In 1970 Chaim immigrated to Jerusalem. He applied for a phone in his apartment, but weeks went by without one. Exasperated, he visited the phone company headquarters in the main Post Office in Jerusalem and asked the clerk when his phone would finally be installed.
"Sir," responded to the clerk, "Israel has a major shortage of phone lines. There are Government Ministers, Army Generals, and Hospitals ahead of you who are also waiting for phones to become available."
“So you are telling me that I have no hope of getting a phone?" "Heaven forbid!” said the clerk. As a Jew, I am forbidden to tell you that there is no hope.
“There is always hope.” Excited, Chaim repeated, "There is hope, "There is hope!"
"Yes," explained the clerk, "there is hope, just no likelihood."
In this week's portion Miketz the drama is unfolding. The brothers of Joseph cast him into a pit and then sold him as a slave 21 years earlier. A devastating famine in their region compels them to descend into Egypt, where there is plenty of grain. They come face to face with their long-lost brother, who has since risen to become Prime Minister of Egypt. Joseph accuses them of espionage and imprisons all ten of them for three days. Finally, he offers them to return home, but for one brother who must remain in prison, until they do not return to Egypt with their baby brother, Benjamin, to demonstrate their innocence.
It is at this point, the ten brothers recall the events of two decades ago.
And they said to one another, "Indeed, we are guilty for our brother, for we witnessed the distress of his soul when he begged us, and we did not listen. That is why this trouble has come upon us."
This is the first time we discover that Joseph was begging and pleading with them not to cast him into a pit, and they were mute to his cries. The brothers are deeply in pain. They express profound remorse for their deafness to their brother’s cries. They see their present predicament as a punishment for their own guilt.
So what does their oldest brother tell them at this point: Aha! I told you so! 21 years ago I warned you, but you did not listen. Now you are paying the price. Next time, guys, you listen to me.
It is almost like the couple driving to a wedding. It’s a long trip to another state, and on the road, in the middle of nowhere, they get a flat tire. The husband turns to his wife: “It is my fault; I am so irresponsible. Before we left I saw the tire was low; I should have it checked out! I think I have learned my lesson. I am guilty of this headache.”
And all his wife can say to him at that moment is: “I told you so! Before we left I told you to go to the gas station, but you never listen. Now you are paying for your stubbornness!”
With all due respect, it is not the best response to nurture a good marriage… a little touch on the hand, and reassurance, I am here for you, would have been far more helpful.
The brothers are deeply in pain. They express profound remorse for their deafness to their brother’s cries. They see their present predicament as a punishment for their own guilt.
So what does their oldest brother tell them at this point: Aha! I told you so! 21 years ago I warned you, but you did not listen. Now you are paying the price. Next time, guys, you listen to me.
Okay, Reuven. Thanks. It’s exactly what we need to hear now… What’s your point?
To quote the expression of the Rebbe when he asked this question: Why is Reuven “pouring salt on their wounds?!” They are broken, crushed and introspective. And his only response to them is: I told you so all along! Now you see I was right, and you were wrong.
The Rebbe offered a beautiful answer.
Reuven was not trying to hurt them more, or trying to show how right he was all along. This would not be the time and place for it. Rather, Reuven was pointing out to them how their remorse is still superficial and shallow. He was challenging them to go deeper into themselves.
And Reuben answered them, saying, "Didn't I tell you, saying, 'Do not sin against the child!'” They are saying: We feel so much pain. We are prisoners in Egypt. We are being tormented. It must be that we have sinned against our brother. Reuven says: You are still clueless. Forget your pain! Can you feel the pain that you caused to your brother? Can you understand what he endured? Can you put yourself into his shoes? Can you appreciate HIS experience, not only how his experience impacted you?
There are two types of repentance. One is am remorseful because of what my deeds have done to me. That is a significant step in the right direction, but it is relatively still egocentric and primitive. There is a deeper form of repentance: I am remorseful because I realize what I did to you. I feel your pain, your agony, your distress, and that moves me to reinvent myself, apologize, and begin a new chapter in my life.
A father and his teenager come to see me. They are not getting along. The teen-ager says: I have no father. My father does not care about me; he only cares about himself and his “nachat.” I am another part of his puzzle. The way he treated me, the decisions he made for me, were so abusive and absurd, completely ignoring who I am as a person.
The father says: I must have made mistakes. And I am sorry. I will change my ways in the future.
Sounds amazing. But somehow his son is not moved. Not because of a trauma wound, but because there is still no trust. Does the father feel the pain of his child, or is he responding to his own pain over the fact that his child cut him off? Is it your pain you feel, or your son’s pain you feel? Can you transcend your own orbit and try to feel what the other person is going through, not only how it affects you?
With this explanation, the Rebbe explained an enigmatic story.
One year, on the morning after Yom Kippur, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe went into this father and he asked: What now?
Meaning, what should be my focus now, that Yom Kippur is over?
His father replied:
Now, you must begin to repent!
This seems very strange. Yom Kippur is the day of forgiveness. All is forgiven. Why do I need to repent after Yom Kippur?
Because sometimes I can repent, and repent sincerely, but I still don’t really get it. I am trying to escape my pain, my agony, or my fears. After I go through a Yom Kippur, now I can graduate to the next level: I can actually repent for what I have done; because I feel the pain I caused you. And this is an entirely different experience.
The Rebbe writes the following episode from his life and teachings:
The Alter Rebbe shared his house with his oldest married son, Rabbi Dov Ber. Rabbi Dov Ber was known for his unusual power of concentration. Once, when Rabbi Dov Ber was engrossed in learning, his baby, sleeping in its cradle nearby, fell out and began to cry. The infant’s father did not hear the baby’s cries. But the infant’s grandfather, the Alter Rebbe, also engrossed in his studies in his room on the upper floor at the time, most certainly did. He interrupted his studies, went downstairs, picked the baby up, soothed it and replaced it in its cradle. Through all this, Rabbi Dov Ber remained quite oblivious.
Subsequently, the Alter Rebbe admonished his son: “No matter how engrossed one may be in the loftiest occupation, one must never remain insensitive to the cry of a child.”
This story has been transmitted to us from generation to generation; It was handed down because of the lasting message it conveys, one which is particularly pertinent to our time. It characterizes one of the basic tenets of the Chabad- movement—to hearken to the cry of our distressed Jewish children.
The “child” may be an infant in years, a Jewish boy or girl of school age, fallen from the “cradle” of Torah-true Jewish education, or it may be someone who is chronologically an adult yet an “infant” insofar as Jewish life is concerned, an infant in knowledge and experience of the Jewish religion, heritage and way of life.
The souls of these Jewish “children” cry out in anguish, for they live in a spiritual void, whether they are conscious of this or feel it only subconsciously. Every Jew, no matter how preoccupied he may be with any lofty cause, must hear the cries of these Jewish children. Bringing these Jewish children back to their Jewish cradle has priority over all else.
To paraphrase the words of Reuven: Do not sin against the child! Do not ignore the sobs of the child.
Today, most Jewish organizations believe in outreach. But what is our incentive?
Is it that I believe in outreach because I feel it is the right thing to do; because I am alarmed by the rate of assimilation and I am worried for Jewish continuity; because it makes me feel good; because I seek the reward for this holy work. These are all fine motives. But what the Rebbe is teaching here is something deeper: Can I feel the pain of the child who “fell out of his crib” and is weeping? Can I hear the sob of the millions of young women and men who are pining for true wholesomeness?
When one can hear the sob of the child, their involvement, their level of commitment, their dedication, and most importantly, their success is completely on a different level.
It is no coincidence we read this story during Chanukah. Most Jews living at the time acquiesced to the Hellenist agenda. You can’t fight “city hall,” and of course not a tyrant like Antiyachus, the Syrian-Greek ruler. The Jews surrendered and within a few generations, there would have been no trace left of Jews or of Judaism.
Nobody would have felt guilty, because they were not. They did the best they can under the circumstances.
What saved the day during the Chanukah period, and what will save the day today again, is people who are attentive to the cry of Reuven: “Do not sin against the child”! They do not think about their guilt; they think about the child. That is what drove the Maccabees to stage a revolt against the Syrian Greeks. They cared for the final result, not for their own “paradise” and spiritual security. They could not watch Yiddishkeit and the Jewish people go down—and they stood up. And they won!
Today, we are empowered and summoned to answer the question: Do we know how to tune-in to the heart of another human being in pain? Do I know how to actually try to see and experience, if even only a little bit, what you are going through?
Because of friends, that makes all the difference.
Shabbat Shalom, Happy Rosh Chodesh,
and Happy Chanukah,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
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