The soft, the strong, and the stubborn

Navigating the multiple schools of Jewish leadership in Shabbat Hanukkah/Miketz

(Chava Alberstein, A song of expelling the darkness.)

A soft father, a prince, or the one who leads other to bend the knee? Which one is Joseph? It all depends on how you interpret a single word: אַבְרֵ֑ךְ

We encounter this ambiguous word after Joseph is given a prominent role in the Egyptian government under Pharaoh.

Genesis 41:43

וַיַּרְכֵּ֣ב אֹת֗וֹ בְּמִרְכֶּ֤בֶת הַמִּשְׁנֶה֙ אֲשֶׁר־ל֔וֹ וַיִּקְרְא֥וּ לְפָנָ֖יו אַבְרֵ֑ךְ וְנָת֣וֹן אֹת֔וֹ עַ֖ל כׇּל־אֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃

He had him ride in the chariot of his second-in-command, and they cried before him, “Abrek!” Thus he placed him over all the land of Egypt.

Our French commentator, Rashi, outlines three potential meanings for this word:

1. The Targum teaches: “This is the father (counsellor) of the king”. In Aramaic (some editions read in Roman i.e. Latin) רך means king (rex).

2. Rabbi Judah explained: אברך is appellation for Joseph who was אב “a father” in wisdom and רך “tender” in years.

3. Rabbi Jose the son of a woman of Damascus said to him: “How much longer will you pervert for us the meaning of Scripture? The word אברך can only be connected with the word ברכים knees (i.e. “Bend the knee”), for all came in and went forth only by his permission, just as it states “and he set him [over all the land of Egypt]”.

Whenever there is a debate in our tradition, there is always the temptation to ask, “yeah, but which one is right?” While Rabbi Yose has clearly lost patience and thinks that the Hebrew rendering is the obvious one, there is no reason to think that the Egyptians would have yelled a Hebrew salutation at Joseph, who by this time, already had an Egyptian name. The truth of the matter is that we don’t know which translation is correct, but we do know that each interpretation teaches us something about how each commentator views leadership.

Joseph is one of the most esteemed figures in the Hebrew Bible who gets an astounding amount of airtime in Genesis. Each commentator not only tries to interpret the Hebrew, but also attempts to put their particular gloss on the nature of Joseph’s character and legacy. For the Targum, fatherly wisdom is the greatest element of leadership. For Rabbi Judah, there is something essential about the balance between wisdom and youth, strength and tenderness. And for Rabbi Jose, it is about the power to make others bend to you and your will. While all three translations can co-exist, there is also a tension among them as well. Sheer dominance lives in tension with fatherly wisdom and youthful tenderness. The way in which we read our ancestors tells us something about how we want to view ourselves, our lineage, and the core components of Jewish identity.

This debate comes to life both when interpreting Joseph, and also when describing the essence of Hanukkah. Is this a holiday about Maccabean might or the soft glow of miraculous divine light? This debate is as old as rabbinic literature, and rages on until today. In particular, dovish Diaspora (and some Israeli) Jews tend toward the rabbinic read, preferring a story of light and miracles. There is a real resistance to glorifying Jews who enforced religious norms violently on their assimilated brethren, and who used military might and sexuality to bring an empire to heel, only to establish a corrupt polity once they had assumed power. There is also a desire to reduce any friction with the public, American, secularized themes of X-Mas, which center of miracles and light.

In Israel and more particularist circles, however, there is less embarrassment about an embrace of Maccabbean might. Even though Hanukkah itself has always taken on the trappings of the non-Jewish holidays around it, a central theme of the festival is the right to be different and to fight to control our own identity and destiny. Yes, they would admit: the exercise of political and military power is always messy and surfaces the core paradoxes of religious leadership, but we should still celebrate assuming the power to chart our own course and preserve the space needed to maintain a distinct way of life.

So, which read is right? Which picture of Joseph do we adopt and which read of Hanukkah should guide us in this season? While I do try and hold all of these readings in tension, I will say that I do appreciate some reads more than others. And, as usual, I appreciate the unexpected interpretations the most. I’ve been intrigued by many liberal Jews who have reclaimed a fighting spirit after a lifetime of eschewing the Maccabee spirit after seeing the unprecedented threat to Jews worldwide. My interest has also been piqued by Israelis who generally have been proud of Israel’s strength, but who now increasingly see “life by the sword” as a spiritual and political dead end. These folks are now speaking the language of light and miracles more, and of military might less.

I would say that for this year in particular, the struggle for the meaning of Joseph and the battle defining the essence of Hanukkah should challenge all of us. One way that we should engage with this struggle is to “try on” the read that feels the most unnatural and ill-fitting to us. Pay special attention to those who are adopting the meanings and signs that you wouldn’t expect. Sit in the contradictory spheres that our tradition holds proximate to one another, and strive to understand why those who have lived different Jewish lives in different Jewish locales might be adopting a different read than you. It might lead to an internal battle the the midst of many external wars, but both the internal battle and the external wars matter. Our mission as Jews is to hold onto enough hope, light, wisdom, tenderness, and strength to engage in necessary battles while still maintaining enough energy and hope to light a candle in the darkness — especially when we cannot imagine its light could ever endure.

Shabbat Shalom and Hanukkah Sameach!

What I’m reading:

1. Shaul Kelner’s newest piece in Sapir on Zionism and the academy.

2. Rachel Sumekh in Hey Alma on Iranian and Jewish traditions.

3. Just finished Octavia Butler’s The Parable of the Sower.