As you know, last year the Synagogue went through a strategic planning initiative. One of the benefits of that process is the opportunity to engage in self-discovery. For example, the online questionnaire that many of you filled out asked us to rank values and functions of the Synagogue, and whether we do those things well or poorly. As to the Minyan, what came out of that was a four quadrant approach, not unlike the Minyan, which ranks things in a matrix of doing well or not, and important or not, in a graphic representation that’s easy to understand. And one of the discoveries we made is that we, as a Minyan, want good and inspiring sermons, but at the same time, we aren’t particularly satisfied with the results. I regret to say that the trend is not changing today. I will, however, try to be brief.
It’s tempting to focus on the first part of the parasha – the one we didn’t read today – because it is one of the most dramatic sequences in the Torah. The break between Mikketz and Vayigash stops us mid-sentence in the confrontation between Joseph, as yet unveiled, and his brothers, and leads into Judah’s soliloquy , the longest in the Torah, and culminates in the reconciliation of the brothers. It is emotional and vivid, a remarkable piece of theater. But since we probably have enough drama in our lives these days, I am drawn to is the consolidation of power by Joseph in Chapter 47, toward the end of the parasha.
By this time, we’ve pretty much forgotten the famine which brought Joseph to power and Jacob and his family to Egypt when suddenly, in Chapter 47, verse 13, without introduction, the Torah picks up the story. This segment methodically explains how Joseph, in his political position as vizier of Egypt, first collects all of the money in Egypt and Canaan, and then their livestock, their horses and sheep and cattle and asses, and then finally their land and freedom, so that in the end, the Egyptians offer themselves up as slaves to Pharaoh. It is, as Israel Eldad describes it, the first documented example of land nationalization, of “State Communism”: control, centralization of food supply, and equal distribution accompanied by the nationalization of private property, necessitating changes in the distribution of the population , the direction of labor and its resettlement.
That last part is what is most troubling -- Joseph does more than centralizing state ownership and facilitating the transformation of the Egyptians into serfs; he relocates the entire population from one end of the country to the other. And again, all of this is presented in a disapassionate, factual tone, without any sense of drama or moral judgment – it appears to be the natural state of affairs. As Gunther Plaut comments, the careful and unemotional accounting of the disenfranchisement of the Egyptian people and the apparent approval of Joseph’s role in it makes this section “a showpiece of anti-Semitic polemic.”
The commentaries are mixed, and often apologetic, when approaching this passage. While Rashbam compares the action to Sennacherib’s [senchariv] (2 Kings 18, 32) in transferring the population so as to alienate them from their ancestral lands, some commentators point out that the 20% nominal tax rate imposed on the Egyptians was far less than the 30 to 40 percent rate more typical at the time. But that ignores, of course, the question of disenfranchisement and, for the tax professionals in the kahal, the regressive nature of the tax. And similarly, Luzzatto explains that the people were moved “city by city” and were not split them into heterogenous groups but preserved their social groupings, resettled them according to their families and neighborhood ties so that the dislocation was muted, ignoring their dislocation from traditional lands.
Samson Raphael Hirsch agrees with Rashi that Joseph may have had another motive – by resettling all people, the introduction of the Jews was less obvious, because we didn’t displace any people in particular; everyone was a transient. As Rashi recounts, “it was not necessary for the story to recount the displacement of the Egyptians, other than to praise Joseph, who intended to remove the shame from his brothers that the Egyptians should not call them Exiles.” But, at the same time, the resettlement of the Egyptian people paved the way for their antipathy toward us and, eventually, to our slavery.
The varying comments, and often the lack of commentary, emphasizes our discomfort with Joseph’s actions. We are, after all, a people that has been and remains unsettled, one that, more famously than any other people, lived for thousands of years without a land, without ownership of land and subject to the whims of those in power. One of the values we cherish, even if it wasn’t in our strategic planning questionnaire, is fidelity to the land, the belief that our land is special to us and has a religious status that transcends what would otherwise just be a place to live. The fear of being landless, of being cut off from Israel, is with us today, as Israel remains surrounded by enemies bent on her destruction. Moreover, the concept of population transfers is much in the news, where it seems common for one population to expel another. In our master teacher series, Danny Gordis and David Meyers both addressed the subject as it relates to Israel and Israel’s survival in the future.
There is another lesson, however, that emphasizes one of our values, that of accountability and responsibility for our actions. Nehama Leibowitz, in looking at the Egyptians’ offer to become slaves, says that “man’s instinct to shirk responsibility for himself and his livelihood and that of his family is deeply rooted. He would much rather saddle his superior with the burden of providing for him, let him do all his thinking for him, give him orders, lead him and support him, and this is the meaning of “that we and our land will be bondmen to Pharaoh” (47:19).”
This observation is particularly trenchant observation today. As I began preparing this drasha, the auto companies were fighting for bailout money, as were commercial lenders, state and local governments and others, and in return, the government, at our demand, is asking for control of those entities – not unlike Joseph taking control the financial engines of Egypt. Based on a non-scientific poll which I conducted by eavesdropping on isolated conversations at Starbucks and Hannukah parties, it seems that we approve.
I’m not against regulation – it’s a good thing in my profession. Beyond that, it also seems apparent to even a casual observer that the grand experiment in deregulation, particular of financial markets, of the last 30 years or so has not served us well. And there may, at this time, be no effective alternative other than massive government intervention and control. But we should be clear with ourselves – this movement is based not so much on a recognition that limits must be set to protect the weak and uninformed; it is borne out of a sense of repugnance and loathing at the sight of financiers and industry leaders demanding recompense for their own failures and taking no responsibility for them. It seems to be based primarily on retribution, not on rightness.
We, as a people, do not believe in shirking from responsibility; we believe in accountability, and our highest and best moments are when we hold ourselves, individually and communally, responsible for our actions. In this time of distress, the challenge we face is living up to that value.