With this week’s
parashah, Vayechi, we close out the Book of Genesis, which has taken us
from the Creation of the universe to the consolidation of one family, the
household of Jacob. This is a story of movement. God called Abraham out of Ur
of the Chaldees, his earliest home, to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). He
traveled to Egypt and back to Eretz Yisrael. Abraham’s grandson
Jacob traveled to Egypt with his entire family to reunite with his son, Joseph.
Now, at the very end of Genesis the family travels to Eretz Yisrael to bury
Jacob but returns to reside in Egypt. Why do they return? Why do they not
remain in the land of their ancestors, the land God promised them?
One answer is that the end of Genesis lays the
groundwork, and indeed foreshadows, the Book of Exodus. Exodus tells the
foundational story of the Jewish nation, from its beginnings in slavery,
through redemption at the Reed Sea and the giving of Torah at Mount Sinai, out
into the Wilderness. Clearly, Exodus, too, is about movement. Curiously,
Genesis moves the family of Abraham under the patriarch Jacob from Eretz
Yisrael to Egypt, but Exodus brings them up out of Egypt yet not back to Eretz
Yisrael. And in that incongruity lies a second answer: Torah hints that we are
always traveling to Eretz Yisrael, always dreaming of the ideal which is just
beyond reach. We have never entirely “arrived.” The third answer is the Torah teaches
us that control is an illusion. Our lives are built on the premise that with
forethought, decisions, and determination, we can steer our lives in the
direction we want.
The reality of life is that we have
far less control than any of us could emotionally cope with, and the truth of
that is something we can tolerate only in small and occasional doses. Harvard
professor of psychology Daniel Gilbert writes in Stumbling on Happiness,
“Perhaps
the strangest thing about this illusion of control is not that it happens but
that it seems to confer many of the psychological benefits of genuine control.
In fact, the one group of people who seem generally immune to this illusion are
the clinically depressed, who tend to estimate accurately the degree to which
they can control events in most situation.”[1] Why do we
want control? Gilbert answers that question succinctly: it feels good. Yet
Genesis and Exodus tell us the truth: we have less control over life than we
think, and far less than we would like.
Perhaps it would be best to live in
the land of illusion and believe that we are the captains of our life ships?
John Stuart Mill wrote: “It
is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be
Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, are
of a different opinions, it is because they only know their side of the
question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides.”[2]
In Jewish terms, the ideal we seek is
the ultimate Eretz Yisrael: the messianic age. The Rabbis had much to say on
this topic. In a peculiar passage in the Babylonian Talmud, we find the ideas
of the messianic age and control (or lack of it) intertwined:
Once,
Yehudah andChezkiah, the sons of R. Chiyya, were sitting at the [dining] table
with Rabbi [Yehudah ha-Nasi, the teacher of R. Chiyya] and said not a word.
[Rabbi] said: “Give the young men plenty of strong wine, so
that they will speak.” When they became tipsy, they began by saying:
“The son of David [i.e., the messiah] cannot
come until the two ruling houses in Israel shall have come to an end [i.e., the
Exilarch in Babylon and the Patriarchate in Eretz Yisrael, of which R. Yehudah
ha-Nasi is the head], for it is written, And he shall be for a Sanctuary,
for a tripping stone and a stumbling rock for the two houses of Israel (Isaiah
8:14).” Thereupon [Rabbi] said to them: “My
children, you throw thorns in my eyes!” R. Chiyya
said: “Master, let it not be bad in your eyes [i.e.,
do not be angry], for the numerical value of ‘wine’
is seventy, and also the numerical value of ‘secret’
is seventy: When wine goes in, secrets come out.” (BT
Sanhedrin 38a)
Ostensibly,
this is a story that demonstrates what happens under the influence of alcohol:
inhibitions are lowered and people say things they would not normally say. The
sons of R. Chiyya know enough to keep their mouths shut—until wine
enters them and loosens their tongues. What they say to R. Yehudah ha-Nasi, in
essence, is: The messiah will not come until your family’s monopoly
on authority in the Jewish community crumbles. On another level, the story
provides a window onto the politics of the Jewish community in the late second
century, and the perspective on it from the distant Babylonian vantage point
some time later. Rabbi Yaakov ben Joseph Reischer (1661-1733, Austria) explains[3] that
Rabbi is upset because the sons of R. Chiyya marshal Isaiah 8:14 to prove their
point, thereby insulting the ruling households of both Babylonia and Eretz
Yisrael; rather, they might have quoted a verse from this week’s parashah
that affirms the firm hold on power of these two ruling households until the
messiah arrives:
לֹא-יָסוּר שֵׁבֶט
מִיהוּדָה, וּמְחֹקֵק
מִבֵּין רַגְלָיו, עַד כִּי-יָבֹא שִׁילֹה,
וְלוֹ יִקְּהַת עַמִּים
The
staff shall not depart from Judah, nor the scepter from between his legs, until
he comes to Shiloh,[4]
and the people’s fealty is his. (Genesis 49:10)
But on yet
another level, the Rabbis understand the conundrum of thinking that happiness
is always in the future, that when the messiah comes, happiness and control (in
this case, communal) will come in its wake. The present is perceived as an
aberrant time of loss and despair because the Jews do not have control of their
land. Expectations and desires are not met. Happiness is not yet accessible.
Gilbert writes: “We
all have direct experience with things that do or don't make us happy, we all
have friends, therapists, cabdrivers, and talk-show hosts who tell us about
things that will or won't make us happy, and yet, despite all this practice and
all this coaching, our search for happiness often culminates in a stinky mess.
We expect the next car, the next house, or the next promotion to make us happy
even though the last ones didn't and even though others keep telling us that
the next ones won’t.”[5]
In
another, and deeply insightful story about the messiah, the Rabbis teach us not
to ignore the present—what
is already with us.
R.
Yehoshua b. Levi met Elijah standing by the entrance of R. Shimon b. Yochai's
tomb. He asked him: “Have I a portion in the world to come?”
[Elijah] replied, “If this Master desires it.”
R. Yehoshua b. Levi said, “I saw two, but heard the voice of a third.” He
then asked [Elijah], “When will the Messiah come?”
“Go and ask him himself,” [Elijah]
replied. “Where
is he to be found?” “At the entrance
to the gates of Rome.” “And by what
sign may I recognize him?” “He is sitting
among the poor lepers: all of them untie [their bandages] all at once, and then
re-bandage them together, whereas he unties and re-bandages each [sore]
separately [before treating the next] thinking, should I be wanted, I must not
be delayed.” So [R. Yehoshua b. Levi] went to him and
greeted him, saying, “Peace be upon you, Master and Teacher.”
“Peace be upon you, O son of Levi,” he
replied. “When
will you come, Master?” he asked.
[The messiah] said to him: “Today.” Upon [R. Yehoshua b. Levi’s] return to Elijah, the latter enquired, “What
did he say to you?” “Peace be upon
you, O son of Levi,” [R. Yehoshua b. Levi] said. Thereupon
[Elijah] said, “He thereby assured you and your father of [a
portion in] the world-to-come.” “He
spoke falsely to me,” he said, “saying
that he would come today. But he has not come.” [Elijah] answered him, “This
is what he said to you: Today, if you will hear his voice (Psalm
95:7).”[6]
Wherever
we travel in life, we can look backwards nostalgically. Some of that is good
and grounding but too much conveys the message that nothing will ever be good
enough. We can look forward longingly, imagining that the good times are yet to
come, always just around the bend. That thinking suggests we’ll never
achieve either satisfaction or happiness. The third alternative is to live in
the present, appreciating the power of the past and the potential of the future
(because there is always more we can contribute to the world), because
happiness and satisfaction are always and only experienced in the present, but
without the expectation of being in full control. What sweetness and blessing
is in your life today?
© Rabbi
Amy Scheinerman
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