Dreams and the major life-changes they foretell or inspire are a recurring motif or theme in the various parashot of the latter half of Sefer Breishit. In this week’s parasha, Vayeshev, we learn the stories of two heroic ancestors of our People who dreamed big dreams. The story of one of these people is a familiar one, the other, a bit less celebrated.
When Joseph is first introduced to us in Vayeshev, it is not an entirely flattering picture. We see him as the pampered favorite child of Jacob, the son of Jacob’s preferred, beloved late wife Rachel, showered with his father’s affections and attentions, a bit vain, quite naïve, and totally oblivious to his brothers’ growing resentment of him. Jacob, perhaps equally oblivious to his other sons’ feelings, fans the flames by giving Joseph a Ktonet Pasim, literally a "striped robe," but most popularly interpreted as a "coat of many colors," a garment Joseph would be proud to wear, but which his brothers view as a token of their father's favoritism. While the other sons of Jacob are hard at work tending the flocks, Jacob appoints young Joseph to supervise them, and to report back to Jacob, sometimes negatively, on his brothers’ conduct.
Matters only become worse, in his brothers’ eyes, when Joseph told them about his dream in which the eleven brothers’ sheaves of wheat bowed down to Joseph’s sheaf. Although Joseph himself does not provide any explanation for the dream, at least not in the narrative of the parasha, the brothers were quick to interpret it as an arrogant boast that Joseph would some day reign over them. But when Joseph told his brothers and father about a second, even more grandiose dream in which eleven stars, the sun and moon bow to Joseph in the heavens, the brothers became more concerned. In traditional beliefs of that time, having the same dream or a very similar dream twice was an indication that the dream was more than mere happenstance, but a sign or omen, possibly divine in origin, to be taken seriously – a sign that Joseph truly was marked for greatness. Bad enough that Jacob preferred Joseph, but did God prefer him too? And the brothers grew to hate Joseph all the more.
But why exactly did the brothers resent Joseph so much? I suspect it was more than jealousy over their father’s favor and affections – as powerful an emotional force as that may be. The dreams confirmed what Joseph’s brothers, as well as Jacob, already knew deep down, that Joseph truly was special – that he was gifted in ways that they weren’t. While young Joseph may have been lacking in his people skills (an area in which he will improve dramatically later in life), Joseph was a visionary – not only uniquely attuned to spiritual matters and the world of dreams, but in a more practical, real-world sense, Joseph had a knack for seeing opportunities, perceiving future potential and possibilities in even the worst of circumstances, and an ability to make everything he touched turn to gold. Deep inside, Joseph's brothers perhaps suspected or admitted to themselves that parental favoritism may not have been the only reason Jacob chose Joseph to supervise them. These skills may have only been nascent in the young Joseph, but would flourish as Joseph grew older. And that may have been why his brothers felt resentful. Afterall, the only thing worse than having to suffer a vainglorious braggard is having to suffer a vainglorious braggard who is right.
But Joseph’s weakness, his vanity, was also one of his strengths. It explains how, even after the shock he was to receive from his brothers, being stripped of his beautiful coat and thrown into the pit, Joseph did not despair. Even in the bottom of that pit, Joseph never lost that dream of the sun, moon and stars, the knowledge and faith that he was destined for a great purpose. Even when he was sold into slavery, Joseph never saw himself as a slave. He would not be a slave. During each of Joseph’s travails, the Torah repeatedly states, "the Lord was with Joseph." I would suggest that the Lord was actually with each of the sons of Israel. But Joseph, uniquely, saw it.
One of the chief differences between Joseph and his brothers was a matter of perspective. For example, to Joseph, the dreams were exciting and glorious. To his brothers, they were slaps in the face, reminders of their imagined inferiority. And while the Torah describes Joseph's garment only as a striped jacket, to Joseph it was a beautiful coat of many colors he was proud to wear in the fields, while to his brothers, it was another token of their own disfavor.
Thus, when taken in as a servant to the wealthy Potiphar in Egypt, Joseph, through a combination of talent, vision, and divine help, eventually rose to become the trusted keeper and supervisor of Potiphar’s household and business affairs. But Joseph had the insight to realize that this comfortable new situation was not the grand purpose he had dreamed of. And so Joseph did not despair when he was again stripped of another garment, this time by Potiphar’s wife, and thrown into another pit, the Pharaoh’s dungeon. The Lord was still with Joseph, and through insight, vision and talent, Joseph would eventually rise out of that pit to still greater heights as a powerful advisor to the Pharaoh, a position in which he would achieve his destiny in saving his family, the House of Israel, from starvation and bring them for better or for worse into the next chapter of their journey into nationhood.
But enough about Joseph. As I promised at the beginning of the drash, this would be the story of two great visionaries. For intertwined with Joseph’s story in the parasha is that of another of our great ancestors who would overcome family and community scorn and climb from another pit, armed with intelligence, determination, and a sense of destiny. Her name was Tamar.
Tamar is among the Torah’s less-sung heroines. I suspect it is because certain aspects of her story are not easy to teach children in Jewish day schools. But she was in her own right a matriarch – not a matriarch of the entire people of Israel but of perhaps its foremost branch, the royal tribe of Judah.
After Joseph was thrown in the pit, Judah separated himself from the other remaining brothers, married a Canaanite, and had three sons. Judah arranged for his oldest son, Er, to marry Tamar. But Er was wicked in the eyes of God, and God slew him, leaving Tamar childless. Judah then arranged for his second son, Onan, to go to Tamar (according to some sources, to marry her) so that she would bear children to perpetuate Er’s, and by extension, Judah’s, name. But Onan, not wanting to conceive children who would be considered his older brother’s, took steps to deliberately avoid impregnating Tamar. God was displeased and slew Onan also, leaving Tamar twice a young widow with no children. Sure enough, who was silently blamed for the deaths of Judah's two eldest sons? Tamar. She was deemed bad luck – a curse. Judah ousted her from his household, sent her back to her father’s house to don the garments of widowhood, making her a vague promise that she would eventually be married to Judah’s third son, Shelah, a promise Judah would never keep.
For a young woman in ancient Canaan, to be deemed unmarriageable and doomed to live out the rest of her life as a childless widow in her father's house was a miserable fate. To marry well and bear sons was virtually the only way a woman could gain economic, social, and physical security. In essence, Judah had thrown Tamar into a pit as deep as the one he helped throw Joseph into.
But Tamar, like Joseph, was special. She was gifted. And Tamar, like Joseph, was not simply going to accept, in despair, the pit she was thrown into, nor would she wallow in self-pity over how unjustly she had been wronged. She was not going to be a childless widow for the rest of her life. Like Joseph, she saw herself differently, had bigger dreams – if not a premonition that she would be the mother of the royal tribe of Israel, then simply the hope of a decent, comfortable life. Tamar knew the pit was not for her. And coincidentally as happened with Joseph, her plan was going to require some changes of garments.
After Judah's wife died, Tamar learned that Judah would be traveling to a certain city. She took off her "garments of widowhood," went to the gates of that city ahead of Judah, and put on a veil, disguising herself as a harlot. Judah, not recognizing her, bargained for her services. Tamar demanded Judah's seal ring, cords, and staff as collateral for future payment, and then, after the "services" were rendered, she quickly disappeared back to her father's house and her widow's clothes. From this one encounter, Tamar conceived twin boys, a pregnancy for which she would risk execution for unchastity. With cleverness and a great deal of tact, Tamar found a way to use Judah's seal ring, cords and staff to prove privately to Judah, without public humiliation, that he was the father of her unborn sons, prompting Judah to admit his wrongs, take Tamar back into his household, acknowledge her sons as his heirs, and further proclaim that Tamar was more righteous than he. Tamar would become the ancestor of most of the tribe of Judah, including the royal line of King David, King Solomon, and according to some traditions, the future Moshiach.
In a lyric to the song, "The Hard Way," country music singer-song writer Mary Chapin Carpenter wrote, "We've got two lives -- one we're given and the other one we make." Both Joseph and Tamar were given many gifts, but also many hard knocks and raw deals. Through their vision and talent, and a sense of destiny, they made meaningful lives, never letting the pit swallow their dreams.