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Parshat Va-Yechi (Genesis 47:28-50:26)
18th of Tevet, 5761

What is a happy ending?

As the Joseph novella ends, we witness and remember the matriarchs and the patriarchs, their lives, their deaths, their burials.

"And the days of Yaakov, the years of his life, were seven years and a hundred and forty years. // Now when Yisrael's days drew near to death, // he called his son Yosef and said to him: // Pray, if I have found favor in your eyes, // pray put your hand under my thigh- // deal with me faithfully and truly; // pray do not bury me in Egypt!" (Everett Fox translation, Genesis 47:28-29)

Yaakov speaking to Yosef latter remembers Rahel. "While I--// when I came back from that country, // Rahel died on me, // in the land of Canaan, // on the way, with a still stretch of land left to come to Efrat. // There I buried her, on the way to Efrat -that is now Bet Lehem." (48:7)

And latter still, Yisrael commanded the tribes of Israel to bury him in the cave that is in the field of Makhpela, that Avraham had bought. "There they buried Avraham and Sara his wife // there they buried Yitzhak and Rivka his wife, // there I buried Lea" (49:31)

Over and over, Yaakov remembers the land G-d had promised. Over and over, Yaakov impresses on his sons, on their descendants, on the tribes, on us, our indissoluble bonds to that land. He remembers his wives, he remembers his father and mother, his grandfather and grandmother. He shows us how we should remember.

Our text is not full of happy endings. As we turn the pages, we do not find our actors living happily ever after. Yaakov and Yosef depart this world in these chapters, and depart with admirable grace. But they leave us behind, somber, saddened. Not embittered, but aroused to a particular type of Jewish stoicism: we will not have at all times and costs a stiff upper lip, as they say, but we will nonetheless conduct ourselves with dignity and honor. Tears can be shedded, and no shame need be attached.

These are chapters full of tears, as real endings are full of tears. Yaakov weeps, we can imagine, when he embraces Yosef's sons, his grandchildren, Efrayim and Menashe. ("Now Yisrael's eyes were heavy with age, he was not able to see. // He brought them close to him, // and he kissed them and embraced them. // Yisrael said to Yosef: // I never expected to see your face again, // and here, God has let me see your seed as well!" 47:10-11).

"When Yaakov had finished commanding his son, // he gathered up his feet onto the bed and expired, // and was gathered to his kinspeople. // // Yosef flung himself on his father's face, // he wept over him and kissed him." (49:33-50:1)

Finally, too, "Yosef said to his brothers: // I am dying, // but God will take account, yes, account of you, // he will bring you up from this land // to the land about which he swore // to Avraham, to Yitzhak and to Yaakov.bring my bones up from here!" (50:24-25)

So Bereshit ends, with G-d's promise echoing. Do the deaths and tears of the last chapters of Bereshit foreshadow the pain of Egyptian slavery? Do the deaths at old age, and the memories of the ancestors, hint at Pharonic brutality?

We know these stories, but we read them with a rush. Human life is like this, not like the romances and dreams manufactured for easy consumption: we weep for those who go, and remember them. We care for our aged ones, and ask their blessing and hopes for ourselves and our children. We remember, like Rahel, those gone too soon. These are stories that deserve to be read with care, slowly, savored not only for what is said, but for what is absent.

Our pains are not new. Our tears are not just ours. If our tradition were only a tradition of sorrow, it would be in a minute a tradition with no followers. The sorrow of these memories of dying is leavened with the hope of redemption, the hope of the land, of Jerusalem, of indeed Makhpela. These places embody our memory, and those memories embolden our hopes.

But a tradition that is only about joy is shallow: Perhaps these chapters come to teach a very simple, all too common and all too often forgotten lesson: each in moderation, each to moderation. Moderation in our joys, and moderation in our sorrows.

It is not often in these Torah texts we can get "inside" the actors. We are not told how anyone feels at any given moment very often. When we are told, the intensity of the emotion is bewildering. In these chapters, we mourn, for Yaakov, for Yosef, and again for Avraham, Yitzhak, Sara, Rivka, Rahel and Lea. But they lived their lives with also a dream of redemption, a hope for the future, an imperative to build those hopes.

When we recite Yizkor, we charge ourselves, in the memory of our lost beloveds, to bring into the world attributes of G-d: mercy, grace, justice, love. Where is G-d in these chapters, hidden the in blessings to the sons? Screened from view by the angel? Distant from the tribes growing larger in Egypt?

The charge to us is to bring G-d into the world. Yaakov charges Yosef to take his body out of Egypt. Yosef charges his brothers and their descendants with the same task. We carry our loved ones out of Egypt with us, and along the way we hope to meet G-d. When the brothers learn that Yosef will not seek vengeance on them after their father's death, but rather he would "sustain you and your little-ones! // And he comforted them and spoke to their hearts." (50:21), they learn that they have just carried a moment of G-d out of Egypt..

Is the happy ending not the romance, or the ride off into the sunset, but a mature reflection of one's place in the world? Yaakov complained his days were short and few, but didn't Yaakov, reunited with the lost beloved son, died happy, yet still determined? Are our best endings inside our commitment to the future? Our links to the past? Whatever our best endings are, the best endings start with G-d: for all of Yaakov's struggles, he bore well his duty.

As we pray for peace and justice, charity and righteousness in our beloved Eretz Yisrael, may we be blessed to bear G-d's promise of redemption into the world.

Shabbat Shalom.

Dennis