T orah P ortion
Same Words, Different Meaning
BY RABBI JASON BONDER
Parshat Vayigash
THERE IS A wonderful
teaching about a student who
approached a rabbi and asked,
“Rabbi, why is it that we read
the Torah year after year?” The
rabbi replied, “The beauty of
reading the Torah each year is
that while the words of Torah
are always the same, we return
as different people each year.”
It was when I sat down to
write this commentary that I
realized I had written about
this very portion, Vayigash, in
the Jewish Exponent last year
as well. (Go ahead, I’ll give you
a moment to type “Vayigash
Jewish Exponent Rabbi Jason
Bonder” into Google.) The
teaching above holds true here.

The words of Vayigash remained
the same. But I have returned to
them a different person.

When I realized that I wrote
on this portion last year as well,
I typed those very words above
into Google myself to check if
my memory was correct. Sure
enough, I found my article
and saw the date, Jan. 3, 2020.

Suddenly, the memories came
flooding back.

CAN DL E L IGHTIN G
Dec. 25
Jan. 1
I remember the strong
smell of coffee that Shabbat
morning after the article was
printed as I sat in our library at
Congregation Beth Or where
our weekly Torah study was
held. Congregants brought in
printed copies of my article to
share with me. I remember the
smiling faces of our group as
we gathered, and I remember
smiling as I witnessed one
member of our community
embracing friends after they
had returned from a hiatus of
just a few weeks from our class.

Toward the end of our
study session that morning, I
remember the familiar sound
of chatter upstairs. Hundreds
of people were gathering for
a Shabbat morning service as
two b’nei mitzvah were quietly,
and nervously, rehearsing
their Torah portions one last
time before being called to
the Torah for the very first
time. Things I once looked at
with nothing but joy — sitting
together in a small room to
study, embracing those we
have not seen in some time,
and being in a large crowd for
prayer — I now see as risky
endeavors. Last year, when I read
this week’s portion, I saw the
sons of Jacob standing across
from one another, face to
face, fundamentally changed.

I attributed the root cause of
their changes to their behavior
toward one another. Joseph’s
years of flaunting his status as
Jacob’s favorite son, and the
brothers’ act of tossing Joseph
into the pit, had left scars on
these now fully-grown men.

This year, I come face to face
with Vayigash as a changed
person, living in a changed
world, and that is reflected
back to me in the way I see this
week’s portion. This year, I see
brothers who were profoundly
changed not only by each other,
but by a problem of pandemic
proportions — famine.

When Joseph’s brothers
don’t recognize him, I think,
with a smile on my face, about
the people in my life who
have become unrecognizable
due to “pandemic beards” or
new hair styles. But I see and
identify with Joseph in other
ways which are not nearly as
lighthearted. I see myself in Joseph — a
man longing to see a parent,
knowing they are just a
moderate journey away. I see
myself in Joseph — a parent
raising two children who often
ask him, “When can we go back
to our grandparents’ homes?”
Last year, I understood the
verse about Joseph’s crying as
a release of the anguish of his
childhood. “His sobs were so
loud that the Egyptians could
hear and so the news reached
Pharaoh’s palace.” (Genesis
45:2) This year, I encounter
these words with bittersweet
hope, seeing in this moment
a time when Joseph can,
even if just momentarily, set
down from his shoulders the
pressures of living through a
famine, and I pray that our
world can experience this too
amid our trying times.

Last year, I read the verse
about Joseph and his brothers
embracing one another as a
willingness to put their past
behind them. “He kissed all
his brothers and wept upon
them. Only then were his
brothers able to talk to him.”
(Genesis 45:15). This year, I see
this as a mutual recognition
of the suffering everyone had
endured through the ongoing
famine and a promise to hold
onto a hope that times would
soon be better.

the High Holidays have many
virtues. But all of these days also
carry obligations. A wedding
is expensive and hassling. The
Sabbath is a day of rest that,
at least during nonpandemic
times, still involves shlepping
to shul, standing up on the
rabbi’s request and waiting
out a service of several hours.

Passover is a week-plus of
reflection — but I like bread.

Yom Kippur is a vital day
of atonement, but the whole
premise of the day is that it is
difficult. On Jewish Christmas,
my sole obligation is not to
inadvertently get dumplings
with shrimp in them. Even that
is only because of an allergy,
not because anyone would bust
me for eating treif.

The last two years, I have
been in an interfaith relation-
ship with an Episcopalian. Our
time together has strengthened
my respect for Christianity,
as I’ve seen how her family’s
interpretation of faith meshes
seamlessly with our concept
of tikkun olam, to repair the
world. They have welcomed me into
all their traditions, including
filling a stocking for me and
having me to my first Mass
last Christmas Eve. I didn’t eat
the little wafer or drink the
wine, but I took joy in seeing a
community of a different faith
coming together on one of its
most sacred days.

On Christmas Day, my
girlfriend’s family even eats
Chinese food — an incursion
on Jewish turf, I have told
her, but one I can forgive. The
chance to see another religion
in action up close, without any
4:23 p.m.

4:29 p.m.

The Torah can act as a
mirror for us. When we return
to the same words, they show
us something about ourselves
and the times in which we live.

If we can see a bit of ourselves
in Joseph and his brothers, and
if we can see our hard times
of coronavirus in the great
pressures of the era that Jacob’s
sons endured, that gives me
great hope.

If we can see our reflection
in the words of Vayigash, then
we can see ourselves embracing
once again, learning from the
obstacles we are enduring, and
working together toward a
safer and brighter future. l
Rabbi Jason Bonder is the
associate rabbi at Congregation
Beth Or in Maple Glen. 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. Kirshner
Continued from Page 15
No, they’re napping. All day?
Yes. I fell in love with the
extreme solitude of this one
day, despite a general extraver-
sion that makes silence grating
in normal times.

There are many wondrous
days to be Jewish. I haven’t
experienced weddings of
enough denominations to
firmly call Jewish weddings
the world’s best, but the
combination of the chuppah,
the hora and liquored-up
pre-wedding tish have to put
our nuptials near the top of
any list. Shabbat, Passover and
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM JEWISH EXPONENT
proselytization or pressure,
has hopefully made me more
well-rounded. I’m embracing these new
traditions. But they have
severely cut into an event that
for me carries a different kind
of sacredness. Long live Jewish
Christmas, the most blissful 24
hours this Jew has ever been
blessed to enjoy. l
Pennsylvania native Alex Kirshner
is a writer, editor and podcast host
based in Washington, D.C. This
piece was originally published
by JTA.

DECEMBER 24, 2020
19