Parashat Vayeshev

Early winter is a time of confluences and transitions. Light meets dark, ice meets sun, and we stand in the proverbial doorway: neither truly here nor truly there, yet somehow fully in both places at once. It can feel destabilizing; we are teetering on the brink. This time of year is rife with such “liminal moments.”

That’s why there’s such power in clinging to symbols of light and life at this time of year, which Chanukah does so deftly. But even Chanukah can escape the essential duality of the season. It’s the only Jewish holiday to straddle two different months, beginning in Kislev and ending in Tevet, and indeed its foundational story is one of competing ideas and visions of Judaism. 

 

This week’s parashah, Vayeshev, might also seem to offer comfort, as Joseph begins his rise to Egyptian prominence and shares dreams of strength and redemption. Yet at the particular moment when the parashah ends, he finds himself in prison, a potent symbol of the line between life and death. Indeed, few characters in the Torah find their fortunes as frequently reversed as Joseph, and no one teeters on the boundary between salvation and doom as he does.

Vayeshev is even a moment of transition in a larger sense: Here, the Israelites are more than a family, but not yet a nation. Joseph’s saga is a large gray area between the intensely personal stories of Sefer Bereshit (Genesis) and the grand story of national growth that begins in Sefer Shemot (Exodus).

In every case, we stand in the doorway. Things could go either way. What had been separate begins to blend together in unexpected or even inexplicable ways. It can be unsettling, as Joseph learned and as Chanukah acknowledges. 

And yet, both the parashah and the holiday offer a strategy for how to handle it. So much of Chanukah’s beauty comes from its embrace of the swirling contradiction, inviting us not to simply fight the dark but also appreciate its complex interplay with the light. Meanwhile, Joseph adroitly combines his God-given gift of dream interpretation and his connection to his family with his growing knowledge of Egyptian society, and manages not only to save himself but ultimately his family and the entire Egyptian people. 

Both use the very source of the existential danger they’re addressing – the transition –  as their steady foundation, and artfully blend all of the contrasting ideas into something new, beautiful, and powerful. They do this by taking advantage of their position in the doorway to select the strongest parts of both sides, stepping with confidence into the breach.

I bring this approach to my Engineering classroom every year around this time with the Annual Dreidel Design Championship (this is the sixth year). I encourage students to open their minds as wide as possible, position themselves in the doorway between all parts of their lives, and let ideas combine in unexpected ways. And then, when things seem most muddled, take the best parts of everything and turn them into something amazing. This year alone, that has resulted in the Steam-Powered Dreidel, the Spork Dreidel, the Pizza Dreidel, and the Matchbox Dreidel, just to name a few. For students who so often have to separate their studies, interests, and activities, these combinations are a source of joy, embracing the unexpectedly open doors. 

In any moment of change, it’s natural to feel unsteady. Chanukah and Vayeshev, themselves unusually coinciding, teach us never to cling to any one side of a boundary. We must look in all directions and take the best parts of everything, allowing us to pass through the transition with confidence and strength, ultimately the better for having done so.

Shabbat shalom, and chag Chanukah sameach!