"And Israel said: It is enough; Joseph is still alive! I will go and see him before I die."
וַיֹּ֨אמֶר֙ יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל רַ֛ב עֽוֹד־יוֹסֵ֥ף בְּנִ֖י חָ֑י אֵֽלְכָ֥ה וְאֶרְאֶ֖נּוּ בְּטֶ֥רֶם אָמֽוּת:(Bereshit, 45:28)
Parashat Vayigash could be seen as a metaphor for those dramatic moments in our lives when, at the height of distress, something opens within us, and suddenly, everything falls into place.
After Judah courageously steps forward to save his brother and spare their father the "descent into the grave" of despair over the loss of another son, Joseph finally reveals himself to his brothers. Today, we witness the moving reunion of a family once torn apart.
Jacob's first reaction to the news that Joseph is alive seems paradoxical:Joseph Lives / I shall see him before I die.
Why does death come to mind in this moment of joy and relief?
We live in societies where we go to great lengths to avoid thinking about death.
Over the past two centuries, in Western societies at least, where medical, educational, and nutritional advances have reduced mortality, we have pushed death aside. It has been closeted, left unconsidered until it inevitably intrudes.
Particularly in times of war, death can feel unbearably present, intruding too often and too violently.
For nearly a year and a half, Israeli society has lived with the constant, searing pain of death, with daily news of untimely losses knocking at our doors. In such a context, thinking about death can seem like the last thing we want to do.
And yet.Meditations on death have always been central to many spiritual traditions—for good reason.
To remember that, however slowly, however imperceptibly, to live is to journey toward death can help us grasp how precious life is.
Thinking about death can teach us to honor life, to cherish each day without taking it for granted.
This was, in fact, one of the meditations we practiced during Chanukah.
The Hasidic masters teach, drawing from a text in the Zohar, that the word Nefesh ("being" or "soul") is an acronym for Neir-Petila-Shemen (flame/light, wick, and oil). In other words, we are candles.
This is what the Book of Proverbs (20:27) reminds us:"The candle of God is the soul of man."נֵ֣ר יְ֭הֹוָה נִשְׁמַ֣ת אָדָ֑ם
From the moment we begin to live, we also begin to die.
It happens so slowly, so imperceptibly, that we don’t notice it.But in times of war, we see it too often, too fast, too soon.
Yes, as we remain in the depths of winter darkness and the painful shadow of this war, perhaps it is time to return to meditations on death.
Once again, the Mei HaShiloach, in his commentary on Parashat Vayigash, soothes the soul by reminding us:
"One must imagine, in one’s thoughts, as though this very moment is the day of one’s death."היינו שיצייר במחשבתו כאילו עכשיו הוא יום המיתה
This practice was part of my life long ago. My former husband, Akiva—still a dear friend—and I used to reflect on this together. When one of us left the house in the morning in a bad mood, we would try to remind one another:"If you were to die today (God forbid), how would you live this day?"
When I take this question seriously, everything shifts.
I suddenly realize that much of what irritates or troubles me stems from the ordinary challenges of life—situations that, though unpleasant, are there precisely to help me grow.
Looking more deeply, I see that much of what blocks my appreciation of simply being alive today comes from my resistance to reality as it is and my tendency to take for granted the extraordinary gift of life.
Too often, I forget that I am, in fact, dying.
Contemplating death helps me to awaken to the fact that I am alive. Then it is up to me to take responsability for it, and to honor Life in everything I do.
Enjoying Life and Serving Life is our miztvah.
Especially, yes, especially, amid war, as so many of my brothers and sisters die or mourn. With them, for them.
Parashat Vayigash opens with a scene where Yehuda steps forward to offer himself in place of his brother, to save both Benjamin and their father.
Yehuda, as the Sfat Emet reminds us, derives his name from hoda’ah—gratitude. And this, he says, is the essence of who we are as a people: Yehudim.
As we step into the threshold of a new civil year, perhaps instead of dwelling on the “resolutions” we wish to make, we might pause to appreciate—especially in this painful time of war—the precious gift of being alive.
At the dawn of this new year and the month of Tevet, perhaps instead of a list of resolutions, we might begin with a list of Gratitude.
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