My 5-year-old son, Jeremy, likes to watch cartoons on television each morning as he gets ready for school. This month, I noticed that most of the programs seemed to revolve around Christmas, and were particularly focused on presents. For example, on “Jungle Junction,” the blue Elephant, Elizam, was searching for a gift for his friend Zuta, the pig, for Christmas. Other shows featured similar themes. I started to worry about what effect these programs would have on Jeremy. Would he start wanting to celebrate Christmas like his favorite characters?
One morning, I asked him about the shows. He explained to me simply, “Well, they’re getting ready for Christmas, and the TV doesn’t know we’re Jewish.”
His statement summed up perfectly my discomfort this time of year. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving through the day after New Years, the radio, shopping malls and billboards all show me that they don’t know I’m Jewish. During the rest of the year, Jews can almost forget that we’re a minority, but during the holiday season, the reminders are constant, and a subtle spirit of rivalry sets in. At a Hanukkah gathering this past week, my friends and I handed out gifts to the children. My friend Danny said, “Well, we have to compete with Christmas.”
Perhaps, it’s fitting then that on Christmas week, we read in the Torah portion about the story of Joseph, who is the first Jew to spend his entire adult life (beginning at age 17) outside the Land of Israel as a minority in a non-Jewish culture. Joseph rose to power in Egyptian society, without losing his faith. However, the parsha demonstrates that Joseph still didn’t feel completely at home in Egypt.
The parsha, called Vayigash (“And he approached”), recounts how Joseph and his brothers met again after years of estrangement. When Joseph was about to introduce his brothers to Pharaoh, he told his brothers that when asked their profession, they should say that they are breeders of livestock because Egyptians hated shepherds. Even though Joseph held great power in Egypt, he was still worried whether his brothers would be accepted.
As it turns out, Joseph’s concern was misplaced. When asked their profession, the brothers answered truthfully that they were shepherds. Perhaps, after years of covering up for having thrown Joseph in the pit, the brothers were tired of lying. Pharaoh was unfazed by this admission and gave them an important job — putting them in charge of the royal flocks. The brothers were unashamed of their identity, and Pharaoh rewarded them.
Upon reflection, I realized that Jeremy’s answer paralleled the approach of the brothers to their minority status. Jeremy didn’t express any desire to have Christmas. Even though the TV. doesn’t know he’s Jewish, he knows who he is. Last week, I attended a Hanukkah celebration at the Jewish Day School that my kids attend. The evening was filled with song, dreidel-making, and sufganiyot (jelly donuts). Presents were collected for the poor, but none given to the students. And there was no contest; it was simply a celebration of who we are.
Indeed, the real contest is not with Christianity (or any other faith) but with the pervasive materialism of our culture. By focusing on presents, we cheapen Hanukkah — and Christmas too.
As we wrap up this year’s holiday season, we can do well to follow the approach of the brothers and be proud of our identity. For even when the TV doesn’t know who we are, we do.
Unexpected Miracles
Last weekend, my two-year old daughter Hannah lost one of her shoes. These shoes were her favorite, and she refused to wear any other pair. My husband and I searched every nook and cranny of our house. We scoured our cars. We checked her stroller. We looked in the garage – in case they had fallen out of the stroller. We searched everywhere until finally, we stopped and played outside with the kids.
An hour later, I opened one of Hannah’s drawers to grab a sweater, and there was the shoe – right on top of the clothes.
This incident reminded me of a story by Rabbi Levi Isaac ben Meir of Berdichev of Eighteenth-century Galicia. The story is retold in Noah Ben Shea’s The Word (Villard, 1995).
A man was running down the street looking only straight ahead.
The rabbi in the community saw the man and asked him: “Why are you in such a rush?”
“I’m trying to make a living,” said the man, hesitant to even slow down to answer the question.
“Do you think,” asked the rabbi, “that it is possible that the living you are trying to make is not ahead of you but behind you and all that is required of you is to stand still?”
The Talmud echoes the sentiment of this story. The rabbis teach that “One who humbles oneself, the Holy One raises up, and one who exalts himself, the Holy One humbles. From one who runs after greatness, greatness flees. But one who runs away from greatness, greatness follows. One who forces time is forced back by time. One who yields to time finds time standing by his side.”
This paradox is echoed in the story of Joseph which is read in the Torah portions during Hannukah. As a teenager, Joseph recounted to his brothers dreams of his family bowing down to him. His youthful arrogance soon landed him alone in prison. While incarcerated, Joseph performs an act of kindness by interpreting the dream of a fellow inmate, the cupbearer, who when released promptly forgets Joseph.
During two long years in prison, Joseph probably thought he was stuck there for good. Yet, in the continuation of the story (read in this week’s parsha called Miketz), Pharaoh has a puzzling dream, and the cupbearer finally remembers Joseph. This story offers hope that redemption can come just when least expected – which is precisely the message of Hannukah.
The holiday of Hannukah commemorates the miracle of oil in the ancient Temple that was only enough for one day but lasted for eight. The miracle was not that more oil appeared, but rather that the existing oil lasted longer than people thought it would. In essence, the holiday celebrates how things can turn out better than expected.
We often worry about worse-case scenarios but forget that things can also work out even better than we imagined. In economic crisis, our natural response is to rush with greater urgency to make a living – like the man in the story – never pausing for even a moment to reflect. In our frantic search, we can easily lose hope and perspective.
In these uncertain times, the holiday of Hannukah reminds us to take heart and yield to time. Because you never know: miracles can happen when you least expect. You may actually find what you’ve lost, just as soon as you stop looking for it.
An hour later, I opened one of Hannah’s drawers to grab a sweater, and there was the shoe – right on top of the clothes.
This incident reminded me of a story by Rabbi Levi Isaac ben Meir of Berdichev of Eighteenth-century Galicia. The story is retold in Noah Ben Shea’s The Word (Villard, 1995).
A man was running down the street looking only straight ahead.
The rabbi in the community saw the man and asked him: “Why are you in such a rush?”
“I’m trying to make a living,” said the man, hesitant to even slow down to answer the question.
“Do you think,” asked the rabbi, “that it is possible that the living you are trying to make is not ahead of you but behind you and all that is required of you is to stand still?”
The Talmud echoes the sentiment of this story. The rabbis teach that “One who humbles oneself, the Holy One raises up, and one who exalts himself, the Holy One humbles. From one who runs after greatness, greatness flees. But one who runs away from greatness, greatness follows. One who forces time is forced back by time. One who yields to time finds time standing by his side.”
This paradox is echoed in the story of Joseph which is read in the Torah portions during Hannukah. As a teenager, Joseph recounted to his brothers dreams of his family bowing down to him. His youthful arrogance soon landed him alone in prison. While incarcerated, Joseph performs an act of kindness by interpreting the dream of a fellow inmate, the cupbearer, who when released promptly forgets Joseph.
During two long years in prison, Joseph probably thought he was stuck there for good. Yet, in the continuation of the story (read in this week’s parsha called Miketz), Pharaoh has a puzzling dream, and the cupbearer finally remembers Joseph. This story offers hope that redemption can come just when least expected – which is precisely the message of Hannukah.
The holiday of Hannukah commemorates the miracle of oil in the ancient Temple that was only enough for one day but lasted for eight. The miracle was not that more oil appeared, but rather that the existing oil lasted longer than people thought it would. In essence, the holiday celebrates how things can turn out better than expected.
We often worry about worse-case scenarios but forget that things can also work out even better than we imagined. In economic crisis, our natural response is to rush with greater urgency to make a living – like the man in the story – never pausing for even a moment to reflect. In our frantic search, we can easily lose hope and perspective.
In these uncertain times, the holiday of Hannukah reminds us to take heart and yield to time. Because you never know: miracles can happen when you least expect. You may actually find what you’ve lost, just as soon as you stop looking for it.
What's In A Dream?
When my son Jeremy was four years old, I took him to the Zimmer children’s museum (near my home in Los Angeles). The exhibit includes a replica of the Western Wall in Jerusalem with paper for children to write their prayers and insert them between the stones of the wall. I explained this idea to Jeremy and encouraged him to draw his prayer. He drew an indecipherable scribble on the page and stuck it in the wall.
I wondered, what was his deepest longing – a new toy? World peace? Out of curiosity, I asked Jeremy, “What did you pray for?” He replied simply, “A playdate with Evan” (a child in his class). That night after Jeremy went to sleep, I emailed Evan’s mom to arrange a playdate for the following week. If only, all of our prayers could be answered so easily!
This week’s Torah portion also recounts a boy’s wish. The parsha is called Vayeshev (and he settled) because Jacob has returned to his homeland of Canaan. In the beginning of the parsha, Joseph tells his brothers about his dreams. As a teenager, Joseph had visions of grandeur; he dreamt that his brothers and his parents would all bow down to him.
By the end of the parsha, the complete opposite of Joseph’s dreams has occurred. Joseph is forgotten and alone in prison. There, ironically, Joseph becomes a dream interpreter. Rather than fulfilling his own dreams, Joseph helps others understand theirs. This shift ultimately leads to his liberation (when the cupbearer whose dreams he interpreted in prison eventually recommends him to Pharaoh). When Joseph’s goals change from dominating others to helping others, his life begins anew. As a statesman to Pharaoh, Joseph eventually attains the stature that he envisioned as a youth, but only by helping the Egyptians through the famine – which became his life’s purpose.
All this focus on dreams forces us to ask ourselves: What are our deepest aspirations? Like the young Joseph, do we dream of fortune and fame? Or like the elder statesman, do we aspire to serve the community in which we live?
This holiday season may force us to face which of our dreams have come true and which haven’t. As we run around shopping for presents we may not be able to afford, we confront our financial dreams which (for so many of us) have come crashing down this past year. However, upon reflection, we may discover that other dreams have come true – such as having good people to share our lives with and the chance to help others. Indeed, the holiday of Hanukkah celebrates a dream – Jewish survival and autonomy – that has come true against all odds, both in ancient times and in our own day.
This Hanukkah, my deepest prayer is the one that Jeremy wrote in the wall. May this holiday be filled with playdates with friends and family, and may all our worthy dreams come true.
I wondered, what was his deepest longing – a new toy? World peace? Out of curiosity, I asked Jeremy, “What did you pray for?” He replied simply, “A playdate with Evan” (a child in his class). That night after Jeremy went to sleep, I emailed Evan’s mom to arrange a playdate for the following week. If only, all of our prayers could be answered so easily!
This week’s Torah portion also recounts a boy’s wish. The parsha is called Vayeshev (and he settled) because Jacob has returned to his homeland of Canaan. In the beginning of the parsha, Joseph tells his brothers about his dreams. As a teenager, Joseph had visions of grandeur; he dreamt that his brothers and his parents would all bow down to him.
By the end of the parsha, the complete opposite of Joseph’s dreams has occurred. Joseph is forgotten and alone in prison. There, ironically, Joseph becomes a dream interpreter. Rather than fulfilling his own dreams, Joseph helps others understand theirs. This shift ultimately leads to his liberation (when the cupbearer whose dreams he interpreted in prison eventually recommends him to Pharaoh). When Joseph’s goals change from dominating others to helping others, his life begins anew. As a statesman to Pharaoh, Joseph eventually attains the stature that he envisioned as a youth, but only by helping the Egyptians through the famine – which became his life’s purpose.
All this focus on dreams forces us to ask ourselves: What are our deepest aspirations? Like the young Joseph, do we dream of fortune and fame? Or like the elder statesman, do we aspire to serve the community in which we live?
This holiday season may force us to face which of our dreams have come true and which haven’t. As we run around shopping for presents we may not be able to afford, we confront our financial dreams which (for so many of us) have come crashing down this past year. However, upon reflection, we may discover that other dreams have come true – such as having good people to share our lives with and the chance to help others. Indeed, the holiday of Hanukkah celebrates a dream – Jewish survival and autonomy – that has come true against all odds, both in ancient times and in our own day.
This Hanukkah, my deepest prayer is the one that Jeremy wrote in the wall. May this holiday be filled with playdates with friends and family, and may all our worthy dreams come true.
The Courage to Lose
This past weekend, my family and I went out to eat at a restaurant. We happened to sit near a television which showed a wrestling match. The two wrestlers were locked in a hold. One of the wrestlers wore blue shorts. The other, red. “Go blue!” My five-year-old son Jeremy cheered.
“Why are you cheering for blue?” I asked, wondering if blue was his favorite color or why he had chosen that particular wrestler over the other.
“Because the blue man is smushing the red one. Blue is winning.” Jeremy replied. (I then asked the manager to change the channel, and he kindly obliged.)
This week’s parsha also recounts the story of a wrestling match. The parsha, called Vayishach (and he sent), begins with Jacob sending messengers to his brother Esau in advance of meeting him. Twenty years earlier, Jacob fled from his brother who had wanted to kill him. Terrified of seeing him again, Jacob was up all night wrestling with a man (who many of the commentators understand to be an angel).
Who won this wrestling match?
The Torah doesn’t say. Jacob was injured in the thigh while the angel was unharmed. Nevertheless, Jacob refused to let go until the angel gave him a blessing. He asked Jacob’s name and said: “Your name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel; you have wrestled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”
This story could be read as a success story of Jacob refusing to give up until he won, exacting a blessing from his opponent. However, the story could also be understood as Jacob losing the match and discovering a blessing therein.
Like my son Jeremy, we often root for the winning team. We like success stories of how people heroically overcome every obstacle to achieve victory. I recently watched the World Cup speed skiing competition where the races were interspersed with video clips of the winner’s stories of how they worked tirelessly to achieve victory. These uplifting programs make us feel that if we give our all to our life’s goals, then we too will be equally successful.
However, sometimes we give our best effort, to no avail. One friend of mine is struggling to admit to herself and her family that her marriage has failed. Another friend spent six months in tortured agony trying to hold onto his flailing business before finally admitting that he needed to declare bankruptcy and start over. In each case, they had to struggle not only with the loss itself but also with the shame and embarrassment that comes along with conceding defeat.
When we lose, we often feel that we’re alone. Yet the Talmud teaches that even God suffered defeat. The Babylonian Talmud recounts that in one particularly heated debate between second-century Rabbis, a heavenly voice intervened and announced that Rabbi Eliezer was right. In response, Rabbi Joshua cited a biblical verse to prove that the Torah had been given to people and therefore heavenly voices should be ignored. The rabbi used God’s words to beat God in the debate!
What did God do at that moment? “God smiled and said, ‘My sons have defeated Me, My sons have defeated Me.’”
Smiling with victory is easy, but true courage is needed to laugh again after defeat. Only through our losses do we become who we’re meant to be. By letting go, Jacob became Israel. As we wrestle with painful decisions, we should remember that our loved ones and God are rooting for us, win or lose.
“Why are you cheering for blue?” I asked, wondering if blue was his favorite color or why he had chosen that particular wrestler over the other.
“Because the blue man is smushing the red one. Blue is winning.” Jeremy replied. (I then asked the manager to change the channel, and he kindly obliged.)
This week’s parsha also recounts the story of a wrestling match. The parsha, called Vayishach (and he sent), begins with Jacob sending messengers to his brother Esau in advance of meeting him. Twenty years earlier, Jacob fled from his brother who had wanted to kill him. Terrified of seeing him again, Jacob was up all night wrestling with a man (who many of the commentators understand to be an angel).
Who won this wrestling match?
The Torah doesn’t say. Jacob was injured in the thigh while the angel was unharmed. Nevertheless, Jacob refused to let go until the angel gave him a blessing. He asked Jacob’s name and said: “Your name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel; you have wrestled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”
This story could be read as a success story of Jacob refusing to give up until he won, exacting a blessing from his opponent. However, the story could also be understood as Jacob losing the match and discovering a blessing therein.
Like my son Jeremy, we often root for the winning team. We like success stories of how people heroically overcome every obstacle to achieve victory. I recently watched the World Cup speed skiing competition where the races were interspersed with video clips of the winner’s stories of how they worked tirelessly to achieve victory. These uplifting programs make us feel that if we give our all to our life’s goals, then we too will be equally successful.
However, sometimes we give our best effort, to no avail. One friend of mine is struggling to admit to herself and her family that her marriage has failed. Another friend spent six months in tortured agony trying to hold onto his flailing business before finally admitting that he needed to declare bankruptcy and start over. In each case, they had to struggle not only with the loss itself but also with the shame and embarrassment that comes along with conceding defeat.
When we lose, we often feel that we’re alone. Yet the Talmud teaches that even God suffered defeat. The Babylonian Talmud recounts that in one particularly heated debate between second-century Rabbis, a heavenly voice intervened and announced that Rabbi Eliezer was right. In response, Rabbi Joshua cited a biblical verse to prove that the Torah had been given to people and therefore heavenly voices should be ignored. The rabbi used God’s words to beat God in the debate!
What did God do at that moment? “God smiled and said, ‘My sons have defeated Me, My sons have defeated Me.’”
Smiling with victory is easy, but true courage is needed to laugh again after defeat. Only through our losses do we become who we’re meant to be. By letting go, Jacob became Israel. As we wrestle with painful decisions, we should remember that our loved ones and God are rooting for us, win or lose.
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