Parashat Mikess: Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem

Thoughts on Mikess 2018

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R. Tarfon said: The day is short and the work is much, and the workers are lazy and the reward is great, and the Master of the house is pressing. (Pirkei Avot 2:15)

After hearing Yosef’s interpretation of his dreams, Pharaoh exclaimed, “Could we find a man like him, whom is the spirit of God?” (Bereshit 41:38). He then turned to Yosef and remarked, “There is none as discerning and wise as you” (39). Just as the cupbearer and baker were overwhelmed by Yosef’s clairvoyant interpretations in prison, so too was Pharaoh at that time. But were Yosef’s explanations actually that impressive? Asked to render a plausible solution to those very dreams in his same circumstance, isn’t it possible that you too might interpret them like Yosef? What, then, were Yosef’s powers of wisdom and insight that appeared so remarkable at that time?

Many of the technological products that we buy and use are designed with planned obsolescence in mind. The operating systems of our smartphones, for example, slow down significantly after a mere two years of use. At that same time, their battery life begins to drain quickly, as well. There is, in fact, a purpose that underlies this seemingly money-making scam. The systems are able to produce at maximum capacity because they possess a confined window of time. Building a lifespan into the usage of our devices ensures their maximum efficiency during that time period.

Allison Arieff noted the irony that the same Silicon Valley culture that produces these gadgets appears obsessed with living forever. She pointed to venture capitalists like the tech billionaire Peter Thiel who have begun pouring money into anti-aging and life extension start-ups. Arieff mentioned, as well, that Google has launched the biotech company Calico to study “the biology that controls lifespan,” specifically researching the long-living naked mole rat, which shows little to no sign of aging.[1]

The tech world shares good company in its obsession with “living forever.” Our society at large has become possessed by the dream of eternal life. Noting the long list of new books related to “successful aging,” Barbara Ehrenreich remarked, “A major themes is that aging itself is abnormal and unacceptable.”[2] And before detailing the many other ways that this mindset and approach has spread throughout our culture, she wrote, “You can think of death bitterly or with resignation, as a tragic interruption of your life, and take every possible measure to postpone it.” Alternatively, and more realistically, she suggested, “You can think of life as an interruption of an eternity of personal nonexistence, and seize it as a brief opportunity to observe and interact with the living, ever-surprising world around us.”[3]

Peggy Noonan recently wrote about a depressing outgrowth of our society’s concept of life. She noticed the adolescent clothing donned by many of today’s well-known business executives – the casual T-shirts, hoodies and jeans. She pointed out that although our culture has always honored the young, it has never honored immaturity. The model of dignified “adult attire” has largely been lost, replaced instead by “soft clothes, the kind 5-year-olds favor.” The past ideal of a life of serious demeanor and style has disintegrated to one of childish thoughts and behavior.[4] Along the path of our futile attempts to “defy death,” we have begun to act and attempt to “be young” forever.

Joseph Epstein described this phenomenon over a decade ago, adding to it his own critique and misgivings. Epstein began “The Perpetual Adolescent” by contrasting the “grown up” attire one beheld at the baseball games of the 1940’s and 50’s – tailored suits and fedoras, to the youthful jeans, caps and T-shirts that fill the seats of today’s games. Broadly observing many of society’s general trends, he noticed a sharp shift from a society that conceived of adolescence as necessarily transient to one that yearns for its eternal existence. Epstein viewed this perspective very negatively. He suggested that it lowered the tone of national life, took away from its richness, and lowered intellectual expectations. He argued that an observable “dumbing down” of society is to be attributed to this mindset, as contemporary journalism has lost its depth by necessarily adapting to the short attention span with the soundbite, photo-op, quickie take and a general suppression of complexity.[5]

Leon Kass noticed a similar trend in his search for the underlying factors for our society’s shift away from traditional dating and marriage. He wrote about today’s shared clothing styles, spoken lingo and interest in music between parents and children, and commented: “Youth, not adulthood, is the cultural ideal, at least as celebrated in the popular culture.” Kass explained that today’s young man doesn’t feel the urge to take his father’s place, as he has seen his father continuously running from it “with all deliberate speed.”[6]

Ancient Egyptian society was pervaded by a strikingly similar feature to ours today. Leon Kass explained that Egypt sought to abolish change and to make time stand still in their pursuit of “changelessness, agelessness and permanent presence.” He elaborated: “Whether one looks to the hieroglyph in which the mobile world is represented in static ideograms; or to the worship of the eternally circling but never-changing heavenly bodies or of the cyclically rising and ebbing river, with its life-giving overflows; or to the practices of denying aging through bodily adornment and defying death through mummification and preparation for reincarnation – everywhere one looks, one sees in Egypt the rejection of change and the denial of death.”[7] Indeed, the first thing that Yosef did before approaching Pharaoh was shaving his beard (41:14). A beard is the paradigmatic sign of “old age” (hence its Hebrew word – zakan), which was the perfect emblem of the Egyptian penchant to deny change and conquer human decay.[8] Attempting to enter the mainstream Egyptian society, Yosef made sure to first dress the part.

The legacy of Am Yisrael, in contrast, was built upon the core concept of remembering the past and anticipating the future. God’s covenant with Avraham was passed down from father to son in a continuous chain. Adherents of this dynasty lived with “full awareness of time and with full acceptance of change and unavoidable decay.”[9] Consider the establishment of berit bein ha-betarim, the foundational covenant with Avraham, when God clearly stated to him: “As for you, you shall go to your fathers in peace, you shall be buried in ripe old age” (15:15). We were first taught then to accept – and embrace – the existence of old age and the inevitability of death.

As Yosef listened to the retelling of the ministers’ dreams and then those of Pharaoh, this veritable clash of worlds came to the fore. Denying the inevitable passing of time, the Egyptians couldn’t possibly fathom that the objects in their dreams – the vine branches, baskets of bread, cows and ears of wheat – represented the passage of time. The very concept of a set “deadline” was foreign to their intellectual conceptions. And as Yosef described their symbolism – first as three days to the ministers, and then as seven years to Pharaoh, the Egyptian dreamers were spellbound by its novelty. The idea of the fleeting nature of time, although intuitive, had been squashed by their culture and society. And Yosef’s seamless mention of this concept opened their eyes to a hidden truth.

“Carpe diem,” John Keating (played by Robin Williams) famously shouted to his students in the classic film Dead Poets Society. “Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary,” he urged them. Living in a world which once again seeks to freeze itself in “perpetual adolescence,” the Torah awakens us to the inevitability of aging and the concept of a lifespan. It reminds us to seize the day.

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[1] Allison Arieff, “Life is Short. That’s the Point,” The New York Times, Aug. 18, 2018.

[2] Barbara Ehrenreich, Natural Causes: An Epidemic of Wellness, the Certainty of Dying, and Killing Ourselves to Live Longer (New York, NY, 2018), pg. 164.

[3] Ibid., pg. xv

[4] Peggy Noonan, “If Adults Won’t Grow Up, Nobody Will,” The Wall Street Journal, April 5, 2018. Thank you to Morris Manopla for sharing this article with me.

[5] Joseph Epstein, “The Perpetual Adolescent,” The Weekly Standard, Mar. 15, 2004.

[6] Leon R. Kass, “The End of Courtship,” Leading a Worthy Life (New York, NY, 2018), pg. 51.

[7] Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (Chicago, IL, 2003), pg. 557.

[8] Ibid., pg. 563-4. Rabbi Dr. Ricky Hidary commented to me that archaeologists have in fact found that ancient drawings depict the Egyptians as clean-shaven, in contrast to the foreigners who don beards.

[9] Ibid., pg. 556-7.

Parashat Mikess: Listening

Listening

A Message for Parashat Mikess 2017

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And the brothers said to one another, “Alas, we are guilty for our brother, whose mortal distress we saw when he pleaded with us and we did not listen. That is why this distress has overtaken us.” … And they did not know that Yosef was listening… (Bereshit 42:22-23)

Defenselessly trapped in a dungeon, Yosef’s brothers finally reflected upon their past decision to cast him into a pit. Thinking that no one else was listening as they spoke to one another, the brothers remembered Yosef’s piercing cries at that time. They expressed regret for the way that they had callously ignored his pleas for help. The brothers’ own experience of being unheard by the Egyptian viceroy had awakened them to a decades-old mistake. Ironically, however, that viceroy – their brother Yosef – was now listening to them.

And Reuven heard, and he came to the rescue and said, “We must not take his life!” (37:21)

In contrast to the others, Yosef’s oldest brother Reuven had “heard” at that time. He had therefore attempted to rescue Yosef. And now, as the brothers nervously discussed the situation, Reuven’s voice rang out the loudest:

“Didn’t I say to you, ‘Do not sin against the boy?’ And you would not listen!” (42:22)

He charged his brothers of the sin of ignoring more than Yosef. Reuven accused them of not hearing his own voice, as well. He accused his brothers of not listening.

* * * *

The famed humanistic psychologist Carl Rogers described his passion for “hearing deeply.” He explained the experience of hearing the words, thoughts, feeling tones, personal meaning, and even the meaning that is below the conscious intent of the speaker. Rogers described the special occasions upon which his listening led to the discovery of a deep human cry that lay buried far below the surface of the person. He imagined the emotions of the person when they are finally heard, and wrote:

In such moments I have had the fantasy of a prisoner in a dungeon, tapping out day after day a Morse code message, “Does anybody hear me? Is anybody there?” And finally, one day he hears some faint tappings which spell out “Yes.”

Rogers tasked all people to listen carefully to others and to decipher the faint messages that emanate from their dungeons.[1]

The well-known psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl often told the story about a woman who had once called him at three o’clock in the morning, during her bout with thoughts of suicide. He talked with her for a half hour about her choice, until she agreed to come in and meet in person with him later that morning. She then told Frankl that it wasn’t his arguments that had helped her pull through her crisis, but rather the simple fact that even after he’d been awakened in the middle of the night, he had listened patiently and encouraged her. His care and kindness – his listening –  had inspired her to give life another chance.[2]

The art of listening, however, is often necessary in order to hear even our own voices. 

R. Yaakov Moshe Harlap z”l thus interpreted the depth of Am Yisrael’s declaration “We will do and we will hear” (Shemot 24:7) at Sinai:

An animal also hears, but does not listen. A human being listens, and the differences among people depends on the quality of their listening. In proclaiming “We will do and we will hear,” the Israelites elevated themselves to be listeners; in other words, we will hear, and we will listen to the act itself.

According to R. Harlap, Am Yisrael’s commitment to “do and hear” represented the mature determination to become attentive to their own deeds.[3]


The Talmud (Taanit 21a) tells about R. Yohanan and his friend Ilfa, who had studied together at the bet midrash. During a time of famine, the two friends left the midrash in search of a job. Setting out on their journey, they stopped to eat in front of a rickety wall. R. Yohanan then overheard a conversation between two angels who were angered at the friends’ decision to leave and therefore considered toppling the wall upon them. Realizing that only he had heard the conversation, R. Yohanan took internalized the message and retraced his steps to the midrash. Years later, Ilfa returned with great wealth and discovered that R. Yohanan had subsequently been appointed to the post of rosh ha-yeshivah.

R. Mordekhai Sabato suggested that both Ilfa and R. Yohanan could have potentially heard the voices of the angels. Only R. Yohanan had heard their voices, however, because only he was listening. Whereas Ilfa had made up his mind regarding his future endeavors in the marketplace, R. Yohanan was uncertain. He was still searching for the proper path in life. He was listening.[4]

* * * *

The Torah’s description of the brothers’ memories at the time of their incarceration serves to ontrast them to Yosef. Whereas they had failed to listen to him in the past, Yosef was now listening to them. Indeed, Yosef’s ability to listen had driven his success. Consider the art of interpreting dreams: The interpreter must listen intently to the vision, pay attention to its various details and notice the nuanced descriptions of the teller. Then – and only then – can an interpretation be rendered. Yosef found success in the very realm that his brothers had neglected.

Learning from the story of Yosef’s brothers in the dungeon, we must always remember the importance of listening.

Shabbat shalom!

Rabbi Avi Harari

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[1] Carl R. Rogers, A Way of Being (New York, NY, 1995), pg. 8-10.

[2] Viktor E. Frankl, Recollections: An Autobiography (New York, NY, 2000), pg. 128-9.

[3] R. Yaakov Moshe Harlap, Mei Marom – Ori VeYish’i (Jerusalem, IS, 5729), as cited in R. Haim Sabato’s Rest for the Dove: Reading for Shabbat (New Milford, CT, 2000), pg. 99.
[4] R. Mordekhai Sabato, Petah Devarekha vol. 1 (Bet El, IS, 2015), pg. 29-30.

Parashat Mikess: Self-Identity

Self-Identity

A Message for Parashat Mikess 2016

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Whereas the narratives of Sefer Bereshit are generally clear regarding God’s ultimate plan and purpose in action, the reason for Yosef’s imprisonment is never fully explained. His self-restraint during his encounter with his master’s wife appears commendable, and his rise to power could have conceivably been implemented in a variety of other ways. What, then, was the reason for Yosef’s incarceration and ultimate rise to power by means of dream-interpretation?

Mankind is diverse in every sense of the word. Beyond our various differences in appearance and opinion, we are fundamentally separated from one another by our distinct “identities.” We each possess several defining characteristics, shaped by a myriad of factors, which define who we are and what we stand for. What was Yosef’s core “self-identity” during the various stages of his life?

The Torah first introduces us to Yosef by means of his dreams. His childhood is summed up by two dreams of majesty and the resulting conflict with his brothers. The portrait of Yosef’s early self-identity thus stands out for its clear association to dreams. And dreams would continue to define him in Egypt. His dream-interpretations in prison and then to Pharaoh were the clear sparks of his success.

Yosef is further identified as an “Ivri,” a Hebrew, during his stay in Egypt. Judging by his own self-description and that of others about him, Yosef’s strong association to his homeland played a prominent role in his self-identity while in Egypt.

Immediately following his sale to Potifar, the pasuk summarizes Yosef’s status at that time in a sentence: “And Hashem was with Yosef, and he was a successful man, and he was in the house of his Egyptian master” (39:2). The latter part of the verse importantly highlights the contrast between Yosef “the Ivri,” and Potifar “the Missri,” and calls our attention to its association with his success.

Following Yosef’s successful resistance of the sexual advances from his master’s wife, she mockingly exclaims to the members of her household, “See, he (Potifar) has brought us a Hebrew man to play with us” (39:14), and then remarks to her husband, “The Hebrew slave came into me” (39:17). Underlying her claim that Yosef had overstepped his boundaries as a slave looms the possible reality that Yosef had in fact lost sight of his unique “Ivri” identity. And therein lay the rationale for his demise and imprisonment – a loss of appropriate self-identity.

If a loss of self-identity earned him imprisonment, then appropriate recognition would grant him freedom. And so, following his interpretation of the chief cup-bearer’s dream, Yosef begged he remember him, adding, “For indeed I was stolen from the land of the Hebrews, and here, too I did nothing that I should have been put in the pit” (40:15). Notice how Yosef’s identity-recognition now appropriately dovetailed with his other dominant association – dreams! Yosef had now “rediscovered” his true self, honestly self-identifying as an Ivri and symbolically exposing his essence by means of his dreams.

Yosef’s subsequent rise to power, however, brought forth a new challenge to maintaining true self-identity. The drift was precipitated by the public honor that he was immediately granted (41:43), and furthered by a subsequent name change (Safenat Pa’ane’ah) and arranged marriage by Pharaoh (3:45). Indeed, his Ivri self-identity seemed all but lost following the birth of his sons: “And Yosef called the name of his firstborn Menashe, meaning, God has released me from all the debt of my hardship, and of all my father’s house. And the name of the second he called Ephraim, meaning, God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction” (41:51-2). Reading his life’s story through our current prism, we fear the worst for Yosef at this juncture. He has consciously and publicly shed his self-identity with his sons’ naming!

This time, however, there would be no imprisonment. A far stronger measure was in store for Yosef: “And the sons of Yisrael came to buy provisions among those who came, for there was famine in the land of Canaan. As for Yosef, he was the regent of the land, he was the provider to all the people of the land” (42:5-6). Maintaining a false self-identity in face of his brothers, even as they did not recognize him, would not be simple. He was now staring and conversing with the living reminders of who he really was.

“And Yosef remembered the dreams he had dreamed about them” (42:9). As he opened his mouth to address his brothers, Yosef’s inner conscience stirred. His true self-identity – represented by his dreams – came to mind. He struggled with the dichotomy of what he had become and who he really was. “And he said to them, ‘You are spies! To see the land’s nakedness you have come” (ibid.). It would take time for Yosef to come clean with his true self-identity, and his own self struggle would first play out through a struggle with his brothers.

The irony of his brothers’ subsequent conversation in his “mother tongue,” which they presumed he did not understand, brought him to tears (42:23-4). His self-identity crisis intensified. As they much later sat to eat bread it continued: “They served him and them separately, and the Egyptians that were eating with him separately, for the Egyptians would not eat bread with the Hebrews” (43:32). Yosef was then separated from the Egyptians, and associated with his brothers – the Ivrim. And as his inner struggle came to its end, as Yosef confided his identity to his brothers, he begged they come closer (45:4). The Hakhamim appropriately captured this moment of closure and acceptance of self-identity when they suggested that the purpose of Yosef’s invitation was to expose to them his circumcision – his true mark of “Ivri” identity.[1]

Several years ago, The New York Times ran an article that examined several successful people in varied walks of life. Interviewing a restaurateur, a tennis champion and a rock star, the authors expected to hear that talent, persistence, dedication and luck played crucial roles in their success. They instead wrote about their surprise to find that self-awareness played an equally strong role. Each person recalled the “wrong path” they inadvertently trekked down at the “low points” of their career, and how their ultimate success was only realized by courageously challenging their assumptions, objectives and goals.[2] We are similarly reminded by the unique telling of Yosef’s story that a periodic self-examination – of our beliefs, missions and goals – is a necessity for success.

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[1] See Rashi’s Commentary, ad loc.

[2] “Secret Ingredient for Success,” by Camille Sweeney and Josh Gosfield, The New York Times, Jan. 19, 2013. Thank you to Marc and Rita Mishan for sharing this article with me.

Parashat Mikess: Yosef's Plan

Listen to last night's class, "Yosef's Plan," here.

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