Mikeitz ~ Shabbat Hanukkah / 6th Day Rosh Hodesh Tevet
There are two Torah reading cycles. One is continuous through the year. The other provides special selections for sacred days. Although independent of each other, many times I am struck by the connection between the calendar and the annual cycle.
Bereisheet / Creation is read as we begin the new year.
Shirat Ha Yam / Song of the Sea and Tu B'Shevat coincide with the migration of song birds from Africa to Europe through the land bridge of Israel.
Devarim is linked to the Tisha B’Av by the use of the word eikah and the period of rebuke.
The Yosef narrative coincides with H̱anukkah. What is the connection? Other than Yosef’s brother, who shared the same name, Yehudah, with the leader of the Maccabean revolt, what links the two narratives?
1. Beauty—Yosef was known for his beauty. Hellenic culture placed a premium on aesthetics.
2. Siblings—Yosef and his brothers are in conflict. The Hasmonean wars began as a disagreement between Jews about the acceptable degree of Hellenization.
3. Power—Yosef attains power over his brothers, just as the Hasmoneans eventually gained control over Judea.
4. Subjugation—Just as Yosef’s power eventually ebbed and a new Pharaoh arose, so the Hasmonean monarchy ultimately became dependent on Rome. Each led to enslavement.
5. Identity—Yosef retains his religious identity in Egypt. Hasmoneans sought to retain their religious—cultural commitment in Hellenized Judea.
6. Sex—The narratives about Yehudah and Tamara, Yosef and Mrs. Potifar have a sexual frisson. Sexuality played an important role in Greek culture.
7. Clothing—Yosef’s saga is linked to the colourful tunic given by his father, the torn clothing of Mrs. Potifar and the regal garments before Pharaoh. The Hasmonean kings who took on the office of High Priest and dressed in the priestly garb. The Hasmoneans were later criticized for dressing in Hellenic garb.
8. Names—Yosef took on an Egyptian name, Tzafnat Pane’aẖ, just as the Macabees became Aristobulus, Alexandra, Alexander and Antigonus. The Talmud says H̱oni became Menelaus while Joshua became Jason.
9. Language—Yosef spoke Egyptian, just as the Hasmoneans spoke Greek.
10. God—Although Yosef refers to God, the narrative does not have God actively or overtly acting (as was previously the case for the Patriarchs and Matriarchs, as well as for Moshe later). The Hasmonean victory was because of military ingenuity and ability. God is invoked, but only as a source of devotion.
11. Memory—Yosef doesn’t forget his father or his family, just as the Hasmoneans sought to retain the memory of earlier patterns of worship.
I think there is something else. Rabbi Jonathan Chipman writes:
So we return to the question of the Talmud: Mai H̱anukkah? What, in fact, is H̱anukkah all about? . . . the central event of H̱anukkah—the Maccabean revolt—was . . . an act of resistance to the cultural and political hegemony of Hellenism, to the pressures placed on the Jews in Eretz Yisrael . . . to assimilate or acculturate to the dominant Hellenistic culture . . . This can be the quintessential message of H̱anukkah . . . the Jew, who does little more than light H̱anukkah candles, is demonstrating a certain minimal fealty to his ancestral tradition and a certain desire, however tenuous, to enable it to survive. H̱anukkah symbolizes a kind of stubborn Jewish resistance to an all-embracing Western culture.
I think Chipman is correct. Therefore, I would add another parallel between Yosef and the Hasmoneans: restoration and rededication. Yosef’s family is restored and the covenantal mission is resumed, just as the Hasmoneans restored Judean sovereignty and rededicated the Temple.
In keeping with the theme of restoration and rededication, let me conclude with a story told by Elie Wiesel in his book, Legends of our Time. Many years ago, he writes, I visited Saragossa, Spain, a thriving Jewish community prior to the riots of 1391 and the Exile of 1492. I met a man who introduced himself as a Catholic, native to Saragossa, who offered to take me around. As we toured, I disclosed that I was a Jew, a lover of Israel and a Hebrew speaker.
In place of a negative response, the man’s eyes lit up. He told me that he had been waiting all his life for this moment. He brought me into his modest home and showed me an old document on yellowed parchment.
I read and translated words written in Hebrew:
I, Moshe son of Abraham, forced to break all ties with my people and my faith, leave these lines to the children of my children and to theirs, in order that on the day when Israel will be able to walk again, its head high under the sun, without fear and without remorse, they will know where their roots lie. Written at Saragossa, this ninth day of the month of Av in the year of punishment and exile.
Struck by these words from five centuries earlier, I realized that I held in my hands a document that indicated what ordinary Jews in Saragossa felt during the time of the Grand inquisition and Exile. I offered to purchase the document, but this Catholic man refused, saying that it had passed from father to son, generation after generation, for hundreds of years. Even though no one knew what it was, what it meant, or where it came from, they all understood that it held an important secret and great power.
We had little in common. Yet because of the day we shared together, walking the city, talking, examining an ancient family relic, we forged a bond. I told this man: You are a Jew. You are the descendant of the man who wrote these words, Moshe Ben Avraham.
As we continued to talk, I told my Spanish guide the Jewish story, the story of biblical Israel, the destruction of the Second Temple, the exiles and wanderings in the medieval years, what happened at Auschwitz and the miraculous rebirth of the Jewish state 2,000 years later in 1948. The descendant of Moshe Ben Avraham knew none of this. After an intense day, we took our leave.
Years later, Wiesel writes, I was in the Knesset, called to witness a parliamentary debate. As I walked into the building, a man ran over and asked in broken Hebrew:
Do you remember me? Saragossa.
Do I remember you? How could I forget you! Saragossa.
I skipped the debate at the Knesset and spent the afternoon walking with this man in Jerusalem. In a café he told me his story. After I met you, I decided to be who I am. A Jew. I made Aliyah. I live in Jerusalem now. And I have a new name. My name is now Moshe Ben Avraham.
Yosef was apart from family for many years, but ultimately there was a return, a restoration and a rededication. That Jewish story was re-enacted by the Hasmoneans, who sought to restore the ancient traditions—albeit in a new way—and rededicate the defiled Temple.
We are privileged and blessed to carry on the magnificent heritage of Yosef, as well as the hopes and dreams of those who struggled to maintain the miraculous gossamer filament that rekindles and reignites Jewish life in every generation.
Wiesel writes: Some stories may not have happened, but are true. Some stories happen, but are not true. These stories of renewal and rededication are true.
