By: Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin
“Vayigash, and he approached”.
This week’s Torah portion opens with Yehuda pleading to Yosef on behalf of his youngest brother, Binyamin.
Unbeknownst to the brothers, Yosef had a silver goblet planted in Binyamin’s sack. It was part of his plan to see if the brothers truly changed their ways, and had sincere regret for the way they treated him.
When Yosef’s officers caught up to the brothers, they found the goblet in Binyamin’s sack. He was falsely accused of stealing and taken captive. Yosef was waiting to see the brother’s reaction. Would they speak up for Binyamin? Would they be there to protect him and fight for his freedom?
It was Yehuda who stepped up to the plate. Like a true diplomat, he opened softly, with great respect. “Bi Adoni, Please my master, do not be angry with your servant.” (Bereishis 44:18)
He continued on and spoke with strength, hoping to appeal to Yosef’s emotions, telling of an elderly father who had already lost one son from his wife, Rochel. If the remaining son, Binyamin, would not return, it would destroy him.
Yehuda even offered himself as a slave instead of Binyamin. “Please let your servant remain, instead of the youth.” (Bereishis 44:33)
Upon hearing Yehuda’s plea, Yosef realizes that the brothers did change. Yehuda, who earlier had wanted to sell Yosef, now shows remorse, speaking up for his youngest brother and even offering to take his place.
Years later, the monarchy of Am Yisroel would stem from the tribe of Yehuda. It was in the palace of Yosef that Yehuda already exhibited signs of true royalty. He spoke eloquently, not afraid to speak his mind. He showed care and concern.
“And Yehuda said, how can I return to my father, if the child (Binyamin) is not with me?” (Bereishis 44:34).
The Torah is not only giving us Yehuda’s words, but a message for generations to come.
HaRav Kalonymus Kalman Shapira The Piaseczna Rebbe, also known as the “Aish Kodesh “, the Holy Fire, perished in the Holocaust. His writings on the Torah survived, and are still studied today. The Rebbe has a deeper explanation for this passage. “How can I return to my father?” – How can I stand before my Father in Heaven without my brothers, without my fellow Jews? Words expressed by a man who lost his entire family, yet spent the last days of his life mentoring, encouraging and teaching Torah in the Warsaw Ghetto.
The Piaseczna Rebbe understood that he had a mission in life. To be there for others, even to the last moments of his own life.
We all carry a responsibility to be there for each other. To share the beauty of Torah with one another. To open our homes, our Shabbos tables, our hearts. At the end of the day, each of us must be able to say, “HaShem, I cared, I tried, I did my very best.”
As soon as Yehuda spoke, Yosef felt that the moment was right for him to reveal his true identity to his brothers.
“Ani Yosef, ha’od avi chai, I am Yosef, is my father still alive?” (Bereishis 45:3) The brothers were speechless, for they were afraid.
Yosef had just heard from Yehuda how their father would be heartbroken if Binyamin didn’t return with the brothers. If so, why does Yosef question whether his father was still alive?
Yosef knew very well that his father Yaakov was alive. These words were intended as a slight rebuke to his brothers.
“Is my father still alive?” How is he faring after suffering for so many years, not knowing what happened to me? What kind of life is he living?
The Kli Yakar explains that Yosef used the possessive term “Avi, my father.” I was a son to him. Had you acted like true sons, you wouldn’t have done this to him.
While Yosef’s words caused the brothers to be both remorseful, and even frightened, he then drew them close. He assured them that whatever happened was all part of HaShem’s plan. “It was not you who sent me here, but HaShem.” (Bereishis 45:8)
“Ha’od avi chai” has special meaning to me.
It was a late Thursday night, almost twenty-seven years ago. The week we read Parshas Vayigash. I was sitting at my father’s bedside in Sloan Kettering.
There was a heavy silence in the room, a silence I had difficulty dealing with.
My beloved Abba, HaRav Meshulem HaLevi Jungreis zt”l, was slowly slipping away, and my heart ached. I held back the tears, there was a lump in my throat. I couldn’t find the right words to say.
“Abba,” I asked, “Can I read the parsha to you?”
“That would be good”, Abba answered.
And so I began. “Vayigash eilav Yehudah…and Yehuda approached him”.
I continued on, reading the story of Yosef’s long-awaited reunion with his brothers. It didn’t take long for me to reach the heart-wrenching passage, where Yosef reveals his identity. “And Yosef said to his brothers, I am Yosef, is my father still alive?”
“Ha-od avi Chai… Is my father still alive?”
My lips started quivering, my voice shaking. The tears started rolling down my cheeks.
It’s generations and generations after Yosef, and yet we have something in common, a child’s love for a parent. It doesn’t matter the age; even an adult child still longs for a father, still cries for a father, still loves and needs a father.
Yosef’s words, spoken in the palace of Pharaoh, resonates with all of us. We all feel his anguish, we all feel his love.
My mother, the Rebbetzin, a”h taught that each week the parsha mirrors what is happening in our own lives. It has a personal message for each and every one of us, a message our neshama needs to hear.
Chaya Sora can be reached at [email protected]
This article was written L’zecher Nishmas / In Memory Of HaRav Meshulem ben HaRav Osher Anshil HaLevi, zt”l and Rebbetzin Esther bas HaRav Avraham HaLevi, zt”l
