From Revelation to Responsibility: Vayigash 5786

This piece was originally published in Hanassi Highlights on 25 December 2025. You can also read it in Hebrew (translated by ChatGPT) here.

From Revelation to Responsibility

This week we mark Asara b’Tevet—the fast commemorating the beginning of the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem. It is the first step in a slow, tightening process that ends in the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. A siege begins quietly, through mounting pressure. But spiritual collapse, the Torah shows us, often begins more quietly still—not with armies, but with fractures in our relationships.

Parshat Vayigash is a study in the opposite movement—not constriction, but revelation; not estrangement, but approach. Yehuda steps forward, speaks directly to power, and takes responsibility for his youngest brother. Yosef steps out from concealment and answers his brothers not with accusation, but with identity restored: “I am Yosef—is my father still alive?” (Bereishit 45:3).

Among the most powerful scenes leading into this moment occurs in last week’s parsha, when Yosef meets Binyamin. The Torah describes Yosef hurrying aside to cry, overwhelmed by compassion (Bereishit 43:30). Rashi, quoting Chazal, explains that these brothers’ tears were not only personal, but prophetic:

·       Yosef cried for the two Batei M
ikdash that would one day stand in Binyamin’s portion and be destroyed.

·       Binyamin cried for Mishkan Shiloh, destined for Yosef’s portion, which would also be destroyed.

The obvious question is why Chazal saw the need to distance Yosef and Binyamin’s tears from this direct encounter into visions of the future? Why not simply say that their tears were due to the long separation they had endured?

Rav Chaim Drukman zt”l explains that Chazal’s intent was not to displace the simple meaning—of course brothers weep when decades of absence collapse into a single embrace. Rather, they were illuminating a deeper question: What created a world in which brothers could be torn apart, and sacred homes could be torn down? What led to the tears? What led to the churban?

The answer goes back to the root of the fracture – when jealousy and hatred between the brothers first begins to emerge:

“lo yachlu dabro le-shalom—they could not speak to him in peace.” (Bereishit 37:4)

The tragedy began not with an invasion, but with a failure of speech, recognition, and responsibility. The sale of Yosef was not merely a family crisis—it was the prototype of a Jewish story that would tragically repeat itself throughout the ages.

The correction occurs in our parsha. Two decades after proposing the sale, Yehuda returns and this time does something entirely different. He becomes a model of arvut—personal responsibility for the welfare of his brother.

Asara b’Tevet reminds us how a siege begins. Vayigash reminds us how a nation heals—through the courage to speak, the willingness to step forward, and the refusal to let a brother face darkness alone.

In days of mounting pressure, we must choose which language to speak: the silence of fracture, or the speech of peace; the logic of distance, or the loyalty of responsibility.

May this week strengthen in us a renewed commitment to clarity, unity, and mutual responsibility, so that the chain of churban that once began in silence will, in our days, end in rebuilding.

Shabbat Shalom!

Drawing Water from the Depths: Yosef, Yehuda, and the Power That Reunites Am Yisrael

 This powerful piece by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom discerns a message from the past that we should take to our hearts for the future.

“Deep waters are counsel in the heart of a man, but a man of understanding will draw them out” (Mishlei 20:5).

Chazal explain that deep waters are a metaphor for a person facing an extremely profound problem—one upon which an enormous amount depends. Such a person does not merely need comfort; he needs counsel, wisdom, and a solution that can chart a way forward.

The Gemara identifies Yosef as the embodiment of this verse. Yosef represents the extraordinary power of mo’ach—of wisdom, insight, and strategic brilliance. He is not merely an interpreter of dreams; he is a problem-solver on a national and even civilizational scale. When Pharaoh dreams, Yosef does not stop at explaining the symbolism. He offers a comprehensive master plan: how to restructure the Egyptian economy, preserve grain for years without spoilage, and sustain an entire region through famine. Innovation, foresight, and practical genius flow from the deep waters of Yosef’s mind.

But now Yosef faces a challenge far greater than famine or economics. He must determine whether his fractured family—torn apart by jealousy, hatred, and the sale of a brother—can ever be reunited. Can Klal Yisrael come back together after such a moral catastrophe?

The verse in Mishlei continues: “But a man of understanding will draw it out.” To draw water (dalya) from deep wells requires strength, courage, and resolve. This is where Yehuda enters the story.

Two Forces Meet: Yosef and Yehuda

We now see two towering figures facing one another. Yosef possesses the amok—the depth, the brilliance, the master plan. Yehuda possesses the lev—the lion’s heart. He is the aryeh, the one with passion, responsibility, courage, and moral determination. Yehuda does something unprecedented. He declares: “I became a guarantor for this boy, for Binyamin. I laid my very life on the line for him. There is no reality in which I allow him to be taken.” No one in the Torah has ever spoken this way before. This is absolute arevut—total responsibility for another human being. Yehuda is not negotiating. He is not strategizing. He is offering himself.

And when Yosef hears this, everything changes. This is the moment Yosef has been waiting for. Chazal tell us that, once Yosef hears Yehuda’s words, “he could no longer restrain himself.” He reveals his identity. Until now, Yosef’s behavior had been utterly incomprehensible to the brothers. Why is this Egyptian ruler tormenting us? Why frame Binyamin for a crime he clearly did not commit? Why reopen old wounds?

The answer is that Yosef was not seeking revenge. On the contrary, he was full of forgiveness. But forgiveness alone could not rebuild Klal Yisrael. Yosef needed a key—and that key was hearing Yehuda say: We will never make the same mistake again. That is the essence of teshuva. As the Rambam teaches, true repentance is proven when a person encounters the same situation again and responds differently. Yehuda declares: we failed once, we regret it profoundly, and we will not fail again—at any cost.

At that moment, Yosef knows the family can be rebuilt.

The Fusion That Creates Redemption

The Zohar reveals something remarkable. Every morning in our tefillah, we say Shema Yisrael and immediately proceed to V’haya im shamoa. Halachically, we are forbidden to interrupt between them. Why? Because these are not merely two adjacent paragraphs. They represent two distinct spiritual forces that must fuse. Shema is intellectual reaffirmation—clarity of belief, understanding, vision. It is Yosef. V’haya is emotional engagement—standing before Hashem with desire, longing, responsibility, and asking for our needs. It is Yehuda.

The fusion of these two powers generates the spiritual “nuclear energy” of Klal Yisrael. Wisdom without heart is sterile. Passion without wisdom is dangerous. Redemption requires both. This fusion begins in Sefer Bereishit with the initial clash—and ultimate union—between Yosef and Yehuda. It is therefore no coincidence that the Beit HaMikdash was built on the border of Yehuda and Binyamin. Part stood in Yehuda’s territory, part in Binyamin’s. This bond—created through Yehuda’s guarantee for Binyamin—was never lost. It became the geographic and spiritual heart of the Jewish people.

Arevut in Our Time

We have witnessed this power in our own days. Over the past couple of years of suffering in Eretz Yisrael, we have seen Klal Yisrael come together with extraordinary arevut. People opening their homes, their wallets, and their hearts. Volunteers arriving simply to help.

So many people have come to Israel, but they did not tour. They volunteered. They lived in tents, worked agricultural fields under primitive conditions, and asked for nothing in return—except the chance to help their people. This is Yehuda’s legacy alive today.

Before this moment in the Torah, the family stood on the brink of permanent disintegration. But Yosef’s master plan was never about punishment. It was about creating the conditions for teshuva, responsibility, and unity. And once Yehuda stepped forward, Yosef drew the deep waters out—and the family was reborn.

Be a Shamash

With Chanukah  in the rear-view mirror, we need to understand the importance of the shamash. One might think it is merely a technical candle, but in truth it carries a profound lesson. The shamash lights all the other candles. It protects their sanctity. It exists not for itself, but to ignite others.

Each of us is called upon to be a shamash—to light others, to awaken arevut, to protect the holiness and unity of Klal Yisrael. That was the secret of the unity between Yosef and Yehuda. And that unity remains our greatest hope for the future.

Calamitous Contentment

Were the experiences of Yaakov Avinu and his descendants in Egypt the prototype of subsequent exiles, going from comfort to suffering? And did our forefather make the wrong choice? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger investigates.

Between the years 800 and 1930 various countries, municipalities, principalities, noblemen, Church officials, and angry mobs in Europe expelled the Jews from their homes. This happened more than 130 times. As we know, after that date the strategy devolved to one of extermination. In many instances, the Jews enjoyed periods when they were accepted and welcomed as productive members of their communities. In earlier times, they may have had a second-class status, but they had their niche as merchants and in finance—and even mingled with the upper echelons of the citizenry. After emancipation arrived in various countries, they assimilated into the professions and universities and into the worlds of science, art and culture. In other words, although their situation was often precarious, Jews often lived in a fantasy world, the world of “this time will be different”: their neighbors accepted them, they were protected, they were safe, nothing could happen to them. But it did – time and time again. Their comfort resulted in such a credible illusion that they were unable to believe or accept the inevitable as they were led to their near extinction.

Today we are once again witnessing such denial. Jews and their communities in the diaspora suffer: in South America (Buenos Aries), in India (Mumbai), in Australia (Bondi Beach) in the US (Pittsburgh), in France (Toulouse and Montauban) and in New York (multiple incidents on subways, at synagogues and on the streets). Antisemitism is rampant.  Individual Jews and their communities face threats from the Left and the Right: from college campuses and from social media; from influential political commentators and from political leaders. Then there is the rising number of Moslems that are asserting their brand of aggressive power over polite and civilized society.

Nevertheless, most Jews either remain in denial or are so comfortable with the trappings of the material bounty they enjoy that they cannot accept their predicament and reach for their best alternative – their spiritual legacy and true homeland.

They are not alone: they are simply modeling their behavior after their forefather  Yaakov – the choicest and purest of the Avot insofar as all twelve of his sons,were likewise untainted. After experiencing two difficult exiles, in the house of Lavan and in Egypt, he should have yearned for a return to the Land of Israel. Instead, in parashat Vayigash we find that, once the famine ended, “the Jews remained in the Land of Goshen, and they prospered and became very fruitful” (Bereishit 47:27). Yaakov and his sons were so comfortable. Yet a generation or so later they would be enslaved, initiating the pattern of classic antisemitic tropes (Shemot 1:9-10). How was this possible?

History has shown us time and time again how this was possible. Today, despite the warning signs, we have a front row seat to yet another round in this cycle. However, as regards Yaakov, we perhaps should not be so quick to judge. He at least could justify his choice (although one could ask whether he was required to so choose). Turn back to Yaakov’s first “exile.” As he is escaping the wrath of his brother for having taken the berachah of the first-born, fleeing to Padan Aram, something interesting occurs. Yitzchak’s parting words are: “(He) should give to you and your children with you Avraham’s blessing to inherit the land you reside in, that He gave to Avraham” (Bereishit 28:4). In other words, Yaakov did not take the berachah. Yitzchak always intended to pass to him the legacy of Avraham and that legacy was the berachah of Avraham -- the land.

So when did this berachah—this commitment regarding the land—become effective? In truth Hashem dangled this promise before Avram several times, reaching the point where a frustrated Avram finally asked, “How do I know that I will really inherit it?” (Bereishit 15:8). So, Hashem enters into a covenant with him, the brit ben habetarim. The terms were as follows: The Jews would be exiled to a foreign land for four hundred years; they would be enslaved there and, in the end, they would be redeemed with great wealth and given the land (Bereishit 15:13-14). This is when the right of Avram’s children to the land would be fixed.

Yaakov received both the legacy and the burden of this blessing. When he sojourned to Egypt to reunite the entire family – something he thought would never happen from the time Yosef was lost to him – he recognized that this was the beginning of the process that would result in the fulfillment of the berachah. He thus knew that he must choose to stay in Egypt. He remained with his eyes wide open, knowing that his children and their succeeding four generations would suffer.

Is this really what Hashem wanted for Bnei Yisrael? We cannot know. All we know is that this is the choice Yaakov made. And, as they say, the rest is history.

What we do know, with the advantage of hindsight and now with the wisdom of the ages is that, as successive generations of Jews have made this same choice, it has only resulted in catastrophe. There are no beneficial exiles, there are not even benign ones. Blissful ignorance or, worse, contentment leads only to calamity.

Giants clash -- but who is the real winner? Vayigash 5785

The opening verses of this week's Torah reading are among the most dramatic and challenging in the entire Torah. Two great, powerful personalities in the house of the children of Yaakov—Yehudah and Yosef—engage in a clash and debate of epic proportions over the release of their brother Binyamin.

 At first glance it seems obvious that Yosef has the upper hand in his struggle. After all, he is the viceroy of Egypt, the commander of the palace guards who are armed and ready to do his bidding. In contrast Yehudah has very limited options as to what to say and what to do in order to obtain the release of Binyamin. Yosef’s position of power appears unassailable but the impassioned plea of Yehudah cannot easily be ignored. 

Since each of the two great antagonists, the leaders of the tribes of Israel, has the power to prevail over the other, perhaps we can conclude that neither is the victor in this clash of ideas and worldviews. The true champion who emerges from this story is the hoary old Yaakov. Seemingly isolated back in the land of Canaan, mourning and despondent as to the fate of his family, he shouts in anguish: “Yosef is no more, Shimon is no more; both of them will be lost to me!” It is this image of their father that haunts both Yehudah and Yosef. Each, in his own way, wishes to do justice to his father and to everything that he represents. And it is this selfsame image of Yaakov that brings Yosef to the climax of the story and to his ability, nay necessity, to reveal himself and be reconciled with his brothers. 

Jewish rabbinic thought over the ages has always sought to make the story of Yosef and Yehudah relevant to each generation of Jews. I think that the most relevant message for us from this great narrative is that it is the image of our ancient father Yaakov that truly hovers over all of our current struggles. It is our tasknot merely to win the debate with our other brothers or even with outside powers that are seemingly stronger and greater than we are, but rather to remain faithful to the old man that we can no longer see but who is always with us.

What gives both Yehudah and Yosef troubling pause in the midst of their impassioned debate is their uncertainty as to what their father would think of their words and their actions. It is this unseen presence of Yaakov that drives the brothers to reconciliation and to restoring a common purpose in their lives and those of their families. Father Yaakov has looked down at every generation of the Jewish people and—one way or another—every generation has been forced to ask itself “What would Yaakov think of us, our words and our behavior?”

It is this ever-present idea in Jewish life that has been an aid and a boon to our seemingly miraculous survival as a people and as a faith. We may not see Yaakov but we can be certain that he is there with us today as well. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein