing glances that might say, "How did he get there in the first place?"

Nonetheless, the Torah tells us – following Rav S.R. Hirsch's interpretation of ויפג לבו, that Yaakov fainted and needed to be resuscitated – an interpretation of וַתְּחִי רוּחַ יַעֲקֹב אֲבִיהֶם. And then Yaakov expresses, "Now that I know Yosef is alive, אֵלְכָה וְאֶרְאֶנּוּ בְּטֶרֶם אָמוּת. The clock, we are reminded, is ALWAYS ticking.

            Yaakov goes to Beer Shava , where God appears to him and tells him not to be afraid to go down to Egypt, "For I will go down with you and I will come up with you" – which Rashi says is a promise that Yaakov will be buried in Canaan (after dying in Egypt) – "While Yosef will place his hand on your eyes" – which the Medrash and a number of commentaries say refers to closing Yaakov's eyes when he dies.

            At the end of the parsha, when Yosef is negotiating with the Egyptians over how he will continue to feed them, they keep asking for him to help them so they can avoid dying. "We have no money, but  וְלָמָּה נָמוּת נֶגְדֶּךָ because of that." Later Yosef acquires all their animals, and they say to him,  לָמָּה נָמוּת לְעֵינֶיךָ גַּם אֲנַחְנוּ גַּם אַדְמָתֵנוּ. If Yosef buys their land in exchange for food, and acquires them as slaves, they say וְנִחְיֶה וְלֹא נָמוּת וְהָאֲדָמָה לֹא תֵשָׁם:. After he explains how their serfdom will work, they say, "You have kept us alive. We will find favor in your eyes in our servitude."

            The concern over mortality is clearly widespread.

            Which brings us to our most odd episode in the parsha.

            Yosef brings his father to Paroh, and we are told Yaakov blesses Paroh. Paroh asks an odd questions: How old are you?

            Yaakov answers, "I am living 130 years, few and bad were the days of the years of my life, and they have not reached the days of the years of that my fathers lived." Before leaving, he blesses Paroh again.

One of the Midrashic explanations for this exchange suggests that Yaakov was bargaining with Pharaoh. After blessing Paroh that the Nile should rise and end the famine, Yaakov believed Pharaoh would never let him return to be buried in the Land of Canaan, so he made a deal. ‘Say you will let me go after the famine is over, or I will make my purchases here and return home now.  I have already accomplished my goal of seeing Yosef.’

In this vein, Pharaoh was asking, “How old are you? How do I know we will be blessed on your account during the remaining years of the famine? Maybe you’ll die before the famine ends because you’re so old. Why should I make guarantees?"

This midrash reminds me of a joke. It's a morose topic. A joke won't hurt us:

A shammes is approved for a five year advance on his salary in order to finance his daughter's wedding. He feels compelled to give a speech, and says, "Thank you so much for your kindness today. When five years are over, I will look forward to having paid back my debt to you for your generosity. But if I should die within the next five years, well that will just be my good luck."

To summarize, we have Yaakov at 130 concerned about death, we have his sons, who are between the ages of 39 and 45 concerned about his death, we have Yaakov concerned about Binyamin's death (Binyamin is around 30 years old), and we have Egyptians of all ages concerned about their survival.

Everyone seems to want to live. But the obsession, and all the hype over the possibility of dying makes one wonder if they really enjoyed the lives they lived as they lived it. Even Yaakov's comment to Paroh is disturbing. It's almost as if he wants out, that seeing Yosef is enough, and he doesn't care to be around any longer.

If this is living, who needs it? You'll probably say, "It beats the alternative." And if you have your wits about you to say that, it's probably true.

But the truth is, we don't know what's on the other side, what lies beyond the great white yonder. Paroh legitimately wondered what guarantees Yaakov could make in his death. None!

Every religion tries to answer the question of what comes next. For us, we talk about Shamayim, Gan Eden, being with Hakadosh Baruch Hu and the Malachim. For those who suffered in life, we sometimes say they're in a better place, they should rest in peace. In some cases we talk about death being a kapparah, or even a blessing.

My grandmother, alehah hashalom, and yibadel l'chaim my great aunt would talk about who is watching them from shamayim. My greatgrandmother was always good for helping you find a good parking space, and when the stars align for you. My siblings and cousins say my Babi is the force behind all the marriages and new great grandchildren that have come about in our family since her death.

We say that the deceased is a melitz yosher. And it makes us feel good. Because we need that. We need to put death into terms we understand, because if we don't our lives cease to have meaning. You mean, we just live, do our best, then die, and THAT'S IT? That can't be IT! There MUST be something else. RIGHT? Right, Rabbi? Right?

Yes. There must be. Especially as we believe

יב) אֲנִי מַאֲמִין בֶּאֱמוּנָה שְׁלֵמָה. בְּבִיאַת הַמָּשִׁיחַ. וְאַף עַל פִּי שֶׁיִּתְמַהְמֵהַּ. עִם כָּל זֶה אֲחַכֶּה לּוֹ בְּכָל יוֹם שֶׁיָּבוֹא:

As well as the next one, which is not as famous, because it hasn't been made into a song...

(יג) אֲנִי מַאֲמִין בֶּאֱמוּנָה שְׁלֵמָה. שֶׁתִּהְיֶה תְּחִיַּת הַמֵּתִים בְּעֵת שֶׁיַעֲלֶה רָצוֹן מֵאֵת הַבּוֹרֵא יִתְבָּרַךְ שְׁמוֹ וְיִתְעַלֶּה זִכְרוֹ לָעַד וּלְנֵצַח נְצָחִים:

But what do we do with a tragedy like Newtown?

A few years ago, a friend of mine lost a sister. 18 years old, beautiful מבית ומחוץ, it was a real tragedy. I went the first evening of the shiva because I was going out of town the next day for Pesach. A few people were sitting around as my friend was having a very hard time, and one person - who I can best describe as someone who does not know what to say at a shiva - said to him, "She's in a better place."

It was very hard to contain myself. But as the person was on the way out, I waited until he left and then said to my friend, "That guy does not know what he is talking about. Your sister is not 'in a better place.' This was the best place for her, with your family, with her whole life ahead of her. We DON'T understand, or assume to understand. We are crying and mourning with you."

And Newtown is the same thing. We MOURN. We are sad. We REMEMBER how those who died LIVED, and we do our best to fill in the gaps created by their untimely and tragic deaths brought about by a murderous psychopath. We honor them, we respect their families [how I wish the media would leave them alone!], and we commit not to forget the kind of evil that can lurk in the hearts of men, whether of their own accord or on account of mental illness, so that hopefully hopefully others need not be victims of similarly senseless tragedies.

It's never easy when a younger person dies. But a natural death is somewhat easier to come to grips with. "It was God's plan." "We did what we could…"

But when death comes at the hands of man, we have a lot more questions and "What Ifs" than we know what to do with. And there are no answers.

Why was Yaakov so concerned with death? Yaakov had lived for 22 years as the parent who lost a child. As anyone who has lost a child knows, time may help you move on, but you never "get over it." You always think "what if I had gone about that day differently?"

He never had real closure with Yosef. He didn't want to die without knowing what had happened. And so, when he saw Yosef, he had his closure. He was done. He didn't need the remaining 17 years of his life. Of course, in his case, thankfully, things worked out pretty nicely.

Why was Yehuda so concerned for his father? First of all, Yehuda knows what it means to lose a child - he buried two sons. That is an experience he does not want anyone to go through - especially his father. Show me a person who has a healthy relationship with a parent who wants to see his or her parent die.

Why were the Egyptians so concerned about their mortality – even after they sold themselves as slaves to Paroh? Because in Egypt, the only people who had it good in death were the Pharaohs. Death was otherwise an unknown. Life is known, death is not. We want the familiar. Chazal describe Egypt as a bastion of moral depravity. Which means you live the good life no matter what position you're in, and death is nothing to look forward to.

And Pharaoh was concerned about Yaakov's age, because he knew the signs of old age, and knew Yaakov did not have a whole lot of time left.

Newtown is such a tragedy because it combines a method of death plus ages that we cannot come to grips with. With adults who gave their lives to protect children. And very young children who have lost their innocence far too early, who will be scarred for life far to early on account of the events they witnessed and the friends they will never see again.

It's almost easy for the deceased. They're done.  But we, the living, need to move on. And this is very very difficult.

We dare not forget. But we also dare not crawl into a hole. Because our lives do have meaning, and they do have a purpose. For us, our meaning and purpose is rooted in our commitment to God and coming close to Him through our dedication to Medrash (learning) and Mayseh (deeds).

The Mishnah in Avos says לא המדרש עיקר אלא המעשה. Our deeds are most important. Though our learning is important as well. 

We do our part to enhance the memory of those lost, and to raise our own commitment to living a purposeful and meaningful life - in their place, and when possible, in their name.

Through this we honor the deceased and show our tremendous regard for our short time on earth. For most of the Newtown victims, their short time was way too short, tragically cut short.

Abraham Lincoln said in his Gettysburg address, "from these honored dead we take increased devotion… that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain…"

Yehuda was willing to give up his life in this world and the next world for the sake of one who, though thirty years old, is described by the Torah in childlike terms. And I would venture to bet that most of us would do the same so that a child could live a long and meaningful life.

Let us take upon ourselves a new deed, a new devotion, a new mitzvah, a new chesed, on a regular basis. Give a little more tzedakah on a weekly basis. Read to a child, or read to the blind. Donate your time as a volunteer for a worthy organization. Carry fruit in your car to give to the homeless on the street corner. Daven once a day, or more than once a day. Read a chapter of tehillim every day. Take a book on any Jewish topic, and commit to read a page a day. One page.

Do it in memory of a victim of Newtown. Carry on what they can't any more. Make your world a little more meaningful. And let us remember them - in good health, until a hundred and twenty, and with overabundant nachas - until the day we join their innocent neshamas in the olam ha'emes.