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I just want to start off by reminding us that, and even though I know everybody knows this, it's always good to repeat this. When we speak about these stories in Chumash And we're speaking about very big tzaddikim. We should not for one second think that these tzaddikim that we're speaking about were operating at our level. We have no idea what it means to be one of the shvatim. We can't possibly imagine their greatness. And the challenge of having these conversations in a deep way is that the Torah is speaking to us, transmitting timeless messages for us to grow from and learn from. But sometimes, in our attempt to understand these stories in a very real human way, we could make the mistake of thinking that these were like people like us. So I just want to make it absolutely clear. Even though in today's shir we're going to be speaking using a lot of psychological language, I don't mean to indicate on any level that the shvatim were anything but unbelievable tzadikim. And if you hear me leaning towards speaking about it in a very human way, it's only because, as I once heard from Rav Meir Shlaimberger, Torah was for us. Torah was to speak to us. So sometimes as a pshat. And like the pshat is here, it's very high, and sometimes we bring it down into our own avodas Hashem.
So we use our own language to be able to process these things. Does that make sense? So just at the outset, I just want to—it's like a disclaimer. It's an apology. I'm not chas v'shalom saying anything negative about the avos. Baruch Hashem, I had a wonderful mesira from my rebbe, and my rebbe was so careful the way that he spoke about the avos. It's important. If they're like angels, then we're like people. But if they're like people, then we're like donkeys, as Chazal say. So I don't want to be that. So let's make sure to remind ourselves always that the Shvatim were massive tzaddikim, the likes of which we've never seen in our lives. With that in mind, let's look at the story. The story happens at the very end. This is the siyum basically of Parshas Vayichii, the siyum of Sefer Bereishis. And it doesn't necessarily end on the most rosy Positive note.
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This is not Disney. At the end, it's not everybody lives happily ever after. The Torah speaks to us in a very real way. Some stories have very complex endings, and so the story of Yosef and his brothers has a very complex ending. Yaakov Avinu dies first. I'm going to read the pesukim just straight so that we have the story, and then we're going to go into some of the Rashi's and we're going to unpack it piece by piece. Let's look at what happens. Yaakov Avinu dies Va'yiru ache Yosef kimei saviim, and Yosef's brothers saw that their father had died. Va'yomru lu yistemenu Yosef, v'hashav Yosef lanu as kol harash egamalnu also. Now they said, perhaps Yosef is nursing hatred towards us. Perhaps he bears resentment. Perhaps he's been holding on to this resentment for all of the last seventeen years. And now he's finally going to take his revenge. By the way, I'm not reading every pasuk. I'm just going to read some of the pasukim that we're going to be analyzing.
So what do they do? Vayitzavu al Yosef lemor. They had the following message conveyed to Yosef HaTzaddik. Avichot sivul ifne moso lemor. Our father gave us this instruction before he died. Meaning, they're coming to Yosef Atzadig and saying, 'I want to let you know. Before Dad died, he told us a message—a message to give to you. What's the message?' Ko Tomru li Yosef. This is what you must say to Yosef. Ana sana pesha achecha vechatasem hira gimalucha veata sana lefesha abdei lo ke avicha veyef Yosef v'dabram elav. Please forgive your brother's crime. And their transgressions for having treated you so harshly. Please forgive this crime of the servants of the God of your father. And as the messengers spoke to Yosef Hazadik, what was Yosef doing? Vayef Yosef. He was crying while the messengers were giving Yosef Hazadik this message. Very, very mirageish, very emotional. What's going on over here?
And now the brothers also go in, in addition to the messengers. They throw themselves at the feet of Yosef HaTzaddik. We are your servants. You hear? You hear what's going on over here? They're terrified of Yosef HaTzaddik. They say, "Our dad gave us this message. Don't hurt us. Forgive us." They come in. They fall on the floor and say, "We are your servants." And what does Yosef Hatzadik say back to them? And these are the last words in the recorded Torah that Yosef says to his brothers before Yosef himself passes away. Yomer Alehem Yosef Altiro Kihatachas Elokim Anochi. Yosef says to them, "Don't be afraid. Am I in place of Hashem?" Ve'atem chashav to malayra. You intended to do me harm. Elokim chashav la'tovva. And Hashem had it all planned out for the good. That now, when the famine hits, you are going to be with me. And Joseph the tzaddik says, 'Have no fear; I will provide for you and your young children.' And he comforted them and he spoke reassuringly to them.
And that's the end of the story. And that. It's almost deeply tragic. Could you imagine? This is what happens. Yosef HaTzaddik, at the end of Yaakov's life, his brothers come and they say "Please don't kill us." You know what that means? That means for all that time, this was their relationship. This was their relationship. And in the end, what does Yosef HaTzaddik say to them? Don't worry. You thought terrible things. God had a good plan. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of your young children, and He spoke nicely to them. That's the end of the story. It's very strange, end of the story, and it begs to be unpacked. So what I'd like to do with you tonight is as follows. I want to go through each one of these pesukim and try to analyze the dynamics. Again, I'm not speaking about the avos. The avos were tzadikim. The shvatim were tzadikim. Yosef the tzadik was an unbelievable tzadik. Everybody's amazing. But for us to try to understand from this story, what do the dynamics of a relationship look like, especially when things have gone awry?
So we're going to go pasuk by pasuk here. So far, so good. That was a pretty good amine. That was a pretty good amine. If I had said, I give you a bracha that you all get a shidduch, you might have said it a little bit more powerfully. We'll take that as an amine. Let's go through the first thing. What's strange about these words? Let's translate the words slowly. They saw. Who's they? Achay Yosef doesn't say the Shvatim. What does it say? And the brothers of Yosef saw that their father died. If you were writing the Torah, how would you say that? I would have said And Yaakov died. But that's not what the Torah tells us. The brothers of Yosef saw that their father had died. What does that mean? They saw that their father had died. Their father died. It's a very strange way of saying. And Jacob Avinu died. And the brothers of Yosef saw that their father had died. So Rashi picking up on this strange textual anomaly tells us an unbelievable backstory. Listen to the backstory that Rashi says. Rashi is so precious. If you learn the words of Rashi well and carefully, the secrets that are in the Torah are right there.
It's right there. You just have to focus on them. People read Rashi very quickly. You have to look at every word of Rashi. So listen what Rashi says. Mahu vayiru. What does it mean? They saw. Listen to the words of Rashi. He kiru b'misaso etzel Yosef. They saw that with their father's death. Something in Yosef changed. Now we're getting a little bit of a different picture here. It wasn't just that Yaakov Avinu had died. When Yaakov Avinu died, Yosef started behaving differently. And what was the difference? I always wondered this. If you were the brothers, where did you have lunch? Necessarily, where did they have lunch? I thought, growing up, if I didn't read this Rashi, what would I have thought? What would you have thought? At home. Where they live? Goshen. I thought, growing up, if I didn't know this Rashi. Before you learn, when you get older, I am. I never knew that they had family meals. I didn't know that they had family dinner.
It seems from this Rashi that what would they do? They would get together for family meals. Isn't that beautiful? It's amazing. Families should do that, by the way. If you could do that, family meals—that's like a critical part of raising a family. How you regilim lissod asochano shayosef vahim karvan b'shvil kvod aviv. And what would he do? Yosef would draw his brothers close. He would befriend them. Why? Because of the kvod to their father. In other words, when they were having these family meals, what was Yosef Patzadik doing? He was joking around with them. He was a brother. He was having a good time. Obviously, I don't mean it like that. These were big tzadikim, but I mean he treated them like brothers. How do brothers speak? They're nice. They're friendly. They're warm. That's how Yosef Patzadik behaved. Why did he behave that way? What does Rashi say? Because he loved his brothers?
That's not what Rashi says. Rashi says because of kibud av. That's a very different story now. Umishem meis Yaakov, and now that Yaakov dies Lo kerva. Now all of a sudden he's not acting so friendly to them. This is a very different story. Rashi is telling us why the brothers were afraid. Because they said, wait a second, we see that Yosef never forgave us. That's a very different story. The Torah didn't tell us that story out loud. The Torah only hints to that story. But when I told you the story a minute ago, how did I tell you the story? I told you the story that Yaakov died, and the brothers were now afraid that Yosef was harboring resentment. But Rashi adds something from that one word, vayiru, vayiru achay Yosef, that the brothers saw. What did they see? They said something has changed in the dynamic of this relationship.
That's a very, very important part of the story. Now who sounds more right? Beforehand, when I told you the story, who sounded more right? I thought Yosef HaTzaddik sounded more right. I authentically forgave you. I don't know where this is coming from. But now that I know this Rashi, if I was the Shvatim, I'd be concerned that Yosef HaTzaddik was going to exact his revenge. It used to be that he was friendly to me, and now he's not friendly anymore. I would say, what changed? Dad died. Tad died. He must have been waiting to get us the entire time. Now it makes sense. What am I going to do? I'm going to send messengers to tell my brother that don't kill us. And I'm going to throw myself at my brother's feet. I'm your servant. I'm terrified of you. And now Yosef had Zavik acting bewildered.
Hashem had a plan. Don't worry. I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to take care of your children. It's like I don't know. The Shvatim seem to have a fairly reasonable excuse to be nervous. So I want to share with you something that I think is very profound and powerful. Really Yosef HaTzaddik had no resentment towards his brothers whatsoever. Really, when he said to his brothers, 'Ani Yosef Hayoda Vichay,' you remember that? You remember that in Parshas VaYigash? It's a very long time ago. Remember in Parshas Vayigash, a Niosev Oel de Vichai, and the brothers all went like this. They went, oh. And what did Yosef the Tzaddik say to them? It's all good. Hashem had a plan. Yosef really meant it. He 100% meant it. Yosef had no resentment whatsoever. So why is this coming up? There's a word. It's a powerful word. We all do this.
It's called projection. And from the five of you that just shook your heads like this, that means you are intimately familiar with projecting your feelings onto others. You really have a very special place in my heart. I want you to know that somebody came to me at the Yarchei Kallah and they said, "I love your Shir and Toma Devora." There's somebody there that has the best laugh. I said, "I know, right? It's great." I know, but I'm saying it's a beautiful thing, a beautiful laughter, and I know who it is. There's somebody in Torma Devora that has a beautiful laugh. I said this is the truth about Torma Devora. Nobody thinks I'm funny except here. It's very special to me. And somebody else came to me. They said, I listen to all your shiurim. I know what a Torma Devora moment is. You must listen to all the shiurim.
What does projection mean? Projection means that I tell a story about you that's really about me. I tell a story that's about you that's really about me. I want to suggest to you a pshat in Rashi, and I think this pshat is a hundred percent true. The brothers saw. What does it mean? Why does it say the brothers saw? The Torah doesn't say this is what happened. What does it mean the brothers saw? It means they saw. What do you see? You see through your own lenses. So if you're wearing lenses that say something to you, it's like if you're wearing pink lenses, the world is pink. If you're wearing green lenses, the world is green. If you're wearing lenses that say "I've done a terrible thing. I sold my brother as a slave." Now none of us have ever done that. I hope. None of us have ever done that. None of us have ever sat on a bezden and said.
That one's got to die. And then we threw our siblings into a pit of snakes and scorpions, and then we said, no, let's just sell them as a slave. Even though Yosef forgave them, the brothers never forgave themselves. Even though Yosef 100% forgave them, when he said, "Oni Yosef ha'oda bichai," they recoiled in terror. What does he do? He goes, "Guys, it's okay." But really, for the entire time that they were down in Mitzrayim Every time they sat down at their brother's table, they would listen to the words of Rashi and go to eat at his table. And he would act friendly towards them. Why? Because he was honoring his father, who was telling that story. Yosef wasn't friendly to his brothers because of his. He was being nice to his father. Yosef was being friendly to his brothers. Why? Because they were his brothers and he genuinely forgave them, but what was their experience at the table?
Their experience at the table is he's only doing it because our father is around and he's being mechabit our father. And now that Yaakov Avinu died, Ume Shemes Yaakov lo karvon. It means they sat down at his table like they always did. But now anything that was different, they were hypersensitive to. Any word, any little word that they said, was that as friendly as before? Was that exactly the way it was before our father died? Is now the time that he's coming to get us? I submit to you that Yosef Hatzadik did not change one kihuzeh, and the love that he had for his brothers before their father died and after his father died was exactly the same. But because in their minds they're sitting there going, "We sold you as a slave. There's no way you could possibly forgive us. Even the greatest tzaddik in the world must have some centilla of resentment that they're harboring in their heart. Surely now you're going to come and get us." I imagine almost a scene like afterwards, "Did you notice that Yosef was behaving differently?"
"Yeah, I noticed that Yosef was." "Did you see how he said that?" "You ever do that, by the way?" "You ever do? You ever do like that thing where you go like, 'Did you see how she said that?'" And it's like, I noticed that, right? And you start to become like a brisker lambdin, analyzing every single word that girl said. It's like when girls go on a date, yeah, and a boy says something, and they come home and they have seven hours of unpacking what he meant. You know what he meant? Nothing. He meant absolutely nothing. A guy comes home from a date. And he goes to his roommate. Roommate, how was the date? He was good. You think she's the one? I think so. That's the whole conversation. Or. Or nah I don't know. That's the whole conversation. It's one of three options. It goes, I think I'm going to marry her. I'm not sure, or it's not going to happen. That's all. Seven hours later, the girls are like When he said that he thinks like his Shabbos table, what he would like to see from us, did he mean like does he think that we're in us already? I don't know if we're because I'm not ready to be in us.
And then like your, and then the roommate goes back like. I think it would be helpful if you found a sense of strength to be able to say that I like you, but I'm not sure if we're in yet. You come back on the date and you're like, when you said that last week, he goes, wait, what did I say? Because it's happening inside the vortex of the chaos of our own lives. So we're sitting here, living a life inside our heads that's radically different than the life happening outside of ourselves. You get into a fight with a roommate, and now all of a sudden, it's every single little word that is getting unpacked, and it's like, 'Did you see?' And afterwards, she walks on. Did you see how she spoke to me? No. That's because you weren't listening. Oh no, I was listening. I was there. I'm just not going through the same trauma that you are in this moment.
This is what was happening. Yosef didn't change. Yosef had legitimately forgiven them, but the Torah is telling us something unbelievably insightful about the dynamics of a relationship after somebody has done something they're not proud of. After they've behaved in a way that lacked dignity, the question is how do you participate in that relationship at the end? That is a very, very powerful thing to consider because every one of us has behaved that way. Every one of us has been in a relationship where at some point we just lost it on the other person. You ever do that? Absolutely lose it on the other person. Let's say I'm making up a story. Let's say your roommate changed the temperature. Let's say, for whatever reason, you had a bad day and just nothing is going right and you saw them just do this on a thermostat. The one click. And then you go like this. You go, you are so selfish. And you know what? I'm tired of not saying it.
And everybody thinks about you. The temperature always has to be at your temperature, and you have no consideration for other people. And you know what? Everybody walks on eggshells. Am I going too far? Not even close. Everybody walks on eggshells around you. Everyone's terrified, but I'm sick of being afraid. You finally need to hear it. And the girl's like, and you're like, no. There's no excuses, and you start to see tears well up in her eyes. But this train is already going off the rails, and you're like, full speed ahead, because your anger is like up to here. And you're like, I don't even know what it's going to be like for you to have a husband, because we're going right. And then, and I feel badly for your children, right? And it's like. And this is a beautiful Toma Devora moment. Do not go there.
We're not going to unpack it together as a group. It's not anybody else's business. You walk out of the room in a huff. You know that move where you walk back into the room afterwards and now you have to look at that person in the face. And you're realizing What did I just do? And even though maybe you've been in Talmud Torah for four months, you're probably working on yourself. You have all the ifs language now. You're sitting there like Of course it is. Change the words, change the thoughts, change your intentions. Moshe kibel Torah misina, umasrli yoshua, umasrli richard schwartz, and now Torah has become IFS. So you come back into the room and you sit down and you go I don't actually feel that way. There was a part of me that I allowed to sit in the driver's seat, and I know I need to work on this. But at the end you sit down at the table at lunch across from her.
And what do you have in your heart? What are you going to do? She hates me now. And even though she said I know and I forgive you, you're like it'll never be the same, right? We can't chill anymore. We can't have a real conversation because I know what's really going on. What's really going on is she hates me. Because sometimes you can't unsay the words. You ever feel that way? Like sometimes it's just been put out in the stratosphere already, and there's nothing I could do to take it back. Like Yosef's brothers must have been saying something like this. We did sell him. How do you undo that? How do you say Oops? We were having a part of us came up and we were feeling very attacked because you said we have to bow down to you. So they projected their shame onto Yosef.
They projected their shame onto Yosef. What comes next in the story? Let's take a deeper look. So now they send messages to their father. They send messages to Yosef HaTzaddik and tell Yosef HaTzaddik that there was a secret communication that happened between us and Dad before he died. And now seems like a good time to tell you. Was that true? Let's look at what Rashi says. Avicha t'siva Rashi says, Shinu ba'davar mipnei hashalom. They altered the facts for the sake of peace. Kilot t'siva Yaakov came Because Yaakov never gave this instruction. Shalom nechshad Yosef be'edav Because Yaakov never thought that Yosef hadn't fully forgiven his brothers, he never thought that he needed to tell Yosef after he died. Don't hurt them, because Yaakov didn't have the same shame that the brothers had. Yaakov saw what was happening from a distance. He saw the brothers felt terribly about what they did. He saw that they were truly regretful, and he saw that Yosef forgave them. He saw that Yosef was a tzaddik. So Yaakov said "I never needed to give an instruction after I die. Please don't take revenge, because it never occurred." To Yaakov Avinu, that Yosef ever would take revenge The brothers made up this entire story.
That's wild. Another detail that if you didn't look at Rashi, you don't know. This whole thing that the brothers said, our father said, don't take revenge on us, never happened. They felt that they were rightful. They felt that they were righteous to make up this story. Because they said we have to keep peace between us. So they made. You ever do that? You ever make up a story in the name of peace? You're like, I'm going to tell this lie so that there's peace between us. Just a little white lie. There was a thing that Dad had a conversation with us, but he didn't tell you. Like it never happened. They thought they were right to do it because they said we need to keep peace, but in the family, we don't want the family to be torn apart. What else does Rashi say? Rashi, he jumps on to this lashon.
Please forgive this crime. What are the words here? Of the servants of the God of your father. That's what the Shvatim are saying. They're saying the message to Yosef that Ya'akov please forgive the crime of the servants of the God of your father. Isn't that a strange way of saying it? What should he say? Please forgive your brothers. No! Please forgive the crime of the servant of the God of your father. Rashi immediately picks up on it and Rashi says "Imavicha mese, maybe your father has died." This is the quiet communication. Because sometimes the words don't mean the words. So you have to look at the deeper meaning of the words. Sometimes you have to change the words to see their deeper meaning. Please forgive the servants of the God of your father. Rashi says because even though Dad died, who's still alive? Hashem is still around. Elokov kayam, His God, meaning the God of your father, is eternal, and we are His servants. So even though you might want to take revenge on your brothers, this is the message they're saying. Their father said that he never said. Even though our father said, 'Don't kill us,' that's not enough. They have to say something else.
Dad said, "Don't kill us," but also you should know, we're the servants of the God of your father. And even though Dad's not around, God is watching. It sounds very Litvish, no? Like God is watching. You should know. You be careful. God is watching. And if you kill us, you should just know God is watching, and we're God-fearing Jews. It's a very strange thing that's going on over here. What is the message that the Torah is communicating to us? It's so powerful, the Torah. You could learn the Torah for a hundred and twenty years of your life, and every single day you'll see something deeper. I want to share with you an idea that I had today. Today, this is a ben yomu. This idea was from today. When we feel deeply ashamed of our behavior, we do two things. Number one, we lie to protect ourselves, and number two, we serve God out of fear. Explain both of those things.
We have two modalities. Guilt and shame. We've discussed this before. What's the difference between guilt and shame? Guilt is I've done something that's beneath my godly dignity. Shame is you are a piece of garbage. You hear the difference? Shame says you're a piece of garbage. If you feel guilty, and this is the beauty of guilt, if you feel guilty, then what you want in life, and by the way, you'll see this as you become an adult. Is you want to stand in front of the truth and let the truth hit you like a truck. And by the way, that's how when you get older, you'll start to notice this. When you get older, you'll start to see that adults take radical levels of ownership, and actually, it's deeply attractive. Imagine if you were dating a guy and you said to him, "It really hurt me when you did this" And rather than get defensive or make up a story, he goes like this.
"Yeah I hear that. I messed up. I'm sorry. All of a sudden, the girl says, "That's my husband." If men knew how deeply attractive taking ownership is, every 16-year-old would say, "Yep, I did that." Everything that's ever gone wrong in your life, it was my fault. I take full responsibility. People who live with a healthy sense of self They don't mind being called out when they did something wrong because they go, that's true, that happened. It doesn't mean I'm a bad person. It means I did something that's not okay. But I can say I'm sorry. Adraba, if I say I'm sorry, that means we could have a beautiful relationship. But when shame hits, when you feel like I'm a hot mess, I'm a broken person And somebody comes to you and they say you did this, people go I didn't. I didn't act. Actually, I was the hero. I was protecting you the entire time. And you might want to come after me, but you shouldn't. You shouldn't come after me. You know why you shouldn't come after me? Because really, Dad said that there's like you shouldn't do it after he dies.
In the space of shame, we manipulate the truth to protect ourselves. How many of us don't raise your hand? The answer is probably everybody. I know it's me. How many of us in our lives lied to the people we love because we needed to protect ourselves from feeling like an absolute piece of garbage. I was—I'll freely admit this—I was the deny till you die kid And it didn't matter if I was caught red-handed. I remember in eighth grade I got in big trouble. I was caught red-handed and I remember going "You have no proof. It's all circumstantial evidence and hearsay. It's like we've got phone records. Let me see them." Call your bluff. And because it's an amazing thing what people will do. They will obfuscate the truth. They will manipulate you. They'll tell you lies because they're too afraid to stand up and say Salachti, I made a mistake.
People do that all the time. Kids do that all the time. When kids lie, rather than yelling at them or screaming at them, we're supposed to get curious. Why are they lying? What is the ambiance of this relationship that they can't tell us the truth? How do they feel about themselves when they did something wrong? A young man I was talking to this week did something wrong, and I said, 'Look, you got to tell your parents.' And he goes, 'Why? Why can't I tell them at the end of the year?' This is like a perfect example of something you ever do with a teacher. My, you're only hurting my parents. I personally don't care, but you're only hurting my parents, right? That you know that move. I lived that move. I was like, look, you may have gotten me, but if you really want to ruin my relationship with my parents, by all means call. For sure. My mother's never gonna speak to me again. But if you feel like you need to ruin my relationship for the next 50 years of my life and cause me immeasurable trauma and tens of thousands of dollars in therapy, by all means call my mother and tell her that I threw the paper airplane in the middle of class.
By the way, that's a very specific example. If my mother is listening to this year, I did throw the paper airplane. I can finally tell you I'm 45 years old. Arayama says she's not 100% sure if I threw the airplane or not. I totally did. I didn't do it. It's not true. Now you'll never know. If we got curious and we said, maybe this kid feels so bad. This kid told me he's like, I can't tell my father. Why can't we tell him at the end of the year? Let's tell him at the end of the year. At the end of the year, it's going to be good. At the end of the year, I'm going to be good and flipped out. I'll be chuckling like I'm having a seizure. I'm going to come home. My parents are going to go, Wow, you did so good. And I'll go, Now that you think I did so good, I just want to let you know what I did at the end of December in yeshiva. I was like, Dude, it was just a mistake. It was just a mistake. You can just acknowledge that it was a mistake. It's okay. And getting him to have that conversation was hard. He had the conversation. He came back the next day and told me he didn't go nearly as bad as I thought it would. I'm like, of course not.
Of course not. Because when you're an adult and you don't lie, good things happen. Every time you lie and you manipulate the truth, that lie will catch up to you eventually. Because even if you get away with it, you're still living with that deep sense of shame. And in that space of shame, real connection, authentic connection, can't happen. So the brothers told. They told a story that never happened. That's step number one. Why they do it? Because they needed to protect themselves. Why? Because at the end of the day, we sold you as a slave. They're not living with that as something they did wrong. They're living that with something like, "I am wrong." And then the second thing, and this to me is even more powerful. There's such a thing called fear-driven religiosity. People who serve Hashem because they're terrified of being struck by lightning.
And you see them invoke the name of God to say Don't hurt me. I've got God on my side. That's not the way we serve Hashem. Serving Hashem from fear is not serving Hashem. That's just self-protection masquerading as frumkeit. Frumkeit means that I am in a genuine relationship of faith. I have faith in Hashem. I serve Hashem. As this like protective armor in my life because everything is going wrong. I'm terrified that if I don't cry out to Hashem or say God is still here watching. That is not our perspective. Of course Hashem is watching us. But do you think Hashem is watching you like your third grade teacher ready to get you in trouble? That's not our God. Our God is infinitely compassionate because the God that we believe in knows not just every moment of your life, but every moment of the life of anyone you interacted with, and every moment of your parents' life, your grandparents' life, and your great grandparents' life, all the trauma that's been passed down—what do we call now, epigenetic trauma? I like when we come up with words. Epigenetic trauma—all the trauma that's been passed down into you. Hashem knows all of that.
Do you think that on Yom Kippur, Hashem is sitting there going "Gotcha? What type of God do you serve? On Yom Kippur, Hashem looks at you, and His judgment is perfect. In this generation, people go, "Don't judge me." First of all, you don't control me, and if I judge you, you're never gonna know. And you don't get to tell me how I show up to life. If I want to be judgmental, I'll be judgmental. But also, why are we so afraid of being judged? The truth is, we're not afraid of being judged. We're afraid of being judged if you only look at this one moment. But if you look at the scope of somebody's life. They're innocent. They made mistakes, misbehavior. We have to hold them accountable for small mistakes that they made. But if you look at the context of somebody's life, everything that we do is understandable. And just because you don't understand it doesn't mean that it's not understandable. It just means you don't understand it yet.
That's why if you've ever gone to therapy, you always have a moment, hopefully, when you're in therapy where you have an aha moment. Where the therapist doesn't even say anything, but just asks you a question, and all of a sudden everything clicks into place. Oh, that's why I do that And all of a sudden your entire world becomes understandable, and it's like "Oh, I'm not an animal; I was just trying to survive in a really difficult situation," and all of a sudden you can treat yourself with kindness and compassion. Because you become understandable. Two minutes beforehand, you thought you were a piece of garbage because you said, "I'm a terrible person," because you didn't look at the larger context. Sometimes healing comes from seeing the larger context. Serving Hashem means I'm not using it as a sham way of protecting myself from the dangerous things in this world. I'm serving Hashem because that's what I am. It's true. I'm a deep person of faith.
And if you find yourself using Hashem from a place of fear, like. You know this move where girls like, and I'm not saying you shouldn't go to the kotel. Go to the kotel, daven at the kotel. It's an amazing thing. But you know how like before, like something bad is happening. I can't process this. I'm going to the kotel to say Tehillim. It's like, wait a second, slow down. Slow down. What would happen? I'm not saying there's anything wrong with going to the kotel and saying Tehillim. That's beautiful, amazing. Go do it all the time. I'm just saying a simple thing. What would happen if you stayed with that fear for a second and allowed yourself the space to really unpack it? What might happen is you might come to a deep sense of self where you say, "Oh, I'm okay." Serving Hashem looks fundamentally different. If you're serving Hashem out of fear, you should know that's because inside of yourself you're feeling deeply ashamed of who you are. People who live in self, their relationship with God is not driven by fear. Their relationship with God is driven by a deep sense of essential connection. God is the sun, and I am His ray. I wouldn't even know what it looks like to be myself if I don't understand that there is a God who lovingly brings me into being at every moment of our lives.
What comes next in the story? I know we're running out of time. Again, we read it, but we read it quickly. Vayef Yosef bedabram elov, and Yosef is crying. Why is Yosef crying? Because he sees that even after all of these years. What is his brother's experience? Even after all the time that he invited them over, he said, "Guys, let's have lunch together. Let's go out to eat." Even after all the times that I treated them like my brothers They still think that they're my attackers. That is the tragedy of this story. The tragedy of this story is when people live with such a deep sense of shame, no matter how we show up to the relationship, they don't change the way they see themselves. They still hold themselves in this relationship, terrified of the other person. And if you've been on the other end of somebody else's shame.
You know how exceptionally painful it is. Think about what Yosef was experiencing. I'm, I'm, I'm again, I'm making up a story. I don't mean to say anything negative about Yosef HaTzaddik or the brothers. I'm saying maybe, and this is maybe it's my own projection, but I think it's a good story. Maybe Yosef in that moment felt lonely. Maybe Yosef said, "I thought I had my brothers back after all these years, but I still see that our relationship wasn't true." That all this time they're still wondering if I'm going to kill them. They're still wondering if I'm going to get them. Yosef knew they were making up a story because Yosef knew that Yaakov never would have thought that about him. So when they're, by the way, ever have that when someone's telling you a lie and you know it's a lie and you have to go, it's deeply uncomfortable. They're sitting there. The messengers come. The messengers go.
Like." Our father told us. He's like, no, he didn't. He didn't. The only thing that's happening right now is you're so afraid to actually be my brother. And that's a tragedy. And that's why Yosef Hatzadik is crying. I thought we finally had a real relationship because that's all I ever wanted. Isn't that what Yosef said when he was looking for his brothers in Shechem, and he meets that person, that Malach? And he goes, 'What are you looking for?' 'I'm just looking for my brothers.' And now here we are at the end of the story, and Yaakovinu has died. Twenty-two years he was down in Mitzrayim. Seventeen years Yaakovinu lives in Mitzrayim, and at the end we still don't have a real relationship. Forty years later, and we still don't have a real relationship. That's terribly lonely to be separated from your family in that way. So of course Yosef HaTzaddik cries.
What comes next? Now the brothers come in. The messengers just gave their servant. And now the brothers come in. And they throw themselves at Yosef Atzaddik's feet. They say we are your servants. This is not tshuva. This is not tshuva And I'll prove to you that it's not tshuva in a moment. But this is not tshuva. You know what this is? That's people making themselves small because they feel so deeply ashamed of themselves, rather than coming to Yosef HaTzaddik and saying, "Yosef We're your brothers. We love you. I hope you'll forgive us. What do they come and go? We'll do whatever you want. We're here to serve you. And Yosef Etzadik is looking at him and then go. That's not what I want. I don't want you to make yourself small because you feel deeply ashamed inside. And people do this all the time. People do this all the time. People show up to life and they think it's like, I know I did this thing. Just tell me what I could do to make it up to you. Whatever you want, I'll do it. Just tell me what I could do to make it up to you.
That's happening inside of you. The person you hurt doesn't need you to do. They don't need you to fold their laundry for a month. And if they do, that's an abusive relationship. It's like, I'll forgive you if you do my laundry. It's not a good relationship. In a healthy relationship, you show up and you stand with dignity. And you hit. They hit you like a truck, and you don't say, "I'll do whatever you want." You say, "I'm so sorry, I did that to you." Yosef Atzadik's brothers are saying, "We are your servants." Yosef says, "I don't need you to be my servants. I need you to be my brothers." So, what's Yosef Atzadik's response? We'll finish with this. Yosef says, "Don't be afraid." Don't be afraid. I'm not God. And Rashi tells us an unbelievable thing. Rashi tells us something that absolutely seems out of the blue. Yosef says, 'Before you guys came down to Mitzrayim, this is the story the Egyptians said: the viceroy of Egypt saved Mitzrayim. Paro had dreams. Paro knew that a famine was coming. There was this slave that had been in jail because he took advantage of Eshter Potifar' And he was a dream interpreter. He's a genius. He was the one that explained to Paro what his dreams mean.
And now that slave rose to power. And guys, this is what Yosef said to his brother: Until you guys came, maybe I was the viceroy of Egypt, but everybody knew me as the slave who became the viceroy. When you guys came down, everyone goes, "Oh, he's got a family." He was born free. He wasn't a slave. He's a free man. That's crazy. We thought he was a slave. We thought he was a person who had no dignity. When you guys came down, you understand what it did for me. You guys changed the narrative around my life. Now listen to what Yosef says next, because up until now it sounds pretty good. And then Yosef says, "And if I kill you" What will the Egyptians think about me? They're going to say the brothers came down, and now we thought he was a free man. Then he turned around and killed his brothers. That's not going to look very good for me.
Now this sounds like a terrible thing to say. Would this reassure you? No. That wouldn't reassure anybody. It sounds like, and obviously this is not what Yosef Hadad is saying, but it sounds like Yosef Hadad is saying,"Really I'd kill you But it would look terrible if I did. That's not a great message. And if we've been right about the entire thesis that we've been saying about Yosef Hatzadik and his brothers—this is a very strange ending because we would have expected Yosef to say, 'Guys, don't worry about it.' And that's what the pesukim say. The pesukim sounds like it says, 'Listen, you guys thought that I was a terrible person. You sold me down as a slave. But God said, 'I'm sending you down to protect you from the famine.' But now Yosef Hatzadik is saying, 'Really, I'd kill you' But it would look terrible for me if I did. That's one pshat in Rashi. A second pshat in Rashi, a second pshat that Rashi gives. Rashi goes like this: Chavra If ten lights couldn't extinguish one light, meaning if you, the ten brothers, tried to kill me, then I wouldn't be able to kill you because how could one light extinguish ten?
That's even worse. Really, you tried to kill me, but it didn't work. I wouldn't be able to kill you. What are you talking about? The whole time we've been saying that Yosef Fattahik doesn't have any resentment towards his brothers. Now we find out, really, I'd kill you. I just can't. That's terrible. What is Yosef Fattahik actually saying? There's something called integration. Integration means this. When you guys came down to Mitzrayim Listen carefully. When you guys came down to Mitzrayim You changed the story about me. Listen what Yosef Hatzadik is saying. You guys think that you're bad. I want you to know, I also had a sense of a lack of dignity because even though I was the viceroy of all of Mitzrayim, everyone was saying about me. But he's still a slave. It's like imposter syndrome. Can I admit something? It's a safe space. Can I admit something to you?
When I was 16 years old, my family moved from Faracoa to Lawrence. I don't know if you know what that means. Who here is from the Five Towns? Back in the day, Faracoa was a poor neighborhood. Nobody had money in progress. I know it sounds strange now because back in the day, Faracoa is like. Massive houses, but when I was a kid growing up, Farakau was a place where when you were riding your bike it would get stolen from you. Any of you have dads who grew up in old school Farakau? So your dad tell you these stories. Your bike was 50/50 if you were gonna make it to the place. You'd come home, mom, go wear your bike. My bike was stolen. It's like you call the cops? Because he just knew. That was part of the price of having a bike in Farakau. And Lawrence was like the wealthy. And people in Farquharway, when you would ask them where do you live, they would say West Lawrence, because we're Lawrence too, right? And so when I was fifteen, sixteen years old, we moved from Farquharway to Lawrence.
And now all of a sudden we're living in this nice house. I remember our across the street neighbor made a nasty comment about our car. You don't live in this neighborhood with a car like that. I remember my dad was like, okay. In where I'm from in Farakwe, you take the garbage out on garbage day. Do you do that where you're from? In Lawrence, the garbage men come to your backyard to take the garbage. I didn't know that, so my mother told me the night before to take the garbage out to the curb. And our neighbor said to us, I don't need to see your garbage. We're like, we just took the garbage out for the garbage men. He's like, the garbage men will pick up the garbage from your yard. Not everybody needs to see your garbage, and I was like, 'We are really low class. We just don't get it. We just don't like.' And so I want you to know that even all the years that we lived in Lawrence, in my head, I was still a poor Faracoa kid.
Like in my head, I know. I know this sounds funny. In my head, I knew I was really a poor Faracoa kid who happened to be living in Lawrence. So even though on the outside it was like he's not wearing hand-me-down clothing anymore, right? Because now my parents could afford to buy me clothing, and now we weren't driving like a 1984 Oldsmobile. So I, I, like we've made it, right? Inside of you, you're like, I'm not okay. I'm still a slave. That's what Yosef was saying. Yosef was saying Guys, until you came, I was a viceroy who was really a slave, and when you came You gave me the greatest gift. Because now I finally had authentic dignity. And guys, when you're in a space of dignity, this is the depth of what Yosef Hatzadik means. You don't hurt people. The reason you hurt me wasn't because of my dreams. The reason you hurt me is because you felt less than.
So when you guys came, I know what it means to feel less than. I was the viceroy who still considered himself a slave. And once you realize, no, I'm not a viceroy who's a slave. I'm actually a free man who's risen to power. Then you don't hurt people. I would never hurt you, not because of what people are going to say. I would never hurt you because it's like that's not what you do when you have dignity. And that's what he says. This is the second lesson to him. He said, guys You couldn't kill me. You couldn't kill me. You know why? Because when you're in self You are so powerful. And no matter what anyone says to you, it's impenetrable because you are in self. And guys, I couldn't kill you either because I know that deep down inside of you, you are also in self. We cannot extinguish each other.
This is the healing that Yosef HaTzaddik says to them. Chavra, all of this came because we were lacking dignity. If we will just recognize that we are a godly soul that could never be extinguished, we wouldn't hurt each other anymore. So to sum up very quickly, what's the story? When we live in shame, we project it onto others. What does shame require us to do? Lie And have a fear-based relationship with Hashem. What do we do in our space of shame? We make ourselves small. Just tell me what I need to do to fix this. I'll be your servant. What's the antidote to shame? Everything has gone exactly according to plan. If we live with dignity, we won't hurt others. Have a beautiful Shabbos.
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