Parshas Vayechi 5786
In the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel, Hansel famously drops breadcrumbs along the path leading into the forest so that he and his sister will find their way back out again, foiling the plans of their parents to abandon them in the woods. Each breadcrumb was a clue that, when taken in totality with the others, provided enough information so that a meaningful path could be found.
In terms of chronology, the Torah’s woods can be no less dark and confusing. Who lived when? Was this other person still alive? How old was this person during that critical event? There’s no obvious path, only breadcrumbs. The Torah tells us, for instance, that Sarah was 127 years old when she died and that she was 90 when she had Yitzchak. If, as the Midrash teaches, Sarah died upon hearing the news of her son being taken for the Akeidah, then we know that Yitzchak was an adult—37 years old—at the time of the Akeidah. A timeline begins to emerge.
But then there are the gratuitious breadcrumbs. Like the one dropped in Parshas Vayechi. We are told that Yaakov was 147 years old when he died, yet seemingly for no purpose. We were already informed in last week’s parsha, after all, that he was 130 when he came to Mitzrayim, and are told at the beginning of our parsha that he lived in the land for 17 years. There are plenty of breadcrumbs already. Why has this random loaf of bread beed dropped on the forest floor?
As Yaakov Avinu nears the end of his life, Yosef brings Menashe and Ephraim for a final bracha from their grandfather. In introducing that blessing, Yaakov invokes a powerful image of Hashem that we are familiar with from our own liturgy, but that until that point seems to have not been used. Yaakov speaks of Hashem as, “הָאֱלֹקים הָרֹעֶה אֹתִי מֵעוֹדִי עַד־הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה
—The G-d Who shepherded me from my birth to this day.” (Bereishis 48:15) Yaakov Avinu sees himself as having lived the life of a sheep, guided faithfully through life by the Shepherd above.
Rav Matisyahu Solomon suggests that this was more than mere poetry. That in referring to Hashem as a Ro’eh, Yaakov was correcting an error he had made years before. When first meeting Pharaoh, and in response to his inquiring how old Yaakov was, Yaakov responded, “יְמֵי שְׁנֵי מְגוּרַי שְׁלֹשִׁים וּמְאַת שָׁנָה מְעַט וְרָעִים הָיוּ יְמֵי שְׁנֵי חַיַּי—The years of my sojourns are 130, few and bad have been the years of my life.” (Bereishis 47:9)
Yaakov frames his life as a bad life, a bitter life, using the term “רעים—ra’im” in his response to Pharaoh. And for good reason. Yaakov had been chased from his home by his brother, mistreated by his uncle, duped into marrying the wrong woman, and stripped of the company of his favorite son.
But later in life, Yaakov turns those words over in his mind, and realizes they were uttered in error. A life lived with purpose—designed with purpose—cannot be bad, no matter the trials and tribulations experienced along the way. In his final days, Yaakov revisits the word “Ra—bad” and transforms it into “Ro’eh—shepherd.” A life that unfolds under the careful guidance of the Shepherd’s staff, cannot possibly be a bad one. Every difficulty, every setback, was intentionally constructed to provide a chance for development and growth throughout life.
Rav Matisyahu notes further, that perhaps it is for this reason that the word “Ro’eh—shepherd” is unusually spelled, without the presence of the letter “Vav.” Written thusly, the word contains a clear allusion to the word “Ra—bad.” Yaakov had reconsidered the “Ra” of his life, and realized that it had been anything but. In reality his life had been guided by a “Ro’eh” from beginning to end.
Rav Yaakov Neiman suggests that the Torah’s declaration of Yaakov’s age at the time of his death is no breadcrumb at all. Simple math tells us that Yaakov was 147 when he passed, and whatever other details are to be further extrapolated from that fact does not demand the Torah’s stating it in such prominent terms. Rather, the point being made is one that Rashi highlights at the beginning of Parshas Chayei Sarah, when the Torah informs us that Sarah was 127 years old at the time of her death and then reiterates, “these were the years of Sarah’s life.” (Bereishis 23:1) Rashi comments that those extra words indicate a homogeny amongst those years, namely, “כלן שוין לטובה—they were all equally good”.
Perhaps, suggests Rav Neiman, this is precisely the same point the Torah is making here. That for all the challenges, for all the difficulties, at the end of his life, Yaakov Avinu saw each day, each moment as being equally good. Not equally easy, not equally pleasant, but equally good. When the Shepherd, the Ro’eh is leading the way, how could anything be Ra?
Anyone asked to consider the greatest moment of his life would unlikely think of the moment that was most challenging—the greatest setback, the greatest failure, or receiving the most ominous diagnosis. No, it would be the moment of that towering achievement, the point at which he’d realized that all his hard work had finally paid off.
In reality, though, how much of the latter is rooted in the former? How much of what we learned about ourselves through those setbacks or what we were forced to improve about our character due to those failures served as the necessary prerequisite for the accomplishments we enjoyed afterwards? When we acknowledge that the struggles and difficulties are a critical component in transforming us into the people we ultimately become, one can only see the good in every year, every day, every experience that Hashem provides us.