You Are Not Alone
Why Does Genesis End on Such a Low Note?
- December 13, 2010
- |
- 6 Tevet 5771
Rabbi YY Jacobson
1908 views
The resting place of the Lubavitcher Rebbe in Queens, NY
You Are Not Alone
Why Does Genesis End on Such a Low Note?
Rabbi YY Jacobson- December 13, 2010
Experiencing the Other
Sadie goes to see her rabbi. She complains about her very bad headaches, and whines, cries, and talks about her poor living conditions for hours. All of a sudden, Sadie shouts, overjoyed: "Rabbi, your holy presence has cured me! My headache is gone!"To which the rabbi replies: "No Sadie, it is not gone. I have it now."
Culminating Words
Thus are the culminating words of the first—and in many ways the foundational—book of the Torah, the book of Genesis:
"Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt[1]."
This ending is disturbing. Could have Genesis not concluded on a more inspiring note, just like the four following books of Moses?
Even the fifth and final book, Deuteronomy, which concludes with Moses' passing, culminates with a eulogy so rarely moving that it leaves one with an unforgettable impression of Moses.
Indeed, for thousands of years the classical Jewish sages, authors and rabbis have paid special attention to concluding their written volumes and verbal speeches on a positive note[2]. Even if the subject matter was one of melancholic nature, they desired that at least the punch line, the "last inning," as it were, should invigorate readers and listeners with a message of hope and promise.
Yet, the Book of Books chooses to conclude its first installment with a gloomy and despairing punch line: Joseph's death and burial.
That incredible human being who in the best and worst of times displayed enormous dignity and richness of spirit, that tremendous visionary and leader who rescued a world from famine, is now gone. If that is not enough, Genesis informs us that Joseph is embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt. There his remains would be stored for hundreds of years until the Jews leave Egypt and bury his bones in the city of Shechem (Nabulus).
While Joseph's father, Jacob, labored hard for assurances that his body would not remain among the morally depraved—and what would turn out to be genocidal—Egyptian people but would be brought back to the sacred soil of Hebron, Joseph's worn and sacred body must remain etched in Egyptian earth for centuries.
Even if the Torah felt compelled to culminate Genesis with Joseph's death, it could have ended with the second-to-the-last verse of Genesis: "Joseph told his brothers: 'I am about to die, but G-d will indeed remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob... You will bring my bones up out of here." At least that would have ended the book with a promise for future redemption. What indeed are the final words of the book?
“Joseph died… and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt!"
"Be Strong! Be Strong!"
The question about the ending of Genesis increases upon considering the Jewish custom that when the reader of the Torah concludes each of the books of the Five Books of Moses, the entire congregation thunders out loud: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!" This will occur this Shabbat morning in synagogues the world over. When the reader of the Torah concludes with the verse—“Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt"—Jews will sing out: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!"
But how can one glean strength, never mind triple strength, from this despairing end?
The Pain of Loneliness
Yet it may be that it is precisely this ending that grants us a deeply comforting message. Unfortunately, we cannot live life without pain. Every life comes with challenges. The very genesis of existence is rooted in a void and a vacuum—the concealment of the Divine infinite presence to allow for an egocentric universe. This means that life, whichever way you twist it, is a confrontation with a void, and thus a painful experience.
What a person must know is not how to get rid of his or her pain—that may not always be possible—but rather how to discover that they are empowered to deal with the pain and that they are not alone in it.
Viktor Frankl (1905-1997), who survived three years in the concentration camps of Dachau and Auschwitz and went on to create a new school of psychotherapy, Logotherapy, once shared the following story. A woman phoned him up in the middle of the night and calmly told him that she was about to commit suicide. Frankl kept her on the phone and talked her through her depression, giving her reason after reason to carry on living. Eventually, she promised him she would not take her life, and she kept her word.
When they met later, Frankl asked her which of his reasons she had found convincing. "None," she replied. What then persuaded her to go on living? Her answer was simple. Frankl had been willing to listen to her in the middle of the night. A world in which someone was prepared to listen to another's distress seemed to her one in which it was worthwhile to live.
The Presence of Joseph
"Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt." In these very uninspiring words, one may sense profound inspiration.
The Jewish people are about to become enslaved and subjugated to a tyrannical government that will attempt to destroy them one by one, physically and mentally (as recorded at the beginning of Exodus). This new Egyptian genocide program will drown children, subject all Jewish men to slave labor and crush a new nation.
What will give the people of Israel the resolve they will desperately need? What will preserve a broken and devastated people from falling into the abyss? The knowledge that one day they would be liberated? Certainly. The knowledge that evil will not reign forever? Absolutely. Indeed, this is what Joseph told the Jewish people before his passing, recorded in the second-to-the-last verse of Genesis: "Joseph told his brothers: 'I am about to die, but G-d will indeed remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob... You will bring my bones up out of here."
But, then, when Genesis seeks to choose its final words, it provides us with a message that perhaps served as the greatest source of strength for an orphaned and broken Jewish family. "Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt." Joseph's sacred body is not taken back to the Holy Land to be interred among the spiritual giants of human history: Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebecca; his father Jacob, or his mother Rachel. Joseph's spiritual and physical presence does not "escape" to the heavenly paradise of a land saturated with holiness.
Rather, Joseph remains in the grit and gravel of depraved Egypt, he remains etched deeply in the earthiness of Egypt, together with his beloved people.
This is based on the ancient Jewish idea that has its roots in the Bible itself: The burial place of a virtuous and saintly human being contains profound holiness and spiritual energy and constitutes a place conducive for prayer to G-d. Since the soul and the body retain a relationship even after they depart from each other, the space where the physical body of a holy man is interred is a space conducive for spiritual growth, meditation, reflection, and inspiration[3].
"He was placed in a coffin in Egypt"—that is the culmination of Genesis. The Jew may be entrenched in Egypt and all that it represents, but Joseph is right there with him, in the midst of his condition, giving him strength, blessings, and fortitude.
The same is true in our own lives as well. In each generation G-d plants such "Joseph's" in our midst, the Tzaddikim and Rebbes, who are there with the Jewish people in their pain and agony. Sometimes, even after their passing, if we open our hearts, we can feel the touch of their soul, the richness of their spirits, the faith of their lives. We may be stuck in the quagmire of "Egyptian" dung, yet "Joseph" is present with us. Thus, even in the midst of a dark and horrific exile, we can hold each other’s hands and thunder aloud: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!"
Contemporary Joseph's
This idea transcribed above I had the privilege to hear from the Lubavitcher Rebbe 35 years ago, on the Sabbath of the portion of Vayechi 5747, January 1987[4].
I will never forget the emotion the Rebbe displayed while giving this talk. At its conclusion, he noted that the name of his father-in-law, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe (1880-1950), was Yosef (Joseph) and that his father-in-law was interred not in the Holy Land but in New York, and continues to provide energy, inspiration, and blessings to our generation.
Indeed, the Rebbe would visit his father-in-law's resting place frequently to pray on behalf of Jews and non-Jews the world over. The Rebbe would spend hours standing at his father-in-law’s resting place, immersed in prayer, reading letters that he has received from people all over the world requesting him to pray for them.
I personally observed many times the Rebbe returning from his father-in-law's graveside sometimes close to midnight, his eyes swollen from tears and his back bent over from the extraordinary effort.
In June 1994, the Rebbe himself was interred near his father-in-law's resting place, in the Montefiore Cemetery in Queens, NY.
Thousands of people visit the Rebbe's Ohel (resting place) on a daily basis, praying to the Almighty for themselves and their loved ones. I know many people who have experienced major blessings, often supernatural blessings, following their prayers at the “ohel.”
If you are in need of a blessing for any matter in your life, it is worthwhile to pay a visit there for prayer. (For directions, click here.) It is a place that continues to bestow blessing, inspiration, and strength upon untold numbers of people from all walks of life during our present state of exile, until the bright dawn of redemption which shall transpire speedily in our days.
[1] Genesis 50:26.
[2] See last Tosefos to Talmud Niddah.
[3] See Talmud Soteh 34b, based on Numbers 13:22, quoted in Rashi ibid.
[4] Published in Sefer Hasichos 5747 vol. 1 pp. 249-268. The idea is based on Zohar Vayechi p. 222b and its commentators Mikdash Melech and Or Hachamah ibid. Commentary of Sifsei Kohen to Genesis 47:29.
(Please make even a small and secure contribution to help us continue our work. Click here.)- Comment
Class Summary:
Dedicated by David and Eda Schottenstein
In the loving memory of:
Rabbi Levi Yitzchok ben Zalman Yuda Deitsch
and Alta Shula Swerdlov
And in honor of the birth of their daughter
Yetta Alta Shula, "Aliyah"
Experiencing the Other
Sadie goes to see her rabbi. She complains about her very bad headaches, and whines, cries, and talks about her poor living conditions for hours. All of a sudden, Sadie shouts, overjoyed: "Rabbi, your holy presence has cured me! My headache is gone!"
To which the rabbi replies: "No Sadie, it is not gone. I have it now."
Culminating Words
Thus are the culminating words of the first—and in many ways the foundational—book of the Torah, the book of Genesis:
"Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt[1]."
This ending is disturbing. Could have Genesis not concluded on a more inspiring note, just like the four following books of Moses?
Even the fifth and final book, Deuteronomy, which concludes with Moses' passing, culminates with a eulogy so rarely moving that it leaves one with an unforgettable impression of Moses.
Indeed, for thousands of years the classical Jewish sages, authors and rabbis have paid special attention to concluding their written volumes and verbal speeches on a positive note[2]. Even if the subject matter was one of melancholic nature, they desired that at least the punch line, the "last inning," as it were, should invigorate readers and listeners with a message of hope and promise.
Yet, the Book of Books chooses to conclude its first installment with a gloomy and despairing punch line: Joseph's death and burial.
That incredible human being who in the best and worst of times displayed enormous dignity and richness of spirit, that tremendous visionary and leader who rescued a world from famine, is now gone. If that is not enough, Genesis informs us that Joseph is embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt. There his remains would be stored for hundreds of years until the Jews leave Egypt and bury his bones in the city of Shechem (Nabulus).
While Joseph's father, Jacob, labored hard for assurances that his body would not remain among the morally depraved—and what would turn out to be genocidal—Egyptian people but would be brought back to the sacred soil of Hebron, Joseph's worn and sacred body must remain etched in Egyptian earth for centuries.
Even if the Torah felt compelled to culminate Genesis with Joseph's death, it could have ended with the second-to-the-last verse of Genesis: "Joseph told his brothers: 'I am about to die, but G-d will indeed remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob... You will bring my bones up out of here." At least that would have ended the book with a promise for future redemption. What indeed are the final words of the book?
“Joseph died… and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt!"
"Be Strong! Be Strong!"
The question about the ending of Genesis increases upon considering the Jewish custom that when the reader of the Torah concludes each of the books of the Five Books of Moses, the entire congregation thunders out loud: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!" This will occur this Shabbat morning in synagogues the world over. When the reader of the Torah concludes with the verse—“Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt"—Jews will sing out: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!"
But how can one glean strength, never mind triple strength, from this despairing end?
The Pain of Loneliness
Yet it may be that it is precisely this ending that grants us a deeply comforting message. Unfortunately, we cannot live life without pain. Every life comes with challenges. The very genesis of existence is rooted in a void and a vacuum—the concealment of the Divine infinite presence to allow for an egocentric universe. This means that life, whichever way you twist it, is a confrontation with a void, and thus a painful experience.
What a person must know is not how to get rid of his or her pain—that may not always be possible—but rather how to discover that they are empowered to deal with the pain and that they are not alone in it.
Viktor Frankl (1905-1997), who survived three years in the concentration camps of Dachau and Auschwitz and went on to create a new school of psychotherapy, Logotherapy, once shared the following story. A woman phoned him up in the middle of the night and calmly told him that she was about to commit suicide. Frankl kept her on the phone and talked her through her depression, giving her reason after reason to carry on living. Eventually, she promised him she would not take her life, and she kept her word.
When they met later, Frankl asked her which of his reasons she had found convincing. "None," she replied. What then persuaded her to go on living? Her answer was simple. Frankl had been willing to listen to her in the middle of the night. A world in which someone was prepared to listen to another's distress seemed to her one in which it was worthwhile to live.
The Presence of Joseph
"Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt." In these very uninspiring words, one may sense profound inspiration.
The Jewish people are about to become enslaved and subjugated to a tyrannical government that will attempt to destroy them one by one, physically and mentally (as recorded at the beginning of Exodus). This new Egyptian genocide program will drown children, subject all Jewish men to slave labor and crush a new nation.
What will give the people of Israel the resolve they will desperately need? What will preserve a broken and devastated people from falling into the abyss? The knowledge that one day they would be liberated? Certainly. The knowledge that evil will not reign forever? Absolutely. Indeed, this is what Joseph told the Jewish people before his passing, recorded in the second-to-the-last verse of Genesis: "Joseph told his brothers: 'I am about to die, but G-d will indeed remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob... You will bring my bones up out of here."
But, then, when Genesis seeks to choose its final words, it provides us with a message that perhaps served as the greatest source of strength for an orphaned and broken Jewish family. "Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt." Joseph's sacred body is not taken back to the Holy Land to be interred among the spiritual giants of human history: Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebecca; his father Jacob, or his mother Rachel. Joseph's spiritual and physical presence does not "escape" to the heavenly paradise of a land saturated with holiness.
Rather, Joseph remains in the grit and gravel of depraved Egypt, he remains etched deeply in the earthiness of Egypt, together with his beloved people.
This is based on the ancient Jewish idea that has its roots in the Bible itself: The burial place of a virtuous and saintly human being contains profound holiness and spiritual energy and constitutes a place conducive for prayer to G-d. Since the soul and the body retain a relationship even after they depart from each other, the space where the physical body of a holy man is interred is a space conducive for spiritual growth, meditation, reflection, and inspiration[3].
"He was placed in a coffin in Egypt"—that is the culmination of Genesis. The Jew may be entrenched in Egypt and all that it represents, but Joseph is right there with him, in the midst of his condition, giving him strength, blessings, and fortitude.
The same is true in our own lives as well. In each generation G-d plants such "Joseph's" in our midst, the Tzaddikim and Rebbes, who are there with the Jewish people in their pain and agony. Sometimes, even after their passing, if we open our hearts, we can feel the touch of their soul, the richness of their spirits, the faith of their lives. We may be stuck in the quagmire of "Egyptian" dung, yet "Joseph" is present with us. Thus, even in the midst of a dark and horrific exile, we can hold each other’s hands and thunder aloud: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!"
Contemporary Joseph's
This idea transcribed above I had the privilege to hear from the Lubavitcher Rebbe 35 years ago, on the Sabbath of the portion of Vayechi 5747, January 1987[4].
I will never forget the emotion the Rebbe displayed while giving this talk. At its conclusion, he noted that the name of his father-in-law, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe (1880-1950), was Yosef (Joseph) and that his father-in-law was interred not in the Holy Land but in New York, and continues to provide energy, inspiration, and blessings to our generation.
Indeed, the Rebbe would visit his father-in-law's resting place frequently to pray on behalf of Jews and non-Jews the world over. The Rebbe would spend hours standing at his father-in-law’s resting place, immersed in prayer, reading letters that he has received from people all over the world requesting him to pray for them.
I personally observed many times the Rebbe returning from his father-in-law's graveside sometimes close to midnight, his eyes swollen from tears and his back bent over from the extraordinary effort.
In June 1994, the Rebbe himself was interred near his father-in-law's resting place, in the Montefiore Cemetery in Queens, NY.
Thousands of people visit the Rebbe's Ohel (resting place) on a daily basis, praying to the Almighty for themselves and their loved ones. I know many people who have experienced major blessings, often supernatural blessings, following their prayers at the “ohel.”
If you are in need of a blessing for any matter in your life, it is worthwhile to pay a visit there for prayer. (For directions, click here.) It is a place that continues to bestow blessing, inspiration, and strength upon untold numbers of people from all walks of life during our present state of exile, until the bright dawn of redemption which shall transpire speedily in our days.
[1] Genesis 50:26.
[2] See last Tosefos to Talmud Niddah.
[3] See Talmud Soteh 34b, based on Numbers 13:22, quoted in Rashi ibid.
[4] Published in Sefer Hasichos 5747 vol. 1 pp. 249-268. The idea is based on Zohar Vayechi p. 222b and its commentators Mikdash Melech and Or Hachamah ibid. Commentary of Sifsei Kohen to Genesis 47:29.
(Please make even a small and secure contribution to help us continue our work. Click here.)
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Essay Vayechi
Rabbi YY Jacobson- December 13, 2010
- |
- 6 Tevet 5771
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You Are Not Alone
Why Does Genesis End on Such a Low Note?
Rabbi YY Jacobson- December 13, 2010
Experiencing the Other
Sadie goes to see her rabbi. She complains about her very bad headaches, and whines, cries, and talks about her poor living conditions for hours. All of a sudden, Sadie shouts, overjoyed: "Rabbi, your holy presence has cured me! My headache is gone!"To which the rabbi replies: "No Sadie, it is not gone. I have it now."
Culminating Words
Thus are the culminating words of the first—and in many ways the foundational—book of the Torah, the book of Genesis:
"Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt[1]."
This ending is disturbing. Could have Genesis not concluded on a more inspiring note, just like the four following books of Moses?
Even the fifth and final book, Deuteronomy, which concludes with Moses' passing, culminates with a eulogy so rarely moving that it leaves one with an unforgettable impression of Moses.
Indeed, for thousands of years the classical Jewish sages, authors and rabbis have paid special attention to concluding their written volumes and verbal speeches on a positive note[2]. Even if the subject matter was one of melancholic nature, they desired that at least the punch line, the "last inning," as it were, should invigorate readers and listeners with a message of hope and promise.
Yet, the Book of Books chooses to conclude its first installment with a gloomy and despairing punch line: Joseph's death and burial.
That incredible human being who in the best and worst of times displayed enormous dignity and richness of spirit, that tremendous visionary and leader who rescued a world from famine, is now gone. If that is not enough, Genesis informs us that Joseph is embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt. There his remains would be stored for hundreds of years until the Jews leave Egypt and bury his bones in the city of Shechem (Nabulus).
While Joseph's father, Jacob, labored hard for assurances that his body would not remain among the morally depraved—and what would turn out to be genocidal—Egyptian people but would be brought back to the sacred soil of Hebron, Joseph's worn and sacred body must remain etched in Egyptian earth for centuries.
Even if the Torah felt compelled to culminate Genesis with Joseph's death, it could have ended with the second-to-the-last verse of Genesis: "Joseph told his brothers: 'I am about to die, but G-d will indeed remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob... You will bring my bones up out of here." At least that would have ended the book with a promise for future redemption. What indeed are the final words of the book?
“Joseph died… and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt!"
"Be Strong! Be Strong!"
The question about the ending of Genesis increases upon considering the Jewish custom that when the reader of the Torah concludes each of the books of the Five Books of Moses, the entire congregation thunders out loud: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!" This will occur this Shabbat morning in synagogues the world over. When the reader of the Torah concludes with the verse—“Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt"—Jews will sing out: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!"
But how can one glean strength, never mind triple strength, from this despairing end?
The Pain of Loneliness
Yet it may be that it is precisely this ending that grants us a deeply comforting message. Unfortunately, we cannot live life without pain. Every life comes with challenges. The very genesis of existence is rooted in a void and a vacuum—the concealment of the Divine infinite presence to allow for an egocentric universe. This means that life, whichever way you twist it, is a confrontation with a void, and thus a painful experience.
What a person must know is not how to get rid of his or her pain—that may not always be possible—but rather how to discover that they are empowered to deal with the pain and that they are not alone in it.
Viktor Frankl (1905-1997), who survived three years in the concentration camps of Dachau and Auschwitz and went on to create a new school of psychotherapy, Logotherapy, once shared the following story. A woman phoned him up in the middle of the night and calmly told him that she was about to commit suicide. Frankl kept her on the phone and talked her through her depression, giving her reason after reason to carry on living. Eventually, she promised him she would not take her life, and she kept her word.
When they met later, Frankl asked her which of his reasons she had found convincing. "None," she replied. What then persuaded her to go on living? Her answer was simple. Frankl had been willing to listen to her in the middle of the night. A world in which someone was prepared to listen to another's distress seemed to her one in which it was worthwhile to live.
The Presence of Joseph
"Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt." In these very uninspiring words, one may sense profound inspiration.
The Jewish people are about to become enslaved and subjugated to a tyrannical government that will attempt to destroy them one by one, physically and mentally (as recorded at the beginning of Exodus). This new Egyptian genocide program will drown children, subject all Jewish men to slave labor and crush a new nation.
What will give the people of Israel the resolve they will desperately need? What will preserve a broken and devastated people from falling into the abyss? The knowledge that one day they would be liberated? Certainly. The knowledge that evil will not reign forever? Absolutely. Indeed, this is what Joseph told the Jewish people before his passing, recorded in the second-to-the-last verse of Genesis: "Joseph told his brothers: 'I am about to die, but G-d will indeed remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob... You will bring my bones up out of here."
But, then, when Genesis seeks to choose its final words, it provides us with a message that perhaps served as the greatest source of strength for an orphaned and broken Jewish family. "Joseph died at the age of one hundred and ten years; they embalmed him and he was placed in a coffin in Egypt." Joseph's sacred body is not taken back to the Holy Land to be interred among the spiritual giants of human history: Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebecca; his father Jacob, or his mother Rachel. Joseph's spiritual and physical presence does not "escape" to the heavenly paradise of a land saturated with holiness.
Rather, Joseph remains in the grit and gravel of depraved Egypt, he remains etched deeply in the earthiness of Egypt, together with his beloved people.
This is based on the ancient Jewish idea that has its roots in the Bible itself: The burial place of a virtuous and saintly human being contains profound holiness and spiritual energy and constitutes a place conducive for prayer to G-d. Since the soul and the body retain a relationship even after they depart from each other, the space where the physical body of a holy man is interred is a space conducive for spiritual growth, meditation, reflection, and inspiration[3].
"He was placed in a coffin in Egypt"—that is the culmination of Genesis. The Jew may be entrenched in Egypt and all that it represents, but Joseph is right there with him, in the midst of his condition, giving him strength, blessings, and fortitude.
The same is true in our own lives as well. In each generation G-d plants such "Joseph's" in our midst, the Tzaddikim and Rebbes, who are there with the Jewish people in their pain and agony. Sometimes, even after their passing, if we open our hearts, we can feel the touch of their soul, the richness of their spirits, the faith of their lives. We may be stuck in the quagmire of "Egyptian" dung, yet "Joseph" is present with us. Thus, even in the midst of a dark and horrific exile, we can hold each other’s hands and thunder aloud: Chazak! Chazak! Venischazak! "Be strong! Be strong! Let us be strengthened!"
Contemporary Joseph's
This idea transcribed above I had the privilege to hear from the Lubavitcher Rebbe 35 years ago, on the Sabbath of the portion of Vayechi 5747, January 1987[4].
I will never forget the emotion the Rebbe displayed while giving this talk. At its conclusion, he noted that the name of his father-in-law, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe (1880-1950), was Yosef (Joseph) and that his father-in-law was interred not in the Holy Land but in New York, and continues to provide energy, inspiration, and blessings to our generation.
Indeed, the Rebbe would visit his father-in-law's resting place frequently to pray on behalf of Jews and non-Jews the world over. The Rebbe would spend hours standing at his father-in-law’s resting place, immersed in prayer, reading letters that he has received from people all over the world requesting him to pray for them.
I personally observed many times the Rebbe returning from his father-in-law's graveside sometimes close to midnight, his eyes swollen from tears and his back bent over from the extraordinary effort.
In June 1994, the Rebbe himself was interred near his father-in-law's resting place, in the Montefiore Cemetery in Queens, NY.
Thousands of people visit the Rebbe's Ohel (resting place) on a daily basis, praying to the Almighty for themselves and their loved ones. I know many people who have experienced major blessings, often supernatural blessings, following their prayers at the “ohel.”
If you are in need of a blessing for any matter in your life, it is worthwhile to pay a visit there for prayer. (For directions, click here.) It is a place that continues to bestow blessing, inspiration, and strength upon untold numbers of people from all walks of life during our present state of exile, until the bright dawn of redemption which shall transpire speedily in our days.
[1] Genesis 50:26.
[2] See last Tosefos to Talmud Niddah.
[3] See Talmud Soteh 34b, based on Numbers 13:22, quoted in Rashi ibid.
[4] Published in Sefer Hasichos 5747 vol. 1 pp. 249-268. The idea is based on Zohar Vayechi p. 222b and its commentators Mikdash Melech and Or Hachamah ibid. Commentary of Sifsei Kohen to Genesis 47:29.
(Please make even a small and secure contribution to help us continue our work. Click here.)- Comment
Dedicated by David and Eda Schottenstein
In the loving memory of:
Rabbi Levi Yitzchok ben Zalman Yuda Deitsch
and Alta Shula Swerdlov
And in honor of the birth of their daughter
Yetta Alta Shula, "Aliyah"
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