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We learn from this is that we have to stand up for each other. Be willing to go to great lengths to defend our people.

Yehudah Steps Forward

This week we begin Parashat Vayigash, and we left last week’s parashah on a dramatic cliffhanger.

Binyamin has been framed.
Yosef—still unrecognized by his brothers—has deliberately arranged events so that Binyamin, the youngest brother and the other son of Rachel, appears guilty and is about to be taken as a slave.

This is not cruelty; it is a test.

Yosef remembers exactly what his brothers did to him. He knows that Binyamin now occupies the position he once held:

• youngest son
• child of Rachel
• beloved by their father, Yaakov

The question Yosef must answer is simple but painful:

Have they changed?
Will they defend Binyamin, or will they abandon him the way they abandoned me?

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Yehudah’s Moment of Truth

At this crucial moment, Yehudah steps forward.

This is deeply significant because it was Yehudah who originally suggested selling Yosef:

“Why should we kill him and gain nothing? Let us sell him.”

Now Yehudah confronts the ruler of Egypt and declares, in essence:

• Binyamin will not be taken as a slave
• He will not be imprisoned
• If necessary, they will fight Egypt itself
• Yehudah offers himself in Binyamin’s place

This is full teshuvah—repentance through action.
He faces the same moral test and chooses the opposite path.

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Yosef Reveals Himself

At that point, Yosef can no longer restrain himself.

He sends all the Egyptians out of the room so that he is alone with his brothers, and he says:

“I am Yosef. Does my father still live?”

With those words, everything becomes clear.

The brothers understand:

• Yosef is alive
• Their guilt is real
• Their repentance has been accepted

Yosef reassures them and explains the deeper truth:

What you intended for harm, God intended for good.
This was all part of God’s plan—to place me here as ruler of Egypt during the famine so that our family could survive.

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Yosef and Yehudah: Two Forms of Leadership

At this point, we see a pattern that will repeat throughout Jewish history:

• Yosef represents external leadership
  • The diplomat
  • The one who deals with nations and governments
  • The face of the Jewish people to the world
• Yehudah represents internal leadership
  • Spiritual direction
  • Moral authority
  • The future source of Jewish kingship

When Yaakov is told that Yosef is alive, Yehudah is sent ahead to Egypt—not to rule, but to prepare.

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Settling in Goshen

Yehudah goes ahead to Goshen to:

• Establish places of learning
• Lay the spiritual and communal groundwork
• Ensure Jewish life can survive intact in exile

Yosef provides material security.
Yehudah provides spiritual continuity.

Together, they ensure the future of the Jewish people.

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The Deeper Message

In the end, everyone comes to see:

• Nothing happened by accident
• Every painful moment had purpose
• Even human wrongdoing can be transformed into divine plan

Parashat Vayigash teaches us that true repentance is proven by changed behavior—and that God can weave redemption even out of betrayal.

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Hanukah means bringing light to the world. This is what the Jewish people have done throughout our history.

The reason that on Hanukah we say Hallel while not on Purim is simple. Purim is a celebration that we were not killed. Hanukah is a celebration that we survived as Jews.

Why do we say full Hallel on Hanukkah but not on Purim, even though:

• Both involve miraculous salvation
• God’s Name appears in neither Megillat Esther nor the Hanukkah story explicitly
• Both are joyous festivals with feasting and celebration

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The Talmud’s Starting Point

The question is asked explicitly in the Talmud (Megillah 14a):

“Why is Hallel not said on Purim?”

Several answers are given. Each one adds a layer—but together they lead exactly to the idea you articulated.

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Answer 1: The Megillah is the Hallel

One answer given is:

“Reading the Megillah is its Hallel.”

Meaning: the public retelling of God’s hidden orchestration of events functions as praise.

But as you sensed, this alone doesn’t fully explain the difference, because we also recount miracles on Hanukkah—and still say Hallel.

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Answer 2: We Were Still Subjects of Ahasuerus

Another Talmudic answer:

“After the miracle of Purim, we were still servants of Ahasuerus.”

In other words:

• The decree was annulled
• The Jews survived
• But Jewish sovereignty was not restored

Compare that with:

• Exodus → freedom
• Hanukkah → Jewish religious self-determination

Purim ends with survival inside exile.

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The Deeper Distinction (Your Main Point)

Purim: We Survived

• Physical annihilation was averted
• Jewish lives were saved
• But exile continued
• No Temple restored
• No national-religious transformation

This is why Purim emphasizes:

• Feasting 🍷
• Joy
• Community
• Hiddenness

We celebrate life—but not redemption.

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Hanukkah: Judaism Survived

Hanukkah is not just about survival—it’s about identity.

• The war was against spiritual assimilation, not genocide
• The threat was Hellenization—turning Torah into culture
• Victory meant:
  • Torah remained Torah
  • The Temple was rededicated
  • Jewish worship was restored

As you put it perfectly:

“Not only did we survive—we survived as Jews.”

That is why:

• The menorah is lit publicly
• Hallel is recited
• God is praised openly

Because the mission of Torah continued.

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Why This Matters for Modern Times

This distinction is exactly why there is debate about saying Hallel on:

• Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel Independence Day)
• Yom Yerushalayim (Jerusalem Day)

The argument for Hallel is:

• Not just survival
• But restoration of Jewish sovereignty
• Jewish history moving forward as Jewish history

Just as on Hanukkah.

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Your Holocaust–Brit Milah Connection (Very Powerful)

The image you shared from the Abuhav Synagogue in Tzfat captures this idea beautifully:

• Memorial to Holocaust victims
• Placed above Elijah’s Chair
• Above the symbol of the covenant

The message:

You tried to destroy us.
We are still here.
And still Jews.

That is Hanukkah.
That is Jewish history.
That is why we say Hallel.

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The story of Joseph testing his brothers is important. Did his brothers repent for what hey had done to him? He does this by testing them under similar circumstances. This is how you will know if someone really made repentance.

Joseph and the Test of the Brothers

This week’s parashah presents one of the most fundamental narratives in the Torah. Joseph rises to the heights of power in Egypt, overseeing the nation during the seven years of plenty followed by the seven years of famine. Joseph is placed fully in charge of Egypt’s survival.

It is crucial to recognize what is really happening beneath the surface: the entire Book of Genesis is setting the stage for the Book of Exodus. Everything that unfolds here leads directly to the descent into Egypt and, ultimately, to redemption.

A worldwide famine strikes, and Joseph’s brothers come to Egypt seeking food. Joseph recognizes them immediately, but they do not recognize him. When Joseph was sold into slavery, he was only seventeen years old. Now, many years later, he stands as a powerful, mature man—the second-in-command to Pharaoh himself.

Joseph now faces a profound moral and spiritual question: Have his brothers changed? Would they do to Benjamin what they once did to him? Have they done teshuvah—true repentance?

To answer this, Joseph puts them to the test. He accuses them of being spies and demands proof of their story. If they truly have another brother back in Canaan, he tells them, they must bring him to Egypt. As was common in the ancient world, Joseph detains one brother—Shimon—as a hostage until they return with Benjamin.

The brothers return home and attempt to convince Jacob to allow Benjamin to go with them. Jacob is devastated. In his mind, Joseph was killed by a wild animal, and he cannot bear the thought of losing Benjamin as well. Perhaps, deep down, he even suspects that Joseph’s disappearance was not entirely accidental.

Reuven tries first to persuade Jacob, offering that if Benjamin is harmed, Jacob may kill Reuven’s sons. Jacob rejects this outright: “My grandsons? Am I to kill my own grandchildren?” Beyond that, Reuven consistently fails to rise to true leadership. Though he is the firstborn, he repeatedly demonstrates poor judgment.

It is Yehudah—Judah—who finally convinces Jacob. Judah offers himself as a guarantor. Jacob recognizes in Judah a natural leader, a man who takes responsibility and stands by his word. The episode of Tamar has already revealed Judah’s moral growth and integrity. Because of this, Jacob trusts him.

Now the stage is set for the final confrontation. The brothers return to Egypt with Benjamin, standing before the viceroy of Egypt—whom they believe to be a foreign ruler, not knowing he is their brother Joseph.

The central question remains: Will they repeat the sin of the past, or have they truly changed?
The answer to that question will determine not only the fate of Joseph’s family, but the future of the Jewish people.

The story of Chanukah is that the Jews refused to be “modern”. They obeyed God’s commandments. They view all people as being in the image of God. The Greeks loved beauty and hated disabled people. This is the reason that Jews were against Greek culture.

The Torah informs us that Joseph’s goal was to see if his brothers would behave toward Benjamin the way they behaved toward him. When he saw that they would not he revealed himself to them.

It is interesting to note that throughout Jewish history, our leaders were not the first born. They were individuals who earned their roles as leaders. That is the secret of success.

Leadership Is Earned, Not Inherited

In this week’s parashah, we’re dealing with complex and painful family dynamics. Reuven assumes he is the leader of the brothers—but it becomes clear that he is not.

Reuven proposes putting Yosef into the pit, planning to return later and save him. His intentions may have been good, but leadership is judged by results, not intentions. While he is absent, the real leader emerges: Yehudah. Yehudah sees a caravan approaching and says, “Why should we kill our brother and gain nothing? Let us sell him into slavery.” The brothers listen to him. That tells us everything.

Reuven believes he is the leader, yet the brothers neither respect him nor follow him. Yehudah, on the other hand, is respected—and leadership naturally follows respect. This is a critical Torah lesson: leadership is not determined by birth order or entitlement.

The Torah repeatedly rejects the idea that status is automatic. David HaMelech was the youngest of his brothers, yet he became king. Shlomo was not the firstborn. Moshe was not the firstborn. Again and again, the Torah teaches that merit—not pedigree—determines leadership.

The Torah is fundamentally merit-based. You earn your position; you are not entitled to it. Being a “nepo baby” gets you nowhere in the Torah worldview. Great parents do not guarantee great children. Wealth, power, or lineage mean nothing without responsibility and character.

We see this throughout history as well. America is full of “rags to riches to rags” stories—one generation builds, the next squanders, because they were never taught how to earn or sustain what they inherited.

There’s a famous story about President Calvin Coolidge. His son once worked on a tobacco farm in Ohio. Another worker said to him, “If my father were president, I wouldn’t be working here.” Coolidge’s son replied, “If your father were Calvin Coolidge, you would.” That’s Torah values in action.

And history gives us darker examples too. Suleiman the Magnificent was one of the greatest Ottoman sultans. His son? Selim II—known to history as Selim the Drunk. Greatness is not hereditary.

The message is clear: who your father is does not determine who you will be. Leadership, respect, and greatness must be earned. The Torah does not reward entitlement—it rewards responsibility.

That’s something worth thinking about.

Jacob’s favoritism towards Joseph sets off a chain of events. The other brothers are jealous of Joseph and plot against him. This is a strong lesson to parents to show all their children their love equally.

This week marks a major transition in Sefer Bereishit. Until now, Yaakov has been the central figure. Starting this parashah, he steps into the background. He is still present, but the Torah shifts its focus to the next generation—his sons.

And it begins with one of the greatest mistakes a parent can make: favoritism.

Yaakov openly favors Yosef. He gives him the ketonet passim—often translated as a “coat of many colors,” but more accurately, a long-sleeved, ornamental garment. Yosef’s brothers are shepherds; they work with their hands. You don’t wear long sleeves to do manual labor. This coat wasn’t just clothing—it was a statement: I’m different. I’m above you.

When Yosef arrives wearing that coat and then tells his brothers about dreams in which they bow to him, it only deepens their resentment. At this stage, Yosef is immature—spoiled, even—lording his favored status over his brothers.

And then Yaakov makes another baffling decision: he sends Yosef alone to check on his brothers, fully aware of the tension. How could he not sense their anger?

The result is tragic but formative. Yosef is sold into slavery and sent to Egypt—not as punishment, but as preparation. There, through suffering and responsibility, he will learn what true leadership really means.

Running parallel to Yosef’s story is Yehuda’s. Yehuda is a “good-time” guy, impulsive and self-confident. It takes Tamar—and a painful confrontation—to bring him down to earth. Together, these two narratives show different paths toward growth, accountability, and leadership.

On a personal note, this parashah has special meaning for me. Fifty-three years ago, during infantry basic training in the IDF, our drill instructor stopped us in the Emek and asked, “Do you know what happened here?”
“This is where Yosef was sold by his brothers.”

Anyone who’s been through basic training knows most of it becomes a blur—but that moment stayed with me. Standing there as a young soldier, realizing that my connection to this land goes back to Yosef and his brothers—that was unforgettable.

And that brings us to the core lesson of the parashah:

If you have children, do not show favoritism.
Love them all equally. Treat them all with dignity.
Otherwise, you risk replaying the tragedy that began with Yosef.

Something to think about.

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According to the Ari (Rabbi Yitzhak Luria) Rachel is not buried in Rachel’s Tomb. But because so many people have prayed there over the centuries her spirit hovers over it. It is a case when holiness is created by people.

The Death and Burial of Rachel Imeinu

In this week’s parashah, we encounter the moving account of the death of Rachel Imeinu. Unlike the other Avot and Imahot, Rachel is not buried in the Me‘arat HaMachpelah in Hevron, but rather on the road near Beit Lechem, at what we know today as Kever Rachel. This raises several profound questions.

First, why was Rachel not buried together with the Patriarchs and Matriarchs?

One explanation offered by the commentators is deeply sensitive to human emotion. Yaakov understood the lifelong pain that Leah endured—feeling unloved and living in the shadow of her sister. Although Yaakov loved Leah, his love for Rachel was different and more visible. Yaakov therefore chose to be buried beside Leah, not Rachel, as a way of healing Leah’s pain for eternity and affirming her dignity.

A second question arises: is Rachel actually buried at Kever Rachel at all?

There is a tradition—cited by some authorities—that Rachel may not physically be buried there. When asked why this was not publicly emphasized, the response was striking: so many Jews have prayed there with sincerity that it is as though she truly is there.

This idea is illustrated by a modern parallel. After 1967, Israeli archaeologists conducted extensive studies on what is traditionally called King David’s Tomb. Using every available scientific method, they concluded that no one is buried there. When one of the researchers told his father—who prayed there daily—the father replied, “Your studies are wrong.” When pressed, he explained: How could it be that generations of Jews poured out their hearts there if David were not present in some way?

This teaches a powerful concept:
There are two kinds of holiness:

• Holiness from above, such as Mount Sinai, where God descended to humanity
• Holiness from below, created when human devotion sanctifies a place

Even if a site lacks physical remains, human prayer can invest it with real kedushah. Thus, when one prays at Kever Rachel, Rachel is truly present—in spirit, in memory, and in influence.

Finally, there is a profound national reason for Rachel’s burial location. Rachel is buried along the route taken by the Jewish people during the Babylonian exile. The prophet Yirmiyahu describes Rachel weeping for her children as they pass her grave. According to the Midrash, when God was angered by Israel’s sins, Rachel interceded:

“I allowed my sister to marry my husband and did not protest. If I could overcome my jealousy, surely You can overcome Your anger.”

Moved by her selflessness, God was appeased and promised that her children would return to their land.

Rachel, therefore, is not only a mother who died young—she is the eternal mother of hope, standing on the road of exile and whispering consolation and return.

There is much to reflect on in the death of Rachel Imeinu—about love, sacrifice, holiness, and redemption.

Yehuda had to learn humility before he could become the leader of the family. This happens when he is confronted by Tamar & admits that he is the father of her unborn twins.

This week’s parasha weaves together two intertwined stories: Yosef and Yehuda. At first glance they seem separate, but together they explore a profound challenge of leadership and moral responsibility—particularly around temptation, power, and accountability.

Yosef is sold into slavery and rises quickly in Potiphar’s house. He is capable, trustworthy, and—importantly—good-looking. Potiphar’s wife repeatedly tries to seduce him, but Yosef refuses, declaring that he cannot betray either his master or God. When rejected, she falsely accuses him, and Yosef is thrown into prison. Yosef’s greatness here is self-control—the strength to say no, even when no one is watching and the cost is severe.

Alongside this story is Yehuda and Tamar. Tamar is denied justice when Yehuda withholds his third son from marrying her. Realizing that Yehuda is the leader of the family—and that her future lies within it—she disguises herself, and Yehuda unknowingly fathers her child. When Tamar is accused and brought before Yehuda for judgment, she quietly presents his staff and seal and says, “The man to whom these belong is the father.”

This is Yehuda’s defining moment. He could have denied everything. Instead, he publicly admits, “She is more righteous than I.” With that admission, Yehuda earns true leadership. From Tamar comes Peretz, ancestor of King David—and ultimately the messianic line.

The contrast is striking:

• Yosef masters temptation.
• Yehuda masters responsibility.

Leadership isn’t perfection—it’s honesty.

We see this echoed later in history. Alexander Hamilton, when accused of financial corruption, chose instead to admit to a personal moral failure, fully aware it would damage him politically. Yet history remembers him for his integrity. More recently, a congressman admitted to a past affair while protecting the privacy of those involved—and voters respected his humility and reelected him.

The Torah teaches us that leaders are not defined by never failing, but by owning their failures. Humility, accountability, and moral courage are what make someone worthy to lead.

Something to think about.