T orah P ortion
Tenuous Memories Can Be a Threat
BY RABBI JON CUTLER
Parshat Miketz
Joseph named his firstborn
Manasseh (Menashe from the
Hebrew root: to forget) meaning
God has made me forget
completely my hardship and my
father’s home. [Genesis 41:51]
MEMORY IS FRAGILE. As a
counselor, I have worked with
individuals who faced trauma
or difficulties and tend to forget
or repress their memories. Thus,
with the name Menashe, Joseph
sought to erase such memories
of his past, and because of the
difficulties that he encountered
and most likely did not share
his background with his son.

This changed when his brothers
arrived in Egypt to purchase
food during the famine.

Because Joseph was successful
interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams,
he was appointed as the second-
in-charge over all of Egypt. Only
Pharaoh had more authority
over the young and very astute
appointee to this high and
powerful position.

As viceroy and because of his
rise in status, he was expected
to marry an Egyptian fitting
his new station in life and was
quickly married off to Osnat,
the daughter of the powerful
Lebovits Continued from Page 11
not include decorating the
outside of our home. My
husband came from a similar
background and understood
my discomfort.

So, we made a compro-
mise with the kids — we’ll put
something up, but it won’t be
lights. And it won’t be a Christmas
decoration that’s Jew-ified. It will
be something that suits us and
our holiday. We settled on a large
Chanukah-themed backdrop
to hang across the front of our
house. We figured that not
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Priest of On. Out of that
marriage came two sons. Joseph
names the first Manasseh who
“enabled me to forget all my
suffering — and my father’s
house.” The second son’s name
was Ephraim meaning, “being
fruitful,” referring to Joseph’s
ability to produce children,
specifically while in Egypt.

By naming his first son
Manasseh, Joseph did not
focus on his painful past. He
was determined to forget his
anger toward his brothers, and
he did need to seek revenge.

Instead of killing him, the
brother sold him into slavery.

In addition, he would purge
from his memory the difficul-
ties with the wife of Potiphar
and his years of imprisonment
in the royal dungeon.

When he went into prison he
was dismissed and demeaned
as a na’ar ivri (a Hebrew “boy.”)
When he emerged from prison,
he was renamed by Pharaoh as
avrech, the one to whom others
would bend their knees.

All societies, cultures and
peoples have historical memories.

For example, the Passover seder
and Haggadah reminds us that
we were slaves in Egypt and
that we were redeemed by the
grace of God. But other events
throughout Jewish history have
not withstood the test of time
and are forgotten.

As such, much of historical
memory is thus tenuous. We
need to look only to the first
decades of the 20th century,
as the horrific tragedies during
World War I committed against
the Jews of Europe were only
overshadowed by the Holocaust
that destroyed one-third of the
world’s Jewish population.

The Holocaust — despite all
the monuments and museums
that commemorate and seek
to preserve this still unbeliev-
able tragedy — has disappeared
from the consciousness of much
of our contemporary genera-
tion. A recent study by the Pew
Foundation (2019) has shown
that only 45% of college students
knew about the Holocaust.

With the creation of
Israel in 1948 and Israel’s
successful victories in its War
of Independence followed 19
years later with the stunning
victory of the Six-Day War,
Jews throughout the world were
ecstatic. Yet the memory of the
trials and the triumphs of these
early years has, in many cases,
all but dissolved with each
succeeding generation of Jews.

Many studies have reported
the sharp decline of support
for Israel in the younger gener-
ations of Jews, especially those
on college campuses. And a
significant number of Jews
have embraced the Palestinian
narrative that the creation
of Israel was a nakba, or
catastrophe, for the indigenous
Arab population.

The tenuousness of historical
memory has always threat-
ened Jewish survival. However,
the holiday which we just
celebrated, Chanukah, acts as
a remedy. Chanukah, a minor
holiday, has been enthusiasti-
cally embraced by American
Jews as a cure to Christmas.

However, we have lost the
historical memory of the origin
of Chanukah. The Talmud
focuses on the resanctification
of the Temple and the miracle
of the little cruse of oil that
lasted for eight days. It recounts
the defeat of Antiochus’ army
by the Maccabees.

What is not mentioned is
the rest of the story — the
confrontation within Judea
between the Jewish elite that
embraced Hellenism and those
traditionalists who refused to
forsake their traditional faith
and values.

The Hellenized Jews had the
support of the Syrian colonizers
and happily discarded histor-
ical memory to guarantee their
place in Greek society. They
very well may have succeeded
if not for the perseverance and
the courage of the Maccabees
who defended Jewish values
and traditions.

Each generation from the
time of the Maccabees faces the
alienation of younger Jews from
the tradition — the erosion of
Jewish identity. Once again, we
see in this generation that 54%
of Jews intermarry.

The stories of Chanukah and
Joseph are to remind us today
that each generation is reborn
with a new sense of pride and
that Judaism is not forgotten.

The evidence is that there are
ongoing efforts to reverse these
trends: increased funding for
intensive Jewish education and
programs like Birthright that
introduce America’s younger
Jews to the history — and the
magic — of Israel. l
only could others admire it,
but they could use it as a selfie
background, if they so choose
(#happyChanukah). We knew our home would
be our community this year.

What we hadn’t expected was
that our practices might catch
on or be noticed.

Immediately after we put
the backdrop up, people started
slowing down when driving
by. If we were outside, drivers
rolled down their windows to
wish us Happy Holidays or
a Happy Chanukah. When
they saw us walk to our home
after a quick stroll around
the neighborhood, several of
our new neighbors who had
noticed the image wished us
the best. And then, two days
after we put up our decora-
tions, a Jewish family across
the street put up a sign as well:
“Eight nights, eight lights,” it
read, the pride spreading like
fire from our home to theirs.

I don’t know if we’ll celebrate
like this in future years. Most
of my list of Chanukah activi-
ties is so candy-filled that they
might not be ideal for a year
when the kids get donuts in
school, chocolate at a public
menorah lighting and cake
from bubbe over Shabbat.

But I am certain that I’ve
experienced a paradigm shift
— a different perspective that
I couldn’t reach during any
other holiday we’ve experi-
enced during the COVID-19
pandemic. While preparing
for and managing the other
holidays, I had intuitively under-
stood that many things inside of
our home would not change.

That those things that would
be done differently revolved
around the ways that we engage
with others — services, having
guests, visiting family. But
when it comes to Chanukah, we
realized we didn’t have much
inside our home. The small
activities we engaged in were
dwarfed by the communal and
institutional ones.

We now see it as our home’s
duty to directly engage with the
holiday, in a way we never have.

And I know that’s something
we’ll try to hold on to for a very
long time. l
JEWISH EXPONENT
Rabbi Jon Cutler is the rabbi
at Beth Israel Congregation
of Chester County in Chester
Springs. The Board of Rabbis of
Greater Philadelphia is proud to
provide diverse perspectives on
Torah commentary for the Jewish
Exponent. The opinions expressed
in this column are the author’s own
and do not reflect the view of the
Board of Rabbis.

Freelance writer Hannah Lebovits
is an incoming assistant professor
at the University of Texas-Arlington
and lives in Dallas with her husband
and two children. This piece was
first published by JTA.

DECEMBER 17, 2020
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