Famous Last Words -- Parasha Vayechi

Tonight I would like to talk about last words...

Jacob Blessing His Sons  François Maitre
Miniature, 1475 The Hague

In Act ll of Richard the Second, Shakespeare tells us that:

The tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony: 
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, 
For they breathe truth/ that breathe their words in pain. 

This week’s parasha recounts  the dying words of  our Father Jacob. As you recall  Jacob has brought his entire family to Egypt and for seventeen years has been re-united with his beloved son Joseph. The parasha opens with Jacob summoning his children to his bedside. With his last words Jacob rebukes some of his sons, prays for others, gives blessings to some, recalls memories, shares psychological insights, delivers warnings and imparts hope. After blessing his youngest son, Benjamin, Jacob speaks no more. The Torah tells us that he gathers his feet into his bed and is “gathered to his people” which is  the Bible’s way of telling us that  he has died. The Torah  also recounts the  death of Joseph  in this week’s parasha.   With his last words, Joseph reassures his family that G-d has not forgotten about them. He makes his family promise that when they return to the Promised Land, they will take his bones with them for burial in his home.

This week’s prophetic portion contains the dying words of another great man in the Bible, that of King David. David is of course a great poet-king. Tradition ascribes to King David the writing of the psalms. But David was also a warrior and a politician. In this death-bed scene, David is speaking to his son and his successor to the throne, Solomon. He instructs Solomon to be strong and to follow the teachings of Moses. Then King David turns to unfinished business. He instructs Solomon to deal harshly with two enemies of David so that they should not go unpunished for actions they took against David in the past. He also instructs Solomon to continue to support a man who befriended David in the past. Then King David dies.

Shakespeare writes that when time is short, and words are precious, as on a deathbed, they have a significance that beg attention. Indeed, Throughout history  people have been fascinated by the final words of famous people. Is it true that they carry deep meaning? Steve Jobs was reported to have confessed on his deathbed that his great wealth and fame have brought him little happiness. It was widely reported that with his final breaths, Jobs said, “The wealth I have won in my life I cannot bring with me. What I can bring is only the memories precipitated by love.” Only that was not true. He never said anything like that. According to Steve Job’s sister, his last words were, “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow.”

When Groucho Marx was dying, he let out one last quip: “This is no way to live!”

When  Benjamin Franklin lay dying at the age of 84, his daughter told him to change position in bed so he could breathe more easily. Franklin’s last words were, “A dying man can do nothing easy.”

When Harriet Tubman was dying in 1913, she gathered her family around and they sang together. Her last words were, “Swing low, sweet chariot.”

Frank Sinatra died after saying, “I’m losing it.”

Marie Antoinette stepped on her executioner’s foot on her way to the guillotine. Her last words: “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur.”

Sir Winston Churchill’s last words were, “I’m bored with it all.”

Clearly, few people reach the eloquence of Jacob, of Joseph, or of David, in their final words. There is a way, however, that our final words can be more memorable, and more significant, than those of the above.  Judaism has the tradition of leaving an ethical will. This is a written document passed onto our survivors that articulates our values, memories and hopes for the future.  Jack Riemer and Nathaniel Stampfer wrote a book that collected almost 100 ethical wills from both famous and ordinary people. The book, which is in our synagogue library, also operates as a “how to” to write one’s own ethical will.

Writing an ethical will is not easy, as evidenced by our own experience here at CBS. A few years ago, a congregant did multi-session program for us in our Thursday morning study group. The goal was to help us each write an ethical will. Out of 20 or so people who started the process, to my knowledge, only one of us (not me) completed an ethical will. In the introduction to the book on Ethical Wills, the author contemplates as to why it is such a difficult task. He concludes 1) It is difficult for us to face our own mortality, to write something that is meant to be read after our death 2) To write an Ethical Will requires “convictions” – the ability to articulate our own values and the values we want to transmit to our children. Today, in an era where the highest value we may hold is the ability to choose for oneself, we find it difficult to tell our children how we think they should live their lives. We want them to be happy, and whatever way they might find happiness is fine with us. 3) To write an ethical will requires some knowledge of the Jewish tradition.  Many JEWS  are not confident in their understanding of Jewish tradition, and therefore they give up in their effort.

Still, one need not be steeped in Jewish thought, nor be a philosopher, to have one’s last words remembered. Here is an ethical will from a working class Jewish immigrant to the United States from Riga, Latvia:

My dear children:  I am writing this in the bank. This is what I want from you children: Evelyn, Bernice and Allen to be to one another – good sisters and brother. Daddy and I love the three of you very much, and we did our best raising you and gave you the best education we could afford. Be good to each other. Help one another if, “G-d forbid” in need. This is my wish.  Love all of you, Your Mother.

Although simple on the surface I am certain it had a profound effect on this woman’s children as it  comes straight from her heart. We should all think about what we want our last words to be. As Shakespeare says, our truest, most lasting words are often those we speak at the end.

Shabbat Shalom

Our Responsibility to One Another

It happens three or four times a year. I will be sitting in my office and I receive a call from a Chaplain at a hospital or a social worker in a nursing home. Upon hearing from the family that they are Jewish, the Chaplain or social worker contacts me on their behalf. “There is a Jewish patient who would like to see a Rabbi,” they say. Am I available for a visit? The last time I got such a request I visited with the family within a few hours.

As I entered the room I was greeted by a young man about 30 years of age who introduced himself as the patient’s  youngest son. The young man’s wife was at his side. Another son was standing at the foot of his father’s bed. The first son explained that his father had a stroke several days previously. Although he was initially expected to recover, things took a turn for the worse. They had made the decision to remove their father from the respirator that afternoon. As we talked, he told me his story. The parents had belonged to a synagogue when they were growing up, and both sons had celebrated their bar mitzvahs. After their bar mitzvahs the family gradually began to distance themselves from the organized Jewish community. They volunteered that their father, who according to them had an Orthodox upbringing, had not been to synagogue in many years. They themselves weren’t sure whether they wanted the presence of a rabbi, but the Chaplain was encouraging it, and they decided to allow her call me. They told me they were unsure their father would have wanted it. Perhaps also, they were embarrassed at not having a rabbi to call. I told them I thought it was a good decision. No matter how far people may stray from Judaism or the Jewish community, at times of major life moments – the birth of a child, a bar or bat mitzvah, a marriage, at time of a serious illness or impending death  -- people  seek the guidance of a rabbi. We talked some more about their father, their relationship to him and their ordeal over the past few days. We read some psalms together and spoke about their meaning. They asked about Heaven and whether his father would see his own parents after death. I recited the prayer that a rabbi recites over a critically ill person, in Hebrew and in English.

There is an enormous need for this type of outreach, not only to people who are in hospitals, but for those who are isolated in nursing homes or people who are shut in their own homes. Sixty five percent of Jews do not belong to a synagogue and have no one to call when they are in need of spiritual help.  I was aware that there are not enough rabbis to meet these needs. However, I learned how critical and urgent these needs are through my recent participation in the Jewish Community Chaplaincy Planning Steering Committee.  This committee just completed a major project of developing a model of chaplaincy services for the Chicago Jewish community that is sustainable and has broad based community support. We met four times at JFS of Skokie since September pf this year. Out of our work emerged a funding proposal to develop a Jewish Community Chaplaincy program over a two year period. The program will start small and gradually expand as additional sources of funding are identified.

Why bother? After all, what is the Jewish community’s responsibility to Jews who have essentially disconnected themselves from Judaism and who no longer support Jewish institutions? That obligation was established long ago, as our parasha of this week demonstrates. If you recall, Joseph has framed Benjamin by placing a silver goblet into his saddlebag. Joseph tells his brothers that, as punishment for the crime, Benjamin will become Joseph’s slave. Judah, Benjamin’s older half brother, steps forward and offers to become Joseph’s slave in Benjamin’s stead. Upon hearing Judah’s plea on his brother’s behalf, Joseph reveals to his brothers that he is – their brother, who they once sold into slavery.

There are many reasons put forth as to why Joseph went through this elaborate ruse before revealing himself to his brothers. Some commentators say that Joseph wants to find out if the brothers felt a responsibility toward one another. One could say this was sort of a test. If they did not feel responsible for one another’s welfare, they would not survive the move to Egypt that Joseph knew they had to make. In pleading for his brother and offering himself in his place, Judah passed the test. This responsibility that one Jew has toward another is called “arevut” in Hebrew.

This principle is illustrated by the following story. A Jewish immigrant arrives on New York’s Lower East Side and desperately seeks the company of other Jews. Not knowing whom, or where, they might be, he goes out into the street and shouts in Yiddish, “Man schlogt Yiddn! – They are beating the Jews!” Several people immediately surround him and demand to know where this is happening. The man replied, “In my village in Russia; I only wanted to know whether anyone here cared.”

Jews have always felt that obligation to one another.  In our Thursday morning study group we learned that the Jews of ancient Rome sent so much gold to support the Temple in Jerusalem that the Roman Senate passed a law forbidding the export of gold out of the Roman province. That sense of responsibility for one another, no matter where a Jew is in the world, has been passed down through the generations to the present day. So where there is a need – even for a Jew who has absented him or herself from the Jewish community – we make every effort to fill it. That is the Jewish way.

Shabbat Shalom 

The Many Meanings of Chanukah

Rabbi Mark Greenspan tells a story about Chanukah that he heard on a visit to Cuba two years ago. The Island of Cuba had, at its height,  a Jewish population of about 15,000 people, mostly in Havana. As a result of the Cuban revolution, 95% of the Jews left the island.  Although Jews were discriminated against, along with others who practiced a religion, Jewish practice was permitted. Because of the collapse of the Soviet Union, and its concomitant economic hardships, the Cuban government liberalized its policies and allowed members of the communist party to participate in religious associations. This led to a rejuvenation of Judaism in Cuba. In 1998, Adela Dworin, president of the Patronato, the largest synagogue in Havana, approached Fidel Castro at a public gathering and asked him why he hadn’t visited the synagogue. Fidel answered: "Because no one invited me!" Mrs. Dworin immediately extended an invitation to Castro to join in the Chanukah celebration with the Jewish community. Unfamiliar with the holiday, Fidel asked "What is Chanukah?"

Thinking quickly, Dworin said, "It is a celebration of the victory of a group of rebels who revolted against their government and brought about a revolution." Castro's eyes lit up - what could be more relevant to a revolutionary leader than Chanukah? That year Fidel Castro came to the synagogue and celebrated Chanukah with the Jewish community for the first time.

Fidel Castro was not the first person to ask the question, “What is Chanukah?” The question was asked over 1500 years ago by the rabbis of the Talmud. Strange, you think, that they would have to ask the question! It was there for the first time that we find the story about the miracle of the oil that lasted for eight nights. For the rabbis, the answer to the question, “What is Chanukah” was not that it commemorated the victory of a group of rebels who revolted against their government and brought about a revolution. For the rabbis Chanukah was about the power of G-d to act in history, to perform a miracle where the weaker party overcame the stronger one. The rabbis would emphasize that meaning in their choice for the prophetic reading for the Sabbath of Chanukah, which concludes, “Not by might, nor by power, but by My word, sayeth the Lord.” It was G-d’s will, not human agency that was responsible for the victory of the Maccabees.  One should put ones trust not in fellow human beings, but in G-d, to bring about salvation.

By the 19^th century, some Jews rebelled against that very message. These Jews concluded that it was ONLY through human agency that the Jewish people could escape the persecution of the diaspora and return to their ancestral homeland in what was then called “Palestine”.  If they believed in G-d at all – and most did not – they were not about to wait for a miracle to return them to Zion. They found a new meaning in the celebration of Chanukah. They looked to the Maccabees as a model for a Jew who was physically brave, and who bore arms. They found in the story of Chanukah a model of the Jew who, through courage , determination and commitment, was able to overcome the odds and establish independent state. Most important, after years of defeat and persecution, the early Zionists found a model of a Jew who was victorious. To this day, this is the meaning of Chanukah for most Israeli Jews.  As we know they continue to be called upon for sacrifice and service in order to survive in their hostile environment.

For American Jews, Chanukah has yet a different meaning. For us, Chanukah celebrates the freedom to practice ones religion without interference. Chanukah symbolizes our ability in the United States to celebrate a Jewish holiday alongside a Christian holiday as equals, in a society that tolerates and protects the practice of all religions. The Maccabees are models of those who fight against oppression of any kind. They are models of those who carry a light against the darkness of bigotry, of exclusion, of discrimination.  Or, as President Obama recently said, Chanukah, “At its heart …… is about the struggle for justice in the face of overwhelming obstacles.”

Another revolutionary hero is said to have drawn strength and inspiration from the story of Chanukah.  George Washington was encamped with his troops at Valley Forge in the winter of 1776. Everyone is cold. Frostbite is everywhere. A depressed George Washington goes for a walk through the camp, seeking inspiration. He finds a Jewish member of the Continental Army lighting his menorah. The soldier explains Chanukah to Washington, tells of Judah Maccabee and the fight for freedom, and George Washington finds his courage in the process enough to stand up when his boat crosses the Delaware. Later, our first President sends that soldier a silver menorah as a gift of appreciation, along with a letter which says, Judaism has a lot to offer the world. You should be proud to be a Jew!

I suppose you can say that Chanukah is like a Rorschach ink blot -- one can see many things in it. If you are Castro, you can relate to Chanukah as a story of revolution. If you are religiously oriented, you can understand it as the story of a miracle. If you are Israeli, Chanukah is an inspiration to continue the sacrifice in order to live as a free people in your land. If you are an American, Chanukah is the symbol of religious tolerance, pride and acceptance of the Jew into the fabric of American life. The meaning of Chanukah has evolved and changed over the years, to meet new historical circumstances and challenges. It will no doubt continue to take on new meanings in unforeseen ways in each age and in each retelling. 

Shabbat Shalom

Light One Candle -- Parasha Vayeshev

This coming Sunday morning, our congregation will host our fourth annual “Season of Twinning Event”. Members of our Beth Shalom community will join together with members of the local Muslim community to feed the hungry. We are part of an international effort to both feed the hungry and to build relationships between Jews and Muslims. Twinning events are being held in nearly 20 countries around the world – Los Angeles, New York, Paris, London, Sao Paulo Brazil, Malmo, Sweden, Tel Aviv, New York City, Los Angeles and Naperville – to name a few. The theme of this year’s event is “We Refuse to be Enemies”.

As in previous years, Zamir Hassan, the founder of “Muslims Against Hunger” will be joining us to help prepare sandwiches in our CBS kitchen. Zamir grew up in Pakistan.   He openly shares that as a youth he had negative views of the Jewish community although he never knew a Jewish person. When he finally met a Jewish person, he realized that, as he said, “people are people”. As he learned more about Judaism, he realized it had much in common with Islam, including the concept of community service, known as Tikkun Olam in Hebrew and “islah” in Islam.

Today, more than ever, with the rise of both Islamophobia and antisemitism worldwide, programs like these are needed to help break down stereotypes and combat fear. Zamir tells the story of distributing sandwiches along with other volunteers to the homeless in Boston. Upon hearing that he was Muslim, one of the recipient s of the sandwich asked if it was poisoned. Could you imagine how painful that experience must have been to Zamir, who is only trying to help? Zamir recognizes that extremist groups in the Muslim world are giving Islam a bad name. He says, “In each faith group there is always this fringe group which has a fringe agenda. The good people have to be louder.”  Unfortunately, it is far easier to grab headlines through acts of violence than it is through acts of kindness.

In our Torah portion for this week, Jacob sends his son Joseph on an errand. His brothers are tending the flocks at some distance from their home. Jacob instructs Joseph, “Go see the well being of your brothers and the well being of the flock and bring me back word.” This has puzzled commentators because earlier the Torah tells us that Joseph brings “bad reports” about his brothers, and they hate him for it. Joseph is always looking for things to criticize about his brothers’ behaviors – and report them back to his father. Why does Jacob send Joseph with this task of reporting back, when Joseph always exaggerates the negative and downplays the positive?

The commentators surmise that Jacob is trying to teach Joseph a lesson. Joseph is to report back on how “well” his brothers are doing. Instead of digging for gossip, or focusing on their negative traits, Joseph is to report on the positive things they are doing and whether they need help. The lesson for us is that rather than focusing on the unflattering information we can discover about people, we too, should look in to their well-being and whether we can help them.

Jacob is teaching Joseph that by understanding his brothers’ needs he might overcome his tendency to be overly critical of them. By being more empathic toward his brothers, Joseph might come to understand how his own behavior has contributed to the strain in their relationship. This is certainly a lesson for us as well in our interpersonal relationships. Instead of focusing upon what we don’t like about others, we should search out their positive qualities and try better to understand their needs and how we can help. We undoubtedly would hope that’s how others will treat us.

This also applies to our community’s relationship to the Muslim community. The news brings us “bad reports” about our Muslim brothers and sisters almost on a daily basis.  The reprehensible actions of a few tarnish the reputation of the many. It seems as if the evil is threatening to engulf the innocent as well as the guilty. Yet, what can we, as individuals, do to stop that process from occurring?

The story is told of a group of disciples of a Hassidic rabbi who were troubled by the prevalence of evil in the world. They requested the rabbi instruct them on how to drive out the forces of darkness. The Rebbe suggested that they take a broom and try sweeping the darkness out of the cellar. They did as their Rebbe said, but reported that the darkness remained. The Rebbe advised them to get a stick and try beating the darkness away. They did as the Rebbe said, but reported that the darkness was still there. The Rebbe then said to them, “My students, let each of you meet the challenge of darkness by lighting a candle!” The disciples descended to the cellar and each lit a candle. Behold, the darkness was dispelled.

There are those in our world who want to plunge us into darkness. We need to resist. We need to light candles to drive out the darkness. Through reaching out to the Muslim community, and through the Muslim community reaching out to us, we work on establishing a positive relationship with one another. Instead of relying on the “bad reports” that we hear about one another, we need to seek out those who are lighting candles against the darkness in both communities.  Our mutual participation in programs such as The” Season of Twinning” lights a candle against the darkness that threatens us and the world.

Let each of us meet the challenge of darkness by lighting a candle!

Shabbat Shalom