Boulder Aish Kodesh

From the time of Avraham, it was known that a time of exile would come upon his descendents. It was not known when it would begin or when it would end, but it was known that it would be a time of poverty and affliction, as G-d said to Avraham, “You shall surely know [that you will inherit this land], for your progeny will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and they will enslave them, and they will afflict them …. And then they will leave with great wealth” (Gen. 15:13,14). Even at the time of that prophecy, Avraham did not know when it would begin or where it would be, as Rashi points out there.

In ensuing generations, the nature of the prophecy’s fulfillment was not known. R’ Tzaddok HaCohen has Yehudah standing in front of Yosef in Parshat Vayigash calculating different permutations of that prophecy – one possibility was that Ya’akov himself had fulfilled it during his time with Lavan. Another was that Yosef had indeed been sold into slavery and had therefore fulfilled the prophecy. Another was that Yehudah would replace Binyamin in prison and fulfill the prophecy himself. From this we see that this gloomy prophecy was hanging over the heads of Avraham and his descendents for four generations now. It was clear from the original prophecy that this period of exile would result in amassment of great wealth as well as in the inheritance of the land of Israel. That time of exile would prove to be essential for the future of Avraham’s nascent tribe.

Such a dark cloud standing inevitably in one’s future but whose specifics remain ambiguous would wreak havoc upon one’s sense of standing. It would seem impossible to commit to any particular approach to life, seeing that any face one presents toward the approaching darkness will be uprooted in some way at some time. Such a situation casts one into genuine uncertainty. King Shlomo, in Ecclesiastes, and many later existentialists, struggled with this problem.

This is, after all, the situation we find ourselves in, in microcosm. Patterns of summer’s glory passing to autumn and forgotten by winter, of the waxing and waning of the moon, and the ebb and flow of tides, the birth of new life and its inevitable passage into death, patterns such as these are built not only into the world of nature but also into human experience. Great ideas are born and become old, love turns to habit, passion ceases, youth dwindles. But need there be but one cycle in the entirety of a person’s life? Must we see Death as the only death, and Birth as the only birth? Or dare we die a bit more often and be born again every time? This is the challenge facing Avraham’s family: we know Death is looming for us. How shall we live in the face of that? Or, alternatively, how can we harness this awesome cycle that Nature provides?

At essence, the point of exile or darkness in every cycle is characterized by lack of clarity. A path that was heretofore clear and exposed has been covered over. The obvious steps in fulfillment of destiny come to a halt – as it did for Yosef,t he master of dreams, as he was tossed into the pit – leaving a gaping open space. When the pain of the fall subsides, someone who can see in the dark will notice that this open space has more dimensions than the path that led to it did – but many of us never let go of that pain and the blame of the fall.

That space we experience in exile has a Kabbalistic terminology – malchut. It is the name of the 10^th sefirah, which is open and empty. Malchut is often associated with speech, which is a primary form of emergence from the hidden worlds of thought and feeling into the world of inter-action. Speech implies an other, a listener. And an other implies all sorts of complicated thoughts, feelings, projections, fears, and anxieties. It implies one outside of myself that I cannot control. Thus malchut is a scary place to be. It is certainly far easier to live all of one’s life stuck in one’s thoughts or emotions. It might seem to be more pleasant if there was no such thing as space, or exile. But such a life does not know the joy of true relationship.

True relationship only occurs in the empty space between two different beings. Each participant leaves the comfort of the known and enters the space of the unknown. There, each participant risks being transformed – there will be no possibility of return to the known, for the known no longer exists. A new world is created, as Rebbe Nachman describes in Likutei Moharan I 64:4. Exile is the place of interaction with the unknown where a new knowledge is born.

Ya’akov has spent much of his life walking through this dark, open space. He incepted the evening prayer, which we say as mysterious night approaches. He has tangled with difficult characters and challenging situations from the beginning. He has struggled in that open space, and he has succeeded in emerging full and complete (Gen. 33:18, Rashi). His name, Yisrael, indicates his capacity and willingness to wrestle in relationship. And, yet, Ya’akov has carried with him a sense of his life’s bitterness. As he summed up his own life to Pharaoh, “The days of my wanderings have been 130 years, few and bad (ra’im)…” Certainly one’s struggles with powerful Others in open space can be frustrating.

But we find that bitterness is not the lasting taste in his mouth. We find Ya’akov saying, as he blesses Ephraim and Menasheh, “The angel who redeemed me from all harm (rah)…” It is clear that, as the end of his life draws near, Ya’akov does not feel permanently harmed by those events of his life that seemed at the time to be negative. In fact, it seems that his perception of those events has been transformed in light of his reunion with Yosef. Somehow he has managed, after all that, to reach a place in himself called “Life”.

Seeing as Ya’akov has lived through a period of intense darkness and has emerged to experience a truly enriched life – in exile, no less – he becomes our guide to that transition. It is clear from Rashi’s comment on the first verse of the Parsha that Ya’akov is the bearer of that guidance: “Why is this parsha ‘closed’ [meaning that the customary space between parshas in the Torah is absent between Parshat Vayigash and Parshat Vayechi]? For, when Ya’akov died, the eyes and hearts of Israel were closed because of the agony of servitude imposed upon them. Another reason is that he sought to reveal to them the end, and it was hidden from him.” (Rashi 47:28)

Ya’akov knows that he has experienced the process of moving through darkness to light, and he wants to pass that know-how on to his children. Thus, on the very last day of his life, he calls his to children and tells them, “Gather together, and I will tell you what will happen with you in the end of days…” But immediately, says Resh Lakish in Gemarra Pesachim 56a, the Divine Presence left him (that same lack of clarity he experienced when Yosef was lost to him) and he was unable to tell them what he wanted to tell them. According to R’ Tzaddok HaCohen of Lublin, Ya’akov wished to tell them not only that there is no light but that which comes from darkness, but just how that darkness turns to light. This he was unable to communicate to them, as the Divine Presence left him.

But as Ya’akov has now grown accustomed to, and unafraid of, this type of darkness, he changes tactics. He realizes that there is no real way to communicate exactly how that transition happens. But now, at the very moment of teaching-turned-disappointment, he can show them how one deals with darkness. After all, it cannot be told, but must be experienced in order to be grasped.

As each encounter with true Other-ness in a truly open space is unique, there can be no magic formula to turn it into light. But this does not mean that a person must enter the Unknown empty-handed. There is a map available that points the way. But the map is inherently personal, for we each encounter Mystery in a unique way. The map does not describe what the darkness is and how it can be transformed. It is more a map of ourselves, and how we can navigate the difficult journey from isolation into relationship – from our thoughts and feelings toward true dialogue, characterized by an open heart and positive disposition. It might outline harmful tendencies that would prevent us from entering that space – like judgment, anger, depression, blame, or over-intellectualization. It might indicate personal strengths that must be recognized and brought to the fore, such as courage, charisma, and humility, that can help us bring forth the bets we have into the relationship. The map will be different for each of us, as each of us departs from a different place to arrive at the center.

Thus Ya’akov, on the brink of darkness himself, blesses his children not with what the darkness is, but with who they are. Each receives a sense of their own character – for some, like Reuven, Levi, and Shim’on, it is a warning about a character trait that could prove dangerous. For others, it is a sense of vision as to who they are or could be.

It is the very sense of identity that is in peril in Egypt – as individuals and as a nation. As R’ Tzaddok writes, the negative force that is Egypt attacks one’s ability to contemplate with one’s heart and mind – one becomes distracted from self-generated purpose by the burden of involvement with one’s tasks. But by Ya’akov’s blessing, the Jewish people are given the sense that, even if they do not have the luxury of contemplation, they will survive by maintaining integrity of character. Similarly, as a people, the Israelites maintain their national character not by learning, mitzvoth, and praying, but by holding fast to their uniqueness – the Midrash mentions their clothing and their names as a manifestation of this commitment.

At the bottom of every exile is the solid ground of true identity. For better or worse, we usually touch that solid ground only at times of distress – when we are forced to do so. But the cycle of Jewish life has a sense of exile built in to the daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly calendars. It is also infused into the natural rhythms of a life truly lived. In the span of the year, there are times of emptying, like the 9^th of Av and Rosh Hashanah, A new month calls for a person to look toward the previous month as it passes in search of essential self. The time before the weekly Shabbat, according to the Ari Z”L, should be spent clarifying one’s self in order to enter into Shabbat spiritually clean. Every day is a microcosm of the original creation, and therefore allows us to access the amazing feeling of emptiness before creation at the time of Minchah (see Likutei Halachot of Rebbe Natan Laws of Minchah 7). At all of these times, we are meant to find a sense of self that is unchanged and unchanging, that does not perish under the hardships of exile.

This cycle is built in to the cycle of marriage as well. As a woman’s menstrual cycle brings her to bleeding, she and her husband separate from physical relations. This forces them to communicate in other ways – to find in themselves and in each other a love that it not dependent upon any specific expression. The true nature of their bond, or lack thereof, must emerge at that time.

The spaces we experience, be they between people, between two cities, or between moments of clarity, are essential moments in the cycle of life. The space is a womb. Ya’akov’s guidance allows his children to move courageously through it, and they emerge infinitely stronger and more capable. As R’ Tzaddok points out, the exile in Egypt allows Israel to experience the highest revelations of G-d at the parting of the sea and the giving of the Torah. If we do not accept this cycle, we will spend our lives at the bottom of a pit or at the back of a cave, basking in the light of a dead star, calling it day.