Dvar Torah on Parshat Vayeshev

Over the last few weeks, many of the stories in the Torah have centered around lies - Yaakov lying to his father Yitzchak in order to steal from him the blessing he intends to give to his brother, Esav. Lavan lying, in turn, to Yaakov, and giving him Leah in marriage rather than Yaakov's beloved Rachel. Yaakov misleading Esav into thinking that he would eventually join him in the Land of Se'ir. Two of Yaakov's sons, Shimon and Levi, lying to the people of Shechem about their intention to allow Shechem to marry their sister Dinah after he raped her, and actually tricking and killing them all.

This week, we begin the long story of Joseph and his brothers, and it, too, is full of lies. When the brothers throw Joseph into a pit, and he is then sold to merchants who take him to Egypt, they lie to their father, pretending not to know what happened to the missing boy, and disingenuously hypothesize that perhaps he was killed by a wild animal. Next week, Joseph will lie to his brothers, when they come to Egypt seeking food during a famine, by not revealing himself to them as their brother. The climactic end of the Joseph story comes when the truth is finally told; the brothers admit, to Joseph, the crime they committed against him years earlier, and Joseph reveals himself to them as their wronged, but forgiving, brother.

One could argue that these lies are part of, and symptomatic of, an unhealthy web of relationships, and are at the root of the difficulties experienced by the protagonists in the story. The truth, which is arrived at only after much trial and tribulation, is what 'solves' the problem of the Joseph story, and reunites and reconciles the family. I would argue, however, that the opposite may also be true, and that it is the telling of the truth, inappropriately, foolishly, which creates the problems in the first place.

Let's take a look at the beginning of the Joseph story. First, we are told that Joseph told his father about some bad things which his brothers had done. The Torah does not specify what these things were. We are then told that Yaakov loved Joseph more than his brothers, and, as an expression of that love, gave him a coat of many colors. This led to his brothers' hatred of Joseph. Immediately afterwards, Joseph dreams of his brothers' sheaves of grain bowing down to his sheaf, and of the sun, moon and stars bowing down to him. He shares these dreams with his brothers and his father, and they correctly understand them to indicate that his family members will bow down to and serve him. The brothers, of course, hate him all the more for it. It is soon after this incident that they decide to kill him, and compromise on throwing him into a pit, from which he is ultimately raised up and taken to Egypt.

I would argue that the root of the problems in the Joseph story is the unintelligent and unnecessary telling of the truth. That a parent might have stronger feelings for one child or another is certainly a possibility, and may even be understandable and acceptable. What is unacceptable is that the parent make these feelings clear. He or she is bound, for the sake of all the children, to hide his true emotions, and not allow a more deeply felt love for one child or another become manifest. This is crucial for good parenting, and good relations within a family.

Similarly, Joseph, like all of us, is allowed to have dreams of grandeur. What he should not have done is tell his family about them. Such full disclosure could only serve to annoy and alienate them, as was the case. It was, in fact, these disclosures that were at the center of the family's tragedy. Years later, when Joseph lies, and, as viceroy of Egypt does NOT tell his brothers whom he really is, he is in fact beginning a healing process, one that will get the brothers to confess their crime and reunite the family. It is almost as if the older Joseph has learned his lesson, and knows that there are times when the truth is not what is called for, and that lying is the best possible way forward.

All of us think, feel, and do things which are perhaps best left unspoken, which, if shared with people close to us, will only serve to hurt or anger them. The decision to remain quiet in such a situation, the tendency to not talk about painful or threatening things, was very common when I was growing up, it was certainly the norm for my parents' generation. Over the years, this has changed. I would say that not talking about painful or difficult things is now generally seen as psychologically damaging and essentially unhealthy, and parents are encouraged to talk to their children about eveyrything, no matter how painful. 

Maybe I am simply stuck in an older mode of behavior, but I have found that in my attempt to live a good life with my family and friends, there are often things which are better left unsaid. In order to successfully navigate a relationship, it may well be counterproductive to share every element of how we really feel, or to share everything we have done, with those close to us; the gap between what they expect of us, what they have come to know about us, and certain aspects of our personality may be too great for them to navigate. Since relationships, like just about everything else, are constructed, so, as in any construction, what we leave out may be as important as what we put in.

Had Yaakov kept his special love for Joseph a secret, had Joseph had the sensitivity to not share his wildest dreams with his brothers, they might not have committed the terrible crime they did, and Yaakov would not have suffered the decades of doubt and sorrow that he had to endure.  Sensitivity, reticence, and caution can be as important in a relationship as openness and honesty.

Should I leave this as it is, or make a Rabbinic reach and connect it to Chanukah? I'll tell you what does spring to mind. On Chanukah we remember the fight against the Hellenists, and Hellenism's attempts to oppress the Jewish people and obliterate their faith. This simple dichotomy - we freedom-loving ethical monotheistic Jews are against the oppressive pagan Hellenists - is, in certain aspects, a lie. The Jewish people have, clearly, embraced Hellenism. In the Talmudic period, our highest communal body, a combination legislature and supreme court, was called the Sanhedrin - a Greek word for assembly or council. The Talmudic word for a guardian is the Greek apotropos, and the word afikomen from the Passover Seder is not Yiddish - it's Greek for desert. There are dozens of other examples of Greek and Latin words used by the Rabbis for some of our most important "Jewish" concepts.

In the modern era, the Jewish people have been firmly Western. From Maimonides' obsession with Aristotle to the way that Jews live, speak, and work in the west, we are heirs, like the rest of Western civilization, to the Greco-Roman tradition. And yet, it serves an important communal purpose to lie a bit about this fact a bit, and remember, in the Chanukah ritual, a period when we fought against the Hellenists, even though, in the long run, we have made an accommodation with them. The Chanukah story is not a myth, it is history. The Macabees really did defeat the Syrian Greeks, reclaim the Temple, and rule the Jewish nation in Israel for over a century. Our decision to spotlight our fight with the Hellenists, while keeping relatively quiet about the fact that, in many important ways, we have become a lot like them, is a neat piece of fact management, which works to help us strengthen our identities and relationships and clarify our values. That's what good lies do.

Shabbat Shalom and Chanukah Sameach,

Rabbi Shimon Felix