Parshas Vayeishev / Chanukah 5783
People, even great people, mature only over time. So when we find that Yosef is referred to early on in Parshas Vayeshev as a “na’ar,” a term that literally means youth, but often carries a distinctly juvenile connotation, it is not necessarily surprising. Yosef is, after all, only seventeen years old when the parsha begins. Rashi seems to underscore this sentiment in explaining that this term refers to Yosef’s preoccupation with his external appearance, and the time he spent styling his hair and putting himself together.
ּThe Kli Yakar, though, offers a fresh take on this description, noting the specific context in which it’s found. The Torah does not claim that Yosef was a “na’ar” in every sense, through and through. Rather, “והוא נער את בני בלהה ואת בני זלפה נשי אביו—he was a ‘na’ar’ towards the sons of Bilhah and the sons of Zilpah, his father’s wives.” It is in the company of these brothers in particular that the Torah notes this youthful, juvenile quality of Yosef.
Compare this to the very next pasuk, in which Yosef is described as the “ben zekunim” of his father, someone of decidedly mature qualities and characteristics. It is the same Yosef who invites both descriptions. How is this so?
The Kli Yakar explains that the Torah is describing Yosef’s ability to connect with others in a manner that would be relatable. Yes, when in the presence of his aged and saintly father, he is poised, mature, wise beyond his years. But when around his brothers, he groomed himself in a manner that made him most relatable and approachable. When in the company of those far younger, he takes on a different persona and connects on a wavelength most comfortable for them.
Does this mean that Yosef had no identity of his own? Far from it. What it means, simply, is that from a young age Yosef understood the importance of connecting with people on their own terms. Yosef was no chameleon, he did not abandon his message, identity, or values in the interest of becoming who everyone else wanted him to be. Indeed, Yosef shares his dreams with his brothers despite digging himself into a place of extreme unpopularity because he felt that the message contained in them needed to be shared. But whenever possible, Yosef presents himself in a manner that those he’s trying to impact will be most receptive to his message.
The sefer Mikra Mefurash suggests that perhaps this is why Chazal identify Yosef as the force that will come to neutralize the ideology of Eisav. Eisav was described as a “Man of the Field,” being drawn to the outdoors and developing into an expert hunter. Though he may not have possessed the typical appearance of the scholar, Eisav’s role was to nevertheless develop an internal religious persona, external trappings notwithstanding. Ultimately, Eisav failed. But Yosef succeeded in this capacity, already from a young age. Yosef’s inner depth and commitment could not be easily discerned by the external packaging alone. Indeed, it is Yosef who ultimately assumes the garb of the Egyptian nobility, yet continues to live his own private life and raise his children in a manner that would make his ancestors proud.
There is much to be learned from Yosef in this regard. We can get caught up at times with the importance of speaking the truth and “telling it like it is” that we lose all sense of doing so in a manner that others may be most receptive to. When criticism or critique needs to be offered, it can be rattled off without care or concern for packaging those words in a way that will permit them to be fully heard and absorbed. Being “truthful” has come to replace being cordial. This is particularly true online, where the immediate discomfort we might otherwise feel in being harsh to someone in their presence is dulled and obscured.
In other ways as well, we should be mindful of Yosef. When we attempt to impart values, goals or ideals—be it to children, students, or team members—we can’t expect that the ideas that animate us will have the same impact on others. We need to think about what’s of interest and relevant to them and consider ways to align those realities with our own hopes and expectations. We need to give thought not only to the message, but the messaging.
As Chanukah approaches, we’d do well to remember that the Jewish relationship with Greek culture is not entirely hostile. When Noach turned to bless his two sons, Shem and Yefes, the progenitors of the future nations of Israel and Greece, he said, “G-d will give beauty to Yefes, yet He will dwell in the tents of Shem.” The beauty of Greece is, indeed, a blessing, albeit an imperfect one. The problem arises when beauty becomes a means unto itself, rather than the attractive packaging within which the item of true value is contained. The tents of Shem can be of great beauty—and ought to be—if they are to be the vehicle that will draw greater interest to Hashem Who resides within.
Chanukah celebrates the banishing of foreign influences from our Holy Temple. But that Temple, let’s remember, was jaw-droppingly beautiful. Impressive architecture, kind and cordial language, and a presentation that resonates rather than repels, represent a type of aesthetic to be fully embraced. We should strive to be truthful. But there’s nothing wrong with making the truth as attractive and inviting as possible.