This week's parshah is Vayeshev. Several months ago, I posted this drash on the parshah. This week, I revisit my thoughts.
Parshat Vayeshev shows that family matters aren’t for the weak of spirit. The episode between Judah and Tamar at once affirms the value of family and highlights the struggles therein.
I imagine that the readers of this essay are familiar with the story, so I’ll only give a brief synopsis here. Judah promises Tamar that one of his sons will give her a child, but he reneges on the offer. Some time later, Judah sleeps with a prostitute, who turns out to be Tamar in disguise. Nine months later, Tamar gives birth to twins.
This story paints a pretty poor picture of Judah. Recall that it was Judah who convinced his brothers to sell Joseph into slavery, and Judah who is ultimately responsible for deceiving their father, Jacob. This story begins “About that time, Judah left his brothers.” Midrash relates that Judah was in fact running away from home to avoid his shame. When he slept with Tamar, Judah’s wife had just died. He doesn’t even finish his period of mourning, he waits only until “he is comforted.” He condemns Tamar for prostitution, when in fact he solicited it. And in the end, he never outwardly admits that he slept with Tamar. He only admits that he shouldn’t have withheld from her his youngest son. Judah is kind of a jerk.
The Tamar episode cleverly interrupts the Joseph narrative, sort of like an interlude. It shows that Judah’s betrayal of Joseph did not go unpunished. As Judah deceived his father Jacob, so does Tamar deceive Judah. This biblical parallelism fits with the ancient Rabbis’ notion of kav l’kav—that a person’s fate is doled out measure for measure according to their deeds (Visotzky 127). Upon realizing he slept with Tamar, Judah is made to “examine/hakerna” his clothes and “recognize/vayaker” them as his own. The same words are used when Judah shows his father Joseph’s bloodied coat (Plaut 253). Both men fall victim to an article of clothing. And whereas Jacob is made to believe something that is false (that Joseph has died), Judah is made to recognize something that is true (that he has impregnated Tamar). For deceiving his father, Judah inherits a fitting destiny.
And isn’t life often like this? A teenager breaks his parents’ curfew, only to find years later that his own son has similar habits. We accuse our lover of being unfaithful when in fact we harbor lustful feelings. We condemn our colleagues for missing a deadline, only to find that we ourselves have dropped the ball. We blame our friends for screwing up their lives, only to find that we introduced them to the bad habit. The traits we most detest in others are often things we allow or don’t recognize in ourselves.
Tamar, in contrast to Judah, is a clever, strong woman, who plays by her own rules at a man’s game. In Who Wrote the Bible, Richard Friedman argues that Tamar’s wit forces us not to rule out the possibility that the biblical author “J” could have been a woman (86). Tamar plays every card right. She disguises herself from Judah, makes him give her collateral, and then disappears. When the time is right, she exposes Judah in the cleverest way. You can imagine the shock on Judah’s face when she presents his clothing. Tamar reminds us that sometimes it takes the persistence of a friend to show us we have made a mistake.
The story ends with Tamar’s twins fighting over who will emerge first from the womb. Clearly, this is a symbol of family struggle. The story reads like a soap opera, but it sounds like real life. The characters are human, scarred, proud. And despite their drama, from Tamar and Judah will descend King David and the eventual messiah. After all, Judah does redeem himself to Joseph—it is Judah who, in the most earnest way, pleads with Joseph to have mercy on Benjamin. Though our friends and family may hurt us, though we may not recognize our own faults, it is incumbent upon us accept one another. If we take an honest look at ourselves, if we help each other grow, maybe we can learn to forgive. This is the flux between hate and love, the pushing away and the holding tight that binds a family together.
Parshat Vayeshev shows that family matters aren’t for the weak of spirit. The episode between Judah and Tamar at once affirms the value of family and highlights the struggles therein.
I imagine that the readers of this essay are familiar with the story, so I’ll only give a brief synopsis here. Judah promises Tamar that one of his sons will give her a child, but he reneges on the offer. Some time later, Judah sleeps with a prostitute, who turns out to be Tamar in disguise. Nine months later, Tamar gives birth to twins.
This story paints a pretty poor picture of Judah. Recall that it was Judah who convinced his brothers to sell Joseph into slavery, and Judah who is ultimately responsible for deceiving their father, Jacob. This story begins “About that time, Judah left his brothers.” Midrash relates that Judah was in fact running away from home to avoid his shame. When he slept with Tamar, Judah’s wife had just died. He doesn’t even finish his period of mourning, he waits only until “he is comforted.” He condemns Tamar for prostitution, when in fact he solicited it. And in the end, he never outwardly admits that he slept with Tamar. He only admits that he shouldn’t have withheld from her his youngest son. Judah is kind of a jerk.
The Tamar episode cleverly interrupts the Joseph narrative, sort of like an interlude. It shows that Judah’s betrayal of Joseph did not go unpunished. As Judah deceived his father Jacob, so does Tamar deceive Judah. This biblical parallelism fits with the ancient Rabbis’ notion of kav l’kav—that a person’s fate is doled out measure for measure according to their deeds (Visotzky 127). Upon realizing he slept with Tamar, Judah is made to “examine/hakerna” his clothes and “recognize/vayaker” them as his own. The same words are used when Judah shows his father Joseph’s bloodied coat (Plaut 253). Both men fall victim to an article of clothing. And whereas Jacob is made to believe something that is false (that Joseph has died), Judah is made to recognize something that is true (that he has impregnated Tamar). For deceiving his father, Judah inherits a fitting destiny.
And isn’t life often like this? A teenager breaks his parents’ curfew, only to find years later that his own son has similar habits. We accuse our lover of being unfaithful when in fact we harbor lustful feelings. We condemn our colleagues for missing a deadline, only to find that we ourselves have dropped the ball. We blame our friends for screwing up their lives, only to find that we introduced them to the bad habit. The traits we most detest in others are often things we allow or don’t recognize in ourselves.
Tamar, in contrast to Judah, is a clever, strong woman, who plays by her own rules at a man’s game. In Who Wrote the Bible, Richard Friedman argues that Tamar’s wit forces us not to rule out the possibility that the biblical author “J” could have been a woman (86). Tamar plays every card right. She disguises herself from Judah, makes him give her collateral, and then disappears. When the time is right, she exposes Judah in the cleverest way. You can imagine the shock on Judah’s face when she presents his clothing. Tamar reminds us that sometimes it takes the persistence of a friend to show us we have made a mistake.
The story ends with Tamar’s twins fighting over who will emerge first from the womb. Clearly, this is a symbol of family struggle. The story reads like a soap opera, but it sounds like real life. The characters are human, scarred, proud. And despite their drama, from Tamar and Judah will descend King David and the eventual messiah. After all, Judah does redeem himself to Joseph—it is Judah who, in the most earnest way, pleads with Joseph to have mercy on Benjamin. Though our friends and family may hurt us, though we may not recognize our own faults, it is incumbent upon us accept one another. If we take an honest look at ourselves, if we help each other grow, maybe we can learn to forgive. This is the flux between hate and love, the pushing away and the holding tight that binds a family together.
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