blogs/rabbi-huberman

Relationships between fathers and their children are, perhaps, among the most complex of all human dynamics.

Traditionally, fathers serve many roles. They are protectors and providers. They are fixers, guardians and dragon slayers. They walk the line between strength and compassion.

It’s a tough job, made even more difficult by the fact that dads are only human.

Obviously, since my Father’s passing two weeks ago, I have reflected much about his life.

As I mentioned in my public recollections, Dad straddled two generations—one with roots in the old country and the other with its head in the modern world.

In many ways, my Dad was probably not very different from yours. And my sadness is not unique, compared to what you and all of humanity have felt since the dawn of time. 

Was my Father’s life a success? Yes, successful in many ways—but not perfect. 

My loss and these reflections are not uncommon. Indeed, Jewish tradition—in step with human instinct—causes us to reflect during this time of shiva and shloshim (30 days) about the nature of life itself. 

Judaism has its rituals of comfort. But, to be honest, I hate the mourner’s beard I’ve been growing. It is itchy and white and reminds me of my own mortality. 

I am forbidden from indulging in music or other things that bring joy to the senses. For this period, I am not the comforter, but rather the comforted—in appreciation of the cards, donations, texts and emails so many of you have shared.

I thought about Dad as I reviewed this week’s parashah, which highlights a remarkable incident of forgiveness toward perhaps Judaism’s most famous father—Jacob. 

It is Jacob—earlier named Israel—upon whose shoulders we stand. Indeed, we are all Children of Israel. 

The Torah invites us to Egypt, where Jacob’s sons are caught in an impossible predicament. Their brother, Joseph—unrecognizable to them and having been “given up for dead”—is now Egypt’s Prime Minister, and he toys with them. 

The sons are looking for food, and Joseph holds the key to the silo. Joseph frames the brothers, accusing them of stealing a palace goblet. 

And while the details of the alleged crime are being sorted out, Joseph demands a sign of good faith. He tells the brothers to return with Benjamin who did not make the journey. He is their youngest sibling, and Jacob’s new favorite son. 

In many ways, Joseph’s request is horrid, highlighting Jacob’s continued imperfection.

Shouldn’t Jacob have learned his lesson by now? Why, following the loss of Joseph two decades earlier, is Jacob still choosing favorites?

How the remaining brothers must have resented both Benjamin and their father. 

Yet, over time, they—as perhaps many of us—come to understand that fathers are not perfect. They are for the most part, good, but they are, above all, human, like all of us—prone to errors, biases and imperfections.

Judah steps forward, and in an incredible sign of empathy begs Joseph to spare Benjamin for the sake of their father. 

Says Judah, “The boy cannot leave his father, if he were to leave him, his father would surely die.” (Genesis 44:22)

How incredible. Imagine what must have been going through Judah’s mind as he seeks to protect his father, at the expense of himself and his brothers.

Over time, Judah has perhaps realized that dads are not without flaws, and rather than sacrifice Benjamin to save their own lives, Judah chooses to spare his father’s potential life-ending pain.

At this point, Joseph reveals his identity.

Egypt’s head of state begins to sob. “I am Joseph,” he cries. And what are his next words?

“Is my father still well?” (Genesis 45:3)

What follows is a scene of revelation and reconciliation, peppered with guilt, regret and shame.

But what unites the brothers is their combined acceptance, understanding and concern for their father.

Was Jacob perfect? No. But over time, the brothers learned --perhaps through their own errors, Joseph’s initial arrogance and their plot to throw Joseph and his technicolor coat into a pit of death—that we are all on a journey dotted with flaws and faults.

So many people on earth obsess about changing the personalities and behavior of others. But ultimately, change is up to each individual.

And while we crave perfection among those around us, ultimately, we eventually understand that we can only change and improve ourselves.

There is much more to celebrate as we review the life of Jacob, or for that matter all fathers. As children, we initially regard our parents as perfect—eventually overcoming the disappointment when we realize that they aren’t.

So, this week, as we witness Judah’s wisdom and compassion for his father, Jacob, let us also take a moment to celebrate our own parents. 

For they did the best they can with what they had.

Most of all, at the end of their time, let us acclaim what they did right, while feeling compassion for the lessons not fully completed.

For we are all here—paraphrasing the words of the great sage, the Vilna Gaon (1720-1797)—to “make ourselves into something better.” 

And so, this week’s Torah portion inspires us to consider the life journey of all our dads—living and passed.

You were not perfect, but you did the best you could with what you had. 

This week’s parashah, and Judah’s act of empathy and understanding reminds us that we are all Children of Israel.

Thank you, dads, for the gift of life—and for making us the sons and daughters who we are.

For through your victories and setbacks, we are who we are because of you.

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman