“Don’t complain; you’re lucky you still have parents,” Amy the redheaded mom said, gently rocking her daughter’s baby carrier.
The five of them heard noise as the door was opened and more guests entered the apartment. Dara and Jason were saying, “Noah, Bonnie, Shabbat Shalom, come in. Are we ready now?” Wendy tensed as she thought, Noah—it couldn’t be Noah Lazevsky; Jerusalem isn’t that small. But she listened and it sounded like his voice. Jason must have invited him, not realizing that Dara invited her and that it would be awkward to have the two of them together. Why would they do that—or was it on purpose, to get her back together with him? Why wouldn’t one of them have told her?
Jason and Dara came into the living room, and Dara said pleasantly, “We’re all here.”
Jason ordered, “Everyone find a seat and we’ll introduce ourselves once we’re seated. Dara and I will sit here”—he indicated the chairs closest to the kitchen—“and everyone else sit wherever.”
“If no one minds, I’m taking this spot so I can hear Eliana when she wakes up,” Amy said.
Orly and Wendy moved out of the sitting room to take places at the table. As she walked, she and Noah caught each other’s eyes. Noah looked good, Wendy noticed. He was wearing a knit sweater, with a geometric design in different shades of blue that set off his blue-gray eyes, and navy dress pants. His hair had gotten longer and looked not unruly, but curly and pliant. She was surprised to find she was happy to see him. He gave her a broad smile. She nodded back. What did he see looking at her? Shoulder-length black curly hair, brown eyes, pleasant smile, passably attractive but not a face that would stop traffic on the street. Wendy was wearing a pink turtleneck sweater, paired with a tan and pink paisley print scarf, a long darker-pink wool skirt and brown leather boots for Jerusalem’s winter rainy season. Did she want him to notice her? She wished she’d put on some makeup.
Seating assignments complete, Jason began, “Before we start, let’s introduce ourselves. Say your name, how you got to this Shabbat table, and what you’re doing in Israel this year. I’ll start: Jason Lessing, and I’m at Wisdom of the Heart Yeshiva for a second year. Trying to figure out what’s next. Dara?”
“I’m Dara Glasser. I’m also at Wisdom and I’m going back to finish up at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical School in Philly next fall.”
“Noah Lazevsky. I came to Israel to improve my reading of kabbalistic texts for a degree at NYU. I’m not sure whether I will go back and finish or stay here in yeshiva. I know Jason’s roommate, Yehoshua, from RISE, my yeshiva. Where is he anyway?”
“Where he wants to be,” said Jason. “He never wants to commit in case he gets a better invite.”
The introductions continued: “Rich Rosensweig, I’m a first-year rabbinic student, and Dara and I are in the rabbinic social justice network. My journey to this table started when I was working in New Mexico for an art dealer who sold Native American pottery. When I met artists on their reservations, I kept getting asked what tribe I was from. I decided to learn about my own tribal traditions. Here I am.”
“James Glatstein, also first-year Reform rabbinic student, and I know Dara from the same place. I’m from Manhattan originally.”
There was a knock at the door. Jason went to get it and came back with another man bearing a beard that was scruffy and looked newly grown in. When the man removed his black bomber jacket, he was wearing a white shirt with tzitzit showing underneath, black pants, and nicely styled black shoes. Wendy couldn’t decide whether he was attractive or not, as the beard obscured his features.
“This is Yehoshua, everyone,” said Jason. “He lives here when he isn’t at RISE or the Kotel.”
“Sorry I’m late. Do I get a chair?” he said to Jason.
“I’ll get my desk chair,” Jason said as he went down the hall to fetch it. When he returned, they all reshuffled chairs. The chairs repositioned, Yehoshua was seated at the end of the table where Rich had been, so he was between Noah and Rich, facing Amy at the other end.
Dara said, “Shua, introduce yourself. Say what you are doing this year.”
“Yehoshua Hendon. I came here to go to Wisdom, but I switched to RISE a few weeks ago. I’m from Detroit.”
At her turn, Wendy wasn’t sure what to say—I came here to study people like you? I have a tape recorder under the table so be careful. But out of respect for her friend Dara, she didn’t have a notebook or tape recorder; she was trying to be off duty. “Wendy Goldberg. I’m here to write my dissertation. I’m from New Bay, New York, and knew Dara at Columbia.”
“Orly Markovsky. I’m a journalist, and I know Wendy from Camp Kodimoh and here, and Dara through Wendy.”
“Amy Ross, from Australia and New Jersey, mother of Eliana Chaya, and student at Hebrew Union College, where I met Dara.”
“Bonnie Gardner. I know Dara from home, Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. I’m a junior at Bryn Mawr, and at Hebrew University this semester. I just got here a few days ago.”
Wendy felt relieved that Bonnie was a younger friend of Dara’s from home and just got here so probably hadn’t met Noah before tonight. It bothered her that she had thought, when they walked in together, that Bonnie and Noah were a couple.
Before Wendy had time to contemplate any further, the singing started. It was a bouncy tune, peppy like some kind of revival music. Why was everything always so cheerful? Wasn’t there any music that was more inner-directed, more serious? She looked around the table and saw that all were enjoying the singing, engaged. Dara nudged Jason and nodded at Wendy and Orly. He turned around and found a pile of benchers, books with the songs and blessings sung at the Sabbath table, in the corner of the room. He opened the small pocket-sized book to the proper page and handed it to Wendy and Orly.
Wendy thought, Why are books and papers always thrust into one’s hands—read this, believe that. Can’t we just enjoy the experience of the words and music, their beauty, without labels? She remembered going to a museum endowed by a wealthy society woman in Boston. The philanthropist had created a carefully constructed building, which contained beautiful objects: statues, paintings, handcrafted laces, china, furniture, hand-tooled leather books. Isabella Stewart Gardner did not want labels on any of the items because she wanted visitors to experience her things for their singular magnificence, without getting bogged down in categorizing and classifying. Wendy wished she could go through religious rituals like that, absorbing their beauty and grandeur, not worrying about the minutiae like getting the words right, pronouncing the foreign syllables. When she went to that museum, she remembered sitting in the courtyard, being surrounded by elaborate displays of orchids, mosaic tiles, and intricately carved stones, any spot her eyes gazed on yielding an object of beauty. All she had to do as an observer was take it in, hear the fountain, smell the flowers, look at the art. Couldn’t the rituals in Judaism be less elaborate and confusing, not stand up, sit down, take steps back and forth, bounce on your toes, but as simple as cultivating the peace and wholeness one experienced with the plash of a fountain?
Obediently, she pointed at the book for her friend Orly, who knew the Hebrew but not the unfamiliar tune, to the verses about the angels of Sabbath. It was nice imagery, angels coming and greeting, blessing and leaving. The tune had a sort of drumbeat to it, da da-da da da, da da-da-da da, and it repeated each of the four verses three times. By the end, Orly was humming along. Then there was another Hebrew song, from Proverbs about the woman of valor, and finally blessings over wine. Jason opened a bottle of wine and poured it with a flourish into a large wooden cup, which looked like it had been painted in a Russian style with bright purples, oranges, and greens. He stood up, then Yehoshua stood up, and then everyone else stood too as he declaimed the blessing over the wine, remembering the creation, God’s completion of creation in six days and resting on the seventh. Jason drank, poured more wine into the large cup, and then from that cup to thimble-size plastic cups.
Everyone passed the cups around the table to t
he person next to them. “Go ahead, drink when you get it, don’t wait,” he said heartily. It was white wine, not high quality, what student budgets could afford. Orly started coughing after she drank because she didn’t like it. Wendy hoped no one noticed the cough and gave a small cough herself in sympathy, so Orly wouldn’t be so noticeable.
Yehoshua said, “L’chaim, l’chaim” as he drank his. “Who brought this? It’s nice,” he commented.
“Anyone who wants to wash, in the kitchen,” said Dara.
“Wahhh. Wah, wah,” came the sudden cry of a baby. Amy jumped out of her chair to soothe her daughter. Everyone else rose and converged toward the hallway to go to the kitchen and wash their hands. Amy went to the living room to pacify her daughter. Partly because she didn’t want to deal with the ritual washing and partly because she was curious about what it was like to have a baby, Wendy walked over and asked, ‘Can I help?”
Amy looked up and said, “Sure, take this,” handing her a diaper filled with thick dark smelly poop. “Find out where to put it? I appreciate it,” she added as she returned to wiping Eliana free of the sludgy substance and putting a clean diaper on her. “I just started her on solid food now that she is close to six months, so the poop is a little smelly.” The baby was still crying, the volume lowering as she realized she was being cared for.
Wendy was disgusted as she took the diaper from Amy. She thought, This woman wanted to create the possibility for dreams and all she is getting is poopy diapers. Ugh. She went to find Dara or Jason. As Dara came towards her in the hallway, Wendy held up the offending item. Dara saw it and pointed to a door without a word. Wendy went into the bathroom and placed it in the garbage can. This is going to be worse than the airplane. Ten adults and a baby, a tiny bathroom and a stinky diaper . . . she thought as she placed it in the proper receptacle and washed her hands, with soap, in the sink. She prayed she would not need to use the bathroom before the evening ended.
When she returned to the table, about half the guests were in their places and humming a wordless tune. When everyone was seated, Dara, with a flourish, swiped the tie-dyed cloth off the mound in the center of the table. Two large whole-wheat challah breads appeared, and Dara grasped them in both hands, looked around the table at each person individually, and intoned in Hebrew, “Blessed are you, Shechinat Yah, the indwelling Holy Feminine who brings forth bread from the earth.” Dara broke the challah into pieces, dipped each piece in a small bowl of salt, and passed the large chunks around.
As she was doing this, Yehoshua got up and went into the kitchen. He came back holding two white braided rolls and said loudly in Hebrew, “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.” He took a piece of his roll and passed one to Noah next to him. Noah took it and chewed noisily. Dara said, “Yehoshua, not into gender free language?”
He said, “Its Shabbes; we’re all Jews; let’s not argue. God is my king; it’s all for a reason. Leave it at that.”
“That language doesn’t work for all of us anymore,” Dara retorted.
Noah said, “I need some mystery in my concept of God. I like the indwelling nature of the feminine, the Shechina. It’s all over mystical texts, but I want to pray to a king. I want certainty in my God. The Shechina is just too . . . unstable for me.”
Wendy was coming up empty for a comeback line. She couldn’t let such a reductive statement go, but was too mad to let her wiser self work on a good line. Orly said, “That makes no sense, Noah. Why is a feminine divinity inherently unstable? Women are all hysterical? Haven’t we moved past that?” she said with sarcasm. Wendy, next to her, squeezed Orly’s arm in gratitude for her quicker wit.
Dara nudged Jason and said, “Let’s get the salads.”
The hosts departed for the kitchen. No one broke the ensuing silence until Yehoshua, sitting at the other end of the table from Amy, who was holding a cooing Eliana on her lap, said, “Your daughter is adorable. How old is she?”
“Five and a half months. She’s just starting solid food. She can turn over and is really beginning to be playful. I’m so proud,” she said, as Eliana yanked at her beaded necklace. She asked Bonnie to hold the baby while she took the necklace off and put it in her pocket.
“Is her dad away for Shabbes? He must miss her,” Yehoshua queried.
“He’s always away,” laughed Amy. “In Australia. It was a donor situation. I wanted to do this on my own.”
Yehoshua blushed and stammered, “Oh.”
“I wasn’t in a committed relationship and this was the best way to have a family. Eliana has brought so much love into my life. People in my congregation were so caring, coming to doctor’s appointments, bringing me food, checking up on me. Having her completely changed the direction of my life.”
“Why didn’t you get married?” Yehoshua said gruffly.
Dara and Jason returned with the salads. They put out hummus sprinkled with chick peas and pine nuts and spritzed with olive oil, a tomato and cucumber salad, guacamole, tabouli with fresh mint, and a carrot salad with raisins and walnuts. They also brought out a plate of warm pita bread.
“Amy isn’t criticizing your life choices, so why are you attacking her? Does it threaten you?” said Dara.
“I’m not attacking her, just saying that it would be easier to have a baby with a partner. It’s for sure a mitzvah to bring life into the world. Women just aren’t obligated.” Yehoshua gestured, making a silly face and waving at Eliana who cooed as he added, “She’s a cutie.”
“Amy is amazing for choosing to bring love into her life by having a baby. I’m jealous—it isn’t as easy for men,” Rich said as the others laughed.
People were helping themselves, salads being passed around. No one spoke as plates were filled. Finally Jason said, “Words of Torah?” He hoped to find a unifying topic before another quarrel broke out. There were generalized nods, and he began.
“This week’s reading ends the book of Genesis with the death of Yosef,” he continued, “Joseph the righteous. It’s odd to end this book with bones in a coffin. It began with the grandeur of the creation of the universe, and now the last image Genesis offers us is the bones of Joseph. I want to focus on how this image gets us to the next book, the book of Exodus.
“This portion contains dreams and memories, certainty and doubt. Don’t we all wish we could have certainty, and tell those who have harmed us, “Am I in the place of God?” as both Jacob and Joseph do at different points in their lives?
“Dreams aren’t tangible. They have no monetary worth, no substance to grasp and acknowledge. Yet, Yosef was able to take the currency of dreams in all its slipperiness and indeterminacy and convert it to win the trust of the cupbearer and the baker, and eventually the Pharoah himself. My hope for all those gathered round the Shabbos table tonight is that you too can convert your dreams from indeterminate agents to bearers of something solid, meaningful, material. The cupbearer was, as his job requires, receptive, able to capture and contain the slippery liquid that is liquor, that bears the possibilities for dreams, for realms different from ordinary life, both for good and ill. The baker was too proud of the solidity of his own creations, and they were destroyed as he was. Yosef was able to praise God for what God had given him: the ability to decode, to interpret. The Egyptian name he was given by the Pharoah, ‘Tzafnat Paneach,’ literally means ‘revealer of hidden things.’ Yosef is mysterious because God has given him that ability to decode lives, both his own and others.
“At the very end of this week’s reading, Yosef tells his brothers that he is dying, but God will surely visit them. These words, pakod yifkod, he will surely visit, recur again in the book of Exodus as a sign that will help the children of Israel decode the hand of God in the future. These words reassure the people that God is behind their salvation. Each individual is now entrusted with that task: to decode a life and to find that God has given each of us a way to be fertile even in our lands of affliction. We don’t always know why G
od puts us in narrow places. Mitzrayim, Egypt, literally means narrow, constricting; but even when God puts us into these places, God allows us a way out. Even though Yosef is in this place of immense constriction, he is able to say, on naming his son Ephraim, ‘God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.’ That paradoxical fertility is the crux of the human condition. For who can say he is in an ideal setting, a place that is not in some way an affliction? Even we who are privileged to be studying in the land of Israel this year, we are not in a place without afflictions. Sam Handelman and Benjamin Margolis, Hashem yinakem damam, may Hashem avenge their blood, our fellow American students, were killed for being Jews on an Israeli bus.
“Genesis ends with a coffin containing the bones of Yosef, yet Exodus begins with births, the swarming and teeming masses of Jews being born—a multiplication on a vaster scale than the fertility amidst affliction of Yosef. That is Shabbos too: the ability to sit back, to celebrate the bounty and fertility of the week, to make time to rejoice in the midst of the misery and affliction of the human condition. Yosef was able to get to that certainty, that feeling that God was with him, that despite the bad, God made it good, through his dreams. He is different from his father Yakov, who had the dream of the ladder of connection with heaven in Bet El, but lived without prophecy, without divine connection for the many years Yosef was absent from his life. Yakov’s dream and connection wavered but his son’s never did.
“One of the differences between father and son is in a chance Yakov has to retell his life story, his personal journey. At the beginning of the portion he blesses all his sons, and then the sons of Yosef. As he is blessing Yosef’s sons, Yakov does something peculiar. He switches his hands so that his right is on the head of the younger and his left on the older. In essence, in this moment, Yakov is re-enacting the primal scene of his life, his wresting of the birthright from his older twin. Yakov’s blessing of his grandsons retells the struggle between himself and Esau as a smooth transition with acceptance by both parties that the younger son of Yosef, Ephraim, should precede the older, Manasseh. In Yakov’s new version of his life, there is no enmity between the brothers. He gives the blessing to the one he designates, and they both accept the verdict, without hatred or bloodshed.
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