Parshas Vayigash – We Can’t Forget

Parshas Vayigash – We Can’t Forget

By: Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin

This Shabbos, Parshas Vayigash, we read of the emotional moment when Yosef revealed his true identity to his brothers.

“Ani Yosef, I am Yosef, ha’od avi chai, is my father still alive? And the brothers couldn’t answer him.” (Bereishis 45:3)

The brothers had previously told Yosef that they had an elderly father. If so, why does Yosef ask “Is my father still alive?

The Bais HaLevi teaches that it was Yosef’s moment of soft rebuke to his brothers. The tension in the room was palpable. With just a few words, Yosef conveyed a powerful message. Is my father still alive?… If you, my brothers, are so concerned about our father, if you truly cared so much, you would have never sold me to start with.

Yosef’s words are concise and deliberate. He is making a point. He is my father, not our father. Words that led the brothers to contemplate their actions. Words that left them thunderstruck and speechless.

Rabbi Paysach Krohn relates a story that provides an additional insight on Yosef’s words.

Rabbi Krohn spoke of a ten year old boy whose parents divorced when he was five. His father was totally out of the picture. No connection whatsoever. His mother remarried, and unfortunately, the young boy and his stepfather did not have a positive relationship.

The poor boy was down on life. He was just going through the motions, a detached look always visible on his face, his eyes always dark. His rebbi would try to engage him, but never got anywhere.

The class was learning Parshas Vayigash. They were up to the pasuk where Yosef revealed himself to his brothers. “I am Yosef, is my father still alive?” The rebbi stopped and challenged the class with the obvious question. If Yosef already knew that his father was alive, why the need to ask.

The classroom was silent as the boys were thinking it out. Suddenly, a hand shot up in the air. To the rebbi’s surprise, it was the boy with the divorced parents, the boy who previously never participated.

Eager to hear what he would say, the teacher called on the boy. At first, the young boy spoke in a low voice. But as he gained confidence and courage, his voice became louder. The boy explained that Yosef was asking, is my father still alive for me? Is he thinking about me, does he remember me, or did he forget who I am?

The rebbi understood that the young boy was speaking about himself. He was relating his own life circumstances to Yosef’s. Like Yosef, he was separated from his father for so long. By Yosef saying “my” father, the young student began to think about his own father. Does my father remember me? He was so afraid about being forgotten about.

It was a turning point for the young student. He began to relate to Yosef. He didn’t allow his life circumstances to break and destroy him. Yosef became a leader in Egypt. And, by virtue of his actions, he grew to become Yosef HaTzaddik.

To the young boy, this realization served as a source of encouragement that he too, can accomplish great things.

We just celebrated the second Chanukah since the horrific events of October 7. It’s hard to believe that over one hundred of our people – parents, grandparents, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and yes, even young children are still held in the dark dungeons of Gaza. I couldn’t help but wonder, while we celebrated the Festival of Lights, did the hostages even get to see the light of day.

The terrorists have been playing mind games with the hostages, telling them that they have been forgotten about. That their country and government have abandoned them. Like the little boy who wondered if his father forgot about him, the captives must have their “od avi chai, is my father still alive” moments. Does anyone still think about us? Care about us? Or, are we forgotten about?

As painful and agonizing their situation is, I believe that in their heart of hearts the hostages know that we are a nation that never forgets. We are a people of ahavas Yisroel, of love for one another. Of caring and sharing. A nation that is davening and fighting for their release.

For twenty-two long years, from the time Yosef was seventeen until he reached thirty-nine, he was away from his beloved father, family and home. In last week’s parsha, Yosef comes face-to-face with his younger brother, Binyamin, with whom he shares a mother, Rachel, and has a special relationship with.

Rashi relates a narrative from the Talmud. Yosef asks Binyamin, “Do you have any children?” Binyamin responds that he has ten sons, and shares their names with Yosef.

The names were not typical. Yosef asks Binyamin if there is any special significance to them.

Yosef had not yet revealed his true identity to his brothers. Binyamin explains that he had a brother who went missing, and that each name was given in his honor. Each name expressing an everlasting love for him. Each signifying the “tzoros”, the pain that his lost brother must be enduring. He proceeds to explain his sons’ names to Yosef.

Belah –                 For my brother, who was “nivlah”, swallowed up amongst the nations.

Becher – For my brother, who was the “bechor”, the firstborn to my mother, Rachel.

Ashbel – For my brother, “sheh-shva-oh”, who was HaShem’s captive.

Gera – For my brother, who was a “ger”, living as a stranger in an unfamiliar land.

Na’amon – For my brother, who was “na-im”, very sweet.

Achi and Rosh – For my brother, who was “achi, my brother”, and “roshi, my leader”.

Mupim – For my brother, who learned “mi-pi ovi”, from the lips of my father.

Chupim – For my brother, who never saw my chuppah, and I never saw his.

Ered – For my brother, who descended, “yorad”, amongst the nations.

What great joy Binyamin must have experienced at the birth of each child. What a beautiful family – ten healthy sons. Yet, his happiness was bittersweet, for it was mixed together with a longing for his brother Yosef. Binyamin never forgot. Yosef was always on his mind.

Yosef, too, was filled with uncontrollable emotion and tears upon hearing how much his brother Binyamin missed and loved him. Feelings that were mutual and everlasting.

What a powerful message. Despite the passage of time, we mustn’t forget about our brothers and sisters in captivity. Though we go about our daily routines, let’s take upon ourselves some concrete way of remembering those who are still “missing”.  Be it an extra mitzva, additional davening or learning, or helping those in need in Israel. In that z’chus, HaShem will surely and speedily reunite the hostages with their families, as Yosef was reunited with his loving father and family.

Shabbat Shalom!

Chaya Sora

Chaya Sora can be reached at [email protected]