Vayigash. The step we can take

The opening scene of Parashat Vayigash always moves me.

Here we see a man from the tribe of the Hebrews stepping forward toward the viceroy of the foreign land of Egypt and pleading to save his brother.

“By me, my lord, let your servant speak a word in my lord’s ears, and do not let your anger flare against your servant, for you are like Pharaoh.”(Bereshit 44:18)בי אדוני ידבר נא עבדך דבר באזני אדוני ואל יחר אפך בעבדך כי כמוך כפרעה

The situation is dire—almost unimaginable.

Judah and his brothers were sent by their father to fetch food for the family while famine struck the land of Canaan. We, the readers, know whom they will meet: their brother Joseph, whom they had sold into slavery out of jealousy, is now the right hand of the king of Egypt.

Joseph, as we saw in the previous parashah, recognizes them immediately. But for the time being, he conceals his identity.

And Joseph tricks them. He hides his silver goblet in the bag of their youngest brother, Benjamin—the only brother of Joseph, and the only remaining son that Jacob has from Rachel, his beloved wife. After having them pursued and accused of theft, Joseph declares that the one in whose possession the goblet is found will become his slave for life.

What a return of karma for the brothers.

They were once unjust and deceived their father. Now they themselves are deceived by an unimaginably unfair plot, in which the only remaining son Rachel gave to Jacob is condemned to slavery—just as Joseph once was.

We often think of karma as a Hindu or Buddhist concept. But the Mishnah teaches this very idea in its own language:

“He saw a skull floating on the face of the water. He said to it:Because you drowned others, they drowned you;and in the end, those who drowned you will themselves be drowned.”(Pirkei Avot 2:6)הוא ראה גולגולת אחת שצפה על פני המים. אמר לה: על דאטפת אטפוך, וסוף מטיפייך יטופון.

According to Pirkei Avot, what we do to others will be done to us—one way or another, in this life or the next.

And here, as they realize that they are being struck by the law of cause and consequence for what they did to their brother Joseph, the sons of Jacob awaken.

They awaken to responsibility. And not only that: one of them, Judah, steps forward and takes action.

This is what he proposes to the mysterious and threatening Egyptian ruler:

“And now, please let your servant remain instead of the lad as a slave to my lord, and let the lad go up with his brothers.”(Bereshit 44:33)ועתה ישב נא עבדך תחת הנער עבד

לאדני והנער יעל עם אחיו

Judah offers himself as a slave in order to spare his brother from slavery and his father from another unbearable grief.

What might this be saying to us in the twenty-first century?

Chassidut invites us to go beyond peshat, beyond the literal meaning, and to read the biblical stories as parables for our inner lives.

According to the Kedushat Levi, this story teaches a fundamental paradox:when we give ourselves unconditionally to what is happening, when we act out of love to protect others, we may end up overturning fate itself.

To illustrate this, the Kedushat Levi turns to the Talmud. In Moed Katan we find a striking teaching, which dares—so to speak—to place words in God’s mouth:

“Who rules over Me? The righteous one.”(Babylonian Talmud, Moed Katan 16b)

מי מושל בי? צדיק

According to the Talmudic sage, even when God has decreed that a certain fate will befall someone, the tzaddik has the power to overturn the gezerah, the harsh decree.

This is a fundamental principle in Judaism, and one of the reasons Jews are traditionally wary of astrology and fortune-telling: because fate is not always fixed. Sometimes, it can be overturned.

In our own time, these decrees—gezerot—take the form of, God forbid, cancers and other illnesses, accidents, and sudden grief.

Sometimes there is nothing we can do, because

this is the way Life has decreed it to be. Such was the case with the untimely death of Rachel, the mother of Joseph and Benjamin.

But sometimes, there is something we can do.

We just never know in advance.

All we can do is step forward, as Judah did, and give ourselves to the situation.

For the Kedushat Levi, this is what it means to be a tzaddik.

And all the tzaddik needs to do is to pray—not in a demanding or conditional way, but from a place of bitul, of self-nullification. To pray not from self-centeredness, but for the good of all.

For the Chassidic master, the tzaddik, represented here by Judah, is a model for all of us. We are all called to be tzaddikim.

And what does it take to be a tzaddik?

To act from a place of yirah—deep reverence for life.

That is all it takes:not to take life for granted, to think of others, and to give ourselves.

And then—life decides.

Whether in the end there is something we can do about a particular situation, or whether there is not, will always remain a mystery to us.

Our only task is to do our best.

Each day, in every situation of our lives, it is up to us to ask: What can I do?What can I give?

And then to let Life—God—decides.

We are still at the beginning of the month of tevet, and the reclining moon is still thin in the sky. 

The name of this month, according to the Bnei Issachar, bears the name “tov” in it.

May your practice help you know when to step up in order to bring more goodness in this world.