Parshat Miketz – December 27, 2024 / 27 Kislev, 5785

I was recently at a full-service gas station in St. James. I pulled up next to the pump, and out of the small building emerged a young man, maybe 20 years old- and he began pumping gas into my car. He was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, it was early in the morning, rainy and slushy, and just bitter. He could have been miserable out there early in the wet and cold. I would not have blamed him. But, he did it for me this year. He gave me one of my feel-good moments of the season in such an unexpected way. More on that soon. Let’s start with where I began…many years ago as a school-aged child: “Do you speak Jewish?” “Are you Chanukah?” “Where is your funny hat?” These are just some of the questions that I had to field growing up as a Jew in a very non-Jewish community. I have actually heard that some of these questions have survived through at least another generation, with many of our own students fielding similar comments. To be fair, most children do not mean to be ignorant or insulting, and I would generally answer the questions with an educational bent. “It’s Hebrew, not Jewish. “I am Jewish. Not Chanukah, which is a minor festival.” The hat you are referring to is a yarmulke or a kippah. I don’t wear one all the time. Some Jews do. Etc. etc. etc. 

This time of the year, the Holiday season in the United States, brings up so many questions in terms of our place as Jews in broader society. What to do in a cultural milieu wherein we are not only in the minority, but also where antisemitism and Jewish hatred are at all-time highs? Chanukah contains within it the story of some very extreme Jews, who could be considered zealous. They opposed any form of assimilation into the popular Hellenistic culture, and even killed other Jews who did not fall in line. That aspect of the Chanukah history is generally left out of the version that we tell our children. But we can learn quite a lot from the story of Chanukah, and also this week’s Torah portion, Mikeitz, which brings up another assimilation narrarative. 

Joseph, a Hebrew, is brought out of Egyptian prison, interprets the dreams of Pharaoh, and given his skills of dream interpretation and economic prowess, is thrust into the role of Egypt’s second-in-command. Joseph is put into the clothes of Egyptians, he marries an Egyptian wife, and his sons are born in Egypt. Interestingly, Joseph gives his sons Hebrew names, Manasheh and Ephraim. These names have meaning. Manasseh means “G‑d made me forget all my hardships and my father’s home.” Ephraim means “G‑d made me fruitful in the land of my suffering.” Joseph, bathed in the garb and customs of Egypt, clearly has not forgotten where he has come from. He never forgets his father or his homeland, and he refers to Egypt as the land of his suffering. Perhaps he might also know that this land will become one of suffering for the entire people of Israel. 

Joseph, however, for any of his clinging onto Hebrew customs, must become comfortable in Egyptian culture. He must lead Egyptians, walk through Egyptian spaces, and hear the language of Egypt daily. He must raise Jewish sons there as well. How does one balance this? Are many of us similar to Joseph in this way? We can scarcely watch television or listen to the radio without the dominant Christmas holiday being very visible and audible. How hard do we push to get Chanukah songs into the school’s holiday concert? Do we really want to exert effort campaigning for more than the token Dreidel song? What is worth it? What is not? 

From my perspective here today; It is up to all of us collectively and individually to make sure that we can live in our communities comfortably, and also that we can keep Judaism…well…Jewish. I never hear of more Jewish identity crises than around this time of the year. We are told to protect our traditions with all of our hearts, souls and might. We know that the Maccabees fought to eradicate any semblance of Greek culture from their holy spaces. On the other hand, we are also taught that Joseph’s sons are born of a marriage of him, a Hebrew, and Asenath, an Egyptian. Our greatest prophet Moses married Zipporah, the daughter of a Midianite Priest. As we discussed last week, the line of King David came from a connection between an Israelite and a Canaanite-Judah and Tamar. Maybe Judaism is simply not a monolith…and trust me, there are many who disagree with that notion. 

Do I think Judaism is simply performing kind acts and being a good person- a mensch? No, not really. That would be fairly reductive. Judaism is something much more than that. Education about our people, our traditions, our sometimes neglected but oh-so-beautiful pathways to spirituality…that can lead us to find our own complex meaning in Judaism. I think we do have to know something before we can say yes or “no” to something.

Maybe we can see Judaism as the Chanukiyah. Maybe you have a tree in your home for Christmas- have a family of multiple traditions. Beautiful. But perhaps we need to put that nine-branched menorah in the window this year. We light the night with the flames of our Jewish spirits and symbols, as we are told to light the world with our mitzvot, to care for others, while also caring for our own customs and traditions. When we put the Chanukiyah in the window this year, we know that the light of the candles is glowing on a society wherein Judaism is not the most prominent religion or tradition. Some people outright do not like us. We shine our beautiful lights on the world anyway. We tell the world that this small group of people, this 0.2 percent of the world-This  approximately 15 million in a world of many billions, is not here not to hide, cower, or insulate–but to be an ohr l’goyim, a light unto the nations. Our seemingly small jar of spiritual oil is more than enough to give light to the entire world. No matter your faith, no matter your beliefs, no matter who you are…we have something to offer you. Yes, Egypt turned on Joseph and the Jews, the Syrian-Greeks turned on the Temple and the Jews, the Germans turned on European Jewry. The world sometimes turns its back on Medinat Yisrael, modern-day Israel. When the world turns its back on us, we still do not turn our backs on the world. We work to make our world holy–to bring heaven down to us.

Back to the hooded-sweatshirt guy at the gas station. I said it was a feel-good moment. He, standing in the elements, serving my needs, looked me in the eye through the car window, and he said to me: “Merry Christmas, man.” I was taken aback. Not because he wished me a “Merry Christmas.” He could have said anything, to be honest. It was his neshamah. He meant his words. He just wanted to be genuine. It was so clear. If I could replicate it, I would. I almost had a tear in my eye as I drove to Lindenhurst. His genuity expressed in a moment the possibility of oneness that exists in specificity. His light was his, but he warmed me with it.

We know the stories of our struggles and resilience. They resonate again this week with both Joseph’s and Chanukah’s story.. We continue to find our unique balance, and we never turn our back on our fellow humans, no matter the struggle. Why? Is it because we are chosen? Maybe. Maybe we are chosen to let the light in when darkness is on the brink of victory. 

So, Celebrate this year, and do it proudly. Gently educate ignorance. Put the Chanukiyah in the window. Eat sufganiyot and latkes. And then continue to celebrate. We are always here. We always will be. Also, know that the young man in the hooded sweatshirt exists. He might not celebrate your holiday. He might not say the perfect words, but he loves you as a human. We can keep who we are, and also love all whose company we keep. so to him, I also say, “Merry Christmas, Man.”

Chag Urim Sameach and Shabbat Shalom

– Rabbi Josh Gray