We approach biblical figures with a sense of reverence and awe. However, at times we can learn from their challenges and human shortcomings.

In Parshat Vayeshev 37:2, Joseph brings a scathing report regarding his brothers to their father, Jacob. Rashi comments that Joseph’s testimony was not limited to one or two topics but rather “Whatever bad he saw in them, he reported.”

In Sechel Tov on Genesis 44:17, the compilation of midrashim by Rabbi Menachem ben Shlomo of Italy (12th century), this incident is identified as the beginning of a cycle of events that leads to a long exile of pain and suffering in Egypt for the Jewish nation. In his classic work Meshech Chachama, commenting on Leviticus 16:30, Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk suggests that every contemporary conflict between Jews contains a remnant of this early act of sibling conflict within it. He viewed this contentious relationship as having eternal ramifications.

The Talmud, in Masechet Megillah 16b, attributes the cycle of events that led to Jewish bondage to an act of unintended favoritism displayed by Jacob to Joseph. In fact, Maimonides — in his Mishneh Torah, Laws of Inheritance (6:13), warns that favoring one child over another could lead to similar consequences for a Jewish family. This theme is expanded upon in the Pesikta Zutra, commenting on Genesis 39, which describes the prophet Hoshea as linking the infighting between the two Jewish kingdoms to the impact of Jacob’s favoritism, leading to the brothers’ jealousy and eventually to the descent into Egypt.

It is clear that our great rabbinic commentaries are asking us to consider the impact of disunity. Beyond looking at specific acts or arguments, we are presented with scenarios of great people who did not consider the long-term consequences of their actions. Much of the latter sections of the Book of Genesis are attempts by the siblings to repair their past missteps. In fact, Avraham Ibn Ezra, in his commentary on Exodus 13:19, sees the attempt at family reconciliation continuing during the time of the exodus from Egypt. Moses was determined to take the remains of Joseph out of Egypt not only to fulfill a promise made to this great man, but to bring to a close the tragic story that started with the brothers throwing Joseph into the pit.

At this time of year, many families are privileged to gather for family reunions during Chanukah. While family members may grow apart and live at great distances from each other, the positive bonds of family unity bring a sense of closeness and peace of mind. It is important to point out that, to an extent, we are emulating the Hasmonean brothers, who formed a powerful partnership with their father to lead the Jewish people to victory. In the following generations this unity frayed, and these internal conflicts ended the Hasmonean dynasty — with negative consequences to the nation. It would serve us well to preserve the harmony of the modern Jewish family. While not every relationship is perfect, repair and reconciliation are always possible. In the Avot of Rabbi Natan (26), we are reminded that all interpersonal mitzvot apply to the way we interact with our own family members. Just as one act of discord or dissonance could begin a cycle of doom, one step toward repair can generate unity and greatness.We approach biblical figures with a sense of reverence and awe. However, at times we can learn from their challenges and human shortcomings.

In Parshat Vayeshev 37:2, Joseph brings a scathing report regarding his brothers to their father, Jacob. Rashi comments that Joseph’s testimony was not limited to one or two topics but rather “Whatever bad he saw in them, he reported.”

In Sechel Tov on Genesis 44:17, the compilation of midrashim by Rabbi Menachem ben Shlomo of Italy (12th century), this incident is identified as the beginning of a cycle of events that leads to a long exile of pain and suffering in Egypt for the Jewish nation. In his classic work Meshech Chachama, commenting on Leviticus 16:30, Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk suggests that every contemporary conflict between Jews contains a remnant of this early act of sibling conflict within it. He viewed this contentious relationship as having eternal ramifications.

The Talmud, in Masechet Megillah 16b, attributes the cycle of events that led to Jewish bondage to an act of unintended favoritism displayed by Jacob to Joseph. In fact, Maimonides — in his Mishneh Torah, Laws of Inheritance (6:13), warns that favoring one child over another could lead to similar consequences for a Jewish family. This theme is expanded upon in the Pesikta Zutra, commenting on Genesis 39, which describes the prophet Hoshea as linking the infighting between the two Jewish kingdoms to the impact of Jacob’s favoritism, leading to the brothers’ jealousy and eventually to the descent into Egypt.

It is clear that our great rabbinic commentaries are asking us to consider the impact of disunity. Beyond looking at specific acts or arguments, we are presented with scenarios of great people who did not consider the long-term consequences of their actions. Much of the latter sections of the Book of Genesis are attempts by the siblings to repair their past missteps. In fact, Avraham Ibn Ezra, in his commentary on Exodus 13:19, sees the attempt at family reconciliation continuing during the time of the exodus from Egypt. Moses was determined to take the remains of Joseph out of Egypt not only to fulfill a promise made to this great man, but to bring to a close the tragic story that started with the brothers throwing Joseph into the pit.

At this time of year, many families are privileged to gather for family reunions during Chanukah. While family members may grow apart and live at great distances from each other, the positive bonds of family unity bring a sense of closeness and peace of mind. It is important to point out that, to an extent, we are emulating the Hasmonean brothers, who formed a powerful partnership with their father to lead the Jewish people to victory. In the following generations this unity frayed, and these internal conflicts ended the Hasmonean dynasty — with negative consequences to the nation. It would serve us well to preserve the harmony of the modern Jewish family. While not every relationship is perfect, repair and reconciliation are always possible. In the Avot of Rabbi Natan (26), we are reminded that all interpersonal mitzvot apply to the way we interact with our own family members. Just as one act of discord or dissonance could begin a cycle of doom, one step toward repair can generate unity and greatness.

Last week in Parshat Vayetze, we followed Yaakov, who fled his parents’ home to escape the murderous wrath of his brother Esau, who felt cheated by Yaakov out of his birthright. After living for twenty years with his father-in-law Lavan, a most dishonest trickster, and becoming a successful cattle rancher, the text tells us in Gen. 31:2 that Yaakov sees for the first time the “true face of Lavan,” sees him for the rapacious man he is. Yaakov fears he is becoming like his father-in-law and knows he must escape Lavan’s influence. He then hears God telling him to “return home to the land of your forefathers and I will be with you.” (Gen. 31:3) Yaakov confidently sets in motion a plan to return to Caanan.

The Yaakov we meet in Vayishlakh is someone who knows a lot, has a lot, and is able to do a lot for his own and his family’s welfare. But there is some crucial work yet to be done if he is to become man enough to stand up to Esau. The night before their fateful encounter, he crosses the River Yabok, and wrestles all night with an Ish, a mysterious “other,” which various commentators have translated either as a man sent by Esau; an angel of God who represents the spirit of Esau; or with himself, the man Yaakov is trying to become, a man of moral principles and ethical behavior.

As dawn breaks, the Ish talks with Yaakov:

“Then he said, ‘Let me go, for the dawn is breaking.’ He (Yaakov) replied: ‘I will not let you go unless you bless me.’ He said to him, ‘What is your name?’ He answered, ‘Yaakov.’ He said ‘No longer will your name be Yaakov, but Yisrael, because you have fought with God and with men and have prevailed.’” (Gen. 32:26-28)

The invitation to Yaakov to disclose his name is probably a rhetorical device for Yaakov to think deeply about the meaning of his name and the mission of his life as defined by his name. The new name, Yisrael, represents Yaakov’s transformation into a person with the power and commitment to contend with all that will confront him while succeeding to hold his moral compass intact. That is indeed a blessing.

But if Yaakov truly earns the name Yisrael, how come the Torah itself and Jewish tradition refer to him many times by his former name, Yaakov? After his transformation, we would expect him to be able to ascend the ladder to God he dreamt about in Beit El. Yet, even after his self-validation, after everything has worked out with Esau, the text goes out of its way to still call him Yaakov:

“And Yaakov came shalem (whole) to the city of Shkhem in the land of Canaan…” (Gen. 33:18).

We are forced to conclude that even in Eretz Yisrael, Yaakov is still Yaakov. Why? None of the other biblical characters who get name changes are referred to by their old names. What is the significance of Yaakov retaining his old name while also having a new name, Yisrael?

Both names indicate the necessity for continuing two sets of contradictory character traits and responses for different circumstances of his life, and, by extension, for different times in the history of his descendants, the Jewish people. The name Yaakov bespeaks subservience, second-tier status, being in the background while seeking opportunities to burst forward. It projects the “promise” that Yaakov/the Jewish people will many times have to be alone, wrestling with uncertainty, even infirmity. Our worth as a people, in others’ and in our own eyes, will be lowered by our temporary incapacity to fight our battles head on. Gen. 32:33 insinuates that the wound to Yaakov’s thigh remains “to this day,” meaning that individual and collective Jewish life will be imperfect, wounded. The key is to continue the fight against our interior character flaws and external hits to our equanimity because, if we do, we will give birth to a new dawn, a new reality called Yisrael.

Yisrael is connected to the Hebrew root sar, which means prince or lord, connoting eminence, nobility. Yaakov needs to become Yisrael, patriarch of the twelve tribes. To his son Joseph, Yaakov appears as the iconic image of Abba, pure moral strength and integrity, which directs Joseph to be the Yisrael the family will need in Egypt. Talmud Brakhot 13a teaches that through Yisrael we fulfill our mission to present God and goodness to the world, and help redeem the world. But Yaakov the struggler is critically needed, as well.

As we approach Chanukah, the Holiday of Lights, let us remember to shine light on our inner selves and bring out our best character. One of the best lights we have is the light of a good question: Mah shimkhah, what is your name? What is the name we are given and how do we use it to define ourselves? And what is the name we are capable of becoming? Like Yaakov, we can rearrange ourselves, ask for new blessings for ourselves, and use our capacities to bless others. Then our inner light as Yisrael can shine more clearly onto others and we will indeed become a blessing for the world.

Parshat Vayeitzei begins with Jacob, who is running away from home and is described for us as afraid and exhausted. He goes to sleep and has a dream in which he envisions a ladder connecting earth to Heaven. The simple message of the story for Jacob, and us, is that what we do here on earth reaches up into Heaven. It means that we can affect and impact many worlds and our actions have effects on many different levels. Too many of us believe that what we do only affects ourselves. Jacob’s ladder comes to teach us that we are all interconnected and related.

How often do we forget this teaching? How often do we only act from our own narrow place, our own narcissistic place and forget or not care about the impact on others and on all levels of existence on earth and in Heaven? Whether you believe in “Global warming” or not, can any of us honestly deny that the impact of natural disasters are exacerbated by societal neglect and individual indifference?

A second lesson that our sages see in this dream narrative is the significance of the angels of God who are going up and down the ladder. How often do we forget to be grateful for the angels that help us? How many times have we been in need of an angel and felt forgotten and/or betrayed just because we did not look around us and notice the angels that are with us? How many times have we mistaken enemies for angels? At our Thanksgiving tables I hope you had an experience similar to mine, realizing that the real messengers of God do not come down from Heaven as in the movies but rather they are the people next to us, and across the table from us; the ones in whom we see the Divine and who in turn see the Divine within us.

The Kotzker Rebbe once rhetorically asked: “Where do you find God?” His answer was: “Wherever and whenever you invite God in.” This is the message I find in Jacob’s awareness when he awakes that: “God was in this place and I, I, did not know it.” How could Jacob, the inheritor of the spiritual mantle of Isaac and Abraham, not know that God was in the place? Perhaps in the spirit of one of Jacob’s descendants, Sigmund Freud, it was due to the fact that “I” that Jacob uses twice in this verse is the “I” of the ego that blinds him to the presence of others both human and Divine.

This year, the first three weeks of the month of December will be an opportunity for American Jews to connect the American festival of Thanksgiving Day to the Jewish festival of Chanukah. Chanukah was the Maccabees’ festival of Thanksgiving and rededication of themselves as well as their Temple to gratitude for God’s blessings. As we count down the days to Chanukah this month may each of us seek to open our eyes to see the angels around us and and express our gratitude to them and to the God who sent them to us. May this Shabbat Vayeitzei embolden each of us with the courage to take our place as one of God’s messengers in the world. May each of us not only firmly plant our ladders of life in the earth and reach up to heaven, may we also reach down our hands and give others a helping hand as they climb their own ladders of life.

Could we imagine life with only one color? How about with only 3 colors? Black, white, and perhaps a few shades of gray? Television began that way but today we have thousands of colors on all the screens we utilize — personal computing, iPads, and high definition televisions — which allow us to see the world in vivid Technicolor, countless shades and tints of every hue.

Even with such advances in colors, we still too often seem to paint people in monochrome. This has traditionally been the case when it comes to Jacob and Esau, the twin sons born to Rebecca and Isaac that we are introduced to in this week’s parsha of Toldot.

In what was and will continue to be a theme in the Torah when two children are born, the second child seems to be favored. Esau and Jacob are born just minutes apart. Jacob exits the birth canal while clasping the heel of his big brother, thereby earning his name. (Yaakov means “heel” or in modern Hebrew a form of ‘in one’s footsteps’). Whenever one child is played against another in the Bible, we seem to tilt the scales in favor of one, seeing them in one color: white, the good and positive color. The second child is black with fewer redeeming qualities. Cain and Abel, Ishmael and Isaac, Menashe and Ephraim are just a few examples that fit neatly into this model.

I do not want to focus on this page as to why they are favored. Although recently there was an article in the New York Times that suggests that parents with multiple children actually choose favorites. Do you? Most people I know would never admit that they have a favored child. Well, at least not publicly. But in private would they?

I have two kids. I do not have a favorite but I do realize that they have different characteristics, traits, and beliefs that make them special and unique. Based on my day, what is happening in my life and my needs, I find that I can gravitate to one over another. But rarely is it the same child, as they both bring color to my life and the world.

In our tradition, Esau and Jacob are opposites. One burly and rough, the other soft and smooth. One is a lover and the other the fighter. Rebecca favors Jacob while Isaac has an affinity towards Esau. We will learn that Jacob takes advantage of Esau’s vulnerability. Jacob further colludes with his mother to trick his aging father at the time of the birthright blessing. Still, with all of this behavior, Jacob is the child to whom deference is given in our traditions. We continue to follow his journey. He wrestles with God. He is the inheritor of the covenant made with his grandfather, Abraham, which we are reminded of daily as we invoke his name in the recitation of our prayers. But where is Esau? He cannot be found in our liturgy, we do not track his journeys in the Bible unless it intersects with Jacob. Esau seems to draw a bad rap, and I would add unnecessarily.

The Midrash teaches us that Esau was an exemplary son that regularly doted on his father. Isaac had a sight difference. He could not see well, as evidenced in the episode of trickery. Still, the rabbis tell us that Esau would hunt for all of his father’s favorite foods. One Midrash even suggests that when Esau came back parched and starving and Isaac leveraged his hunger into the undeserved birthright, Esau was out in the fields preparing a feast for his ailing father.

Other children in the Bible seem to suffer a bad rap too while their siblings are heralded as saviors and leaders. Perhaps it is because we are used to seeing biblical characters in black and white – good and bad. Sometimes that lens through which we see the Bible can extend to modernity. This candidate is either good or bad. This CEO, friend, rabbi is either on one side of the ledger or the other. That is dangerous.

When it comes to human estimations and appraisals, we cannot afford to be linear. We need to see everyone in Technicolor. If we do not, we put blinders on that only allow us to see one way, one color. Not seeing the qualities that every biblical character, person, candidate, and rabbi has to offer the world does a disservice to the ability God gave us since creation to see the world in many vivid colors.

All people aspire to leave a legacy, an impression on the world. Their motivation is not necessarily personal pride or even an artificial means of prevailing over their mortality. Rather, it fulfills an inborn desire to complete God’s mission, the specific and unique one which He entrusted to each of us at birth.

What is an appropriate legacy? Is it a monument in a public square? A cutting-edge hospital bearing the name of its founder? Or perhaps a publicly-listed company housed in a glass-and-steel Manhattan skyscraper? After all, what is more permanent than metal and stone? While these are certainly commendable, they are nonetheless inadequate.

An examination of this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, leads us to the discovery of a truly appropriate and meaningful legacy.

The words Chayei Sarah mean ‘Sarah’s life.’ Strangely enough, however, the entire Torah portion thus named describes events that transpired after Sarah’s death. It begins with Abraham acquiring a burial place for Sarah, continues with Isaac finding consolation over his mother’s passing by marrying his soul mate, Rebecca, and concludes with Abraham’s remarriage to Hagar, Sarah’s nemesis.

Not only do all these events transpire after Sarah’s death, but one of them may be construed as antithetical to her life’s goal, primarily the remarriage of Abraham to Hagar, expelled by Sarah many years prior. Sarah’s displeasure with Hagar did not stem from petty jealousy, but was attributable to ideological differences, Hagar’s permissiveness regarding Ishmael’s negative interaction with Isaac, and the insinuation by Hagar that the spiritual heir-ship of Abraham which had been promised to Isaac by God would be usurped by Ishmael. How then can the Torah portion be called Chayei Sarah, Sarah’s life? Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate to call it Sarah’s death?

However, nothing could be further from the truth. The very reason that the Torah portion begins by describing the events after Sarah’s passing is to give us perspective on the substance of a true legacy.

At what point did it become evident that the essence of Sarah’s life, the values that she represented, were not merely forced on her surroundings by her charisma, strong will, and physical imposition, but that they made a permanent mark? Not during her lifetime. Only after her passing, as her legacy flourished and grew in strength, did this become apparent. Because the legacy she left was not a monument, nor a foundation, but a living and breathing legacy that continues to live the life that she lived. Her legacy was a Jewish child who remained true to her values and teachings.

This living legacy is found in both of the major episodes related in the Torah portion. Isaac’s choice of a mate was precisely what his mother would have wanted. The verse tells us that prior to their marriage “He brought her into the tent of Sarah his mother.” According to the interpretation of the Midrash, when Rebecca came into the tent he perceived her as his mother Sarah, i.e. identical to his mother in her righteousness and piety. Only then, the verse continues, did Isaac take her as his wife.

Similarly, when Abraham remarried Hagar, not only wasn’t it antithetical to Sarah’s will but it actually vindicated her position on Ishmael. The Torah tells us that Abraham sent away his children from Hagar to the lands of the east, and only Isaac remained with him. Abraham thus demonstrated that although he had remarried Hagar, her children were not his true heirs. Isaac alone was destined to be the progenitor of the Jewish people by Divine instruction.

Now it’s time to fashion your own living legacy. But the only way to successfully ensure your living legacy is to live a living legacy yourself. A living legacy is one that issues forth from the fount of eternal life, our Holy Torah – the word of God. It is related in Pirkei Avot, that we should examine and re-examine the Torah because everything is in it. Through the study of Torah, we create a living legacy of endurance.All people aspire to leave a legacy, an impression on the world. Their motivation is not necessarily personal pride or even an artificial means of prevailing over their mortality. Rather, it fulfills an inborn desire to complete God’s mission, the specific and unique one which He entrusted to each of us at birth.

What is an appropriate legacy? Is it a monument in a public square? A cutting-edge hospital bearing the name of its founder? Or perhaps a publicly-listed company housed in a glass-and-steel Manhattan skyscraper? After all, what is more permanent than metal and stone? While these are certainly commendable, they are nonetheless inadequate.

An examination of this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, leads us to the discovery of a truly appropriate and meaningful legacy.

The words Chayei Sarah mean ‘Sarah’s life.’ Strangely enough, however, the entire Torah portion thus named describes events that transpired after Sarah’s death. It begins with Abraham acquiring a burial place for Sarah, continues with Isaac finding consolation over his mother’s passing by marrying his soul mate, Rebecca, and concludes with Abraham’s remarriage to Hagar, Sarah’s nemesis.

Not only do all these events transpire after Sarah’s death, but one of them may be construed as antithetical to her life’s goal, primarily the remarriage of Abraham to Hagar, expelled by Sarah many years prior. Sarah’s displeasure with Hagar did not stem from petty jealousy, but was attributable to ideological differences, Hagar’s permissiveness regarding Ishmael’s negative interaction with Isaac, and the insinuation by Hagar that the spiritual heir-ship of Abraham which had been promised to Isaac by God would be usurped by Ishmael. How then can the Torah portion be called Chayei Sarah, Sarah’s life? Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate to call it Sarah’s death?

However, nothing could be further from the truth. The very reason that the Torah portion begins by describing the events after Sarah’s passing is to give us perspective on the substance of a true legacy.

At what point did it become evident that the essence of Sarah’s life, the values that she represented, were not merely forced on her surroundings by her charisma, strong will, and physical imposition, but that they made a permanent mark? Not during her lifetime. Only after her passing, as her legacy flourished and grew in strength, did this become apparent. Because the legacy she left was not a monument, nor a foundation, but a living and breathing legacy that continues to live the life that she lived. Her legacy was a Jewish child who remained true to her values and teachings.

This living legacy is found in both of the major episodes related in the Torah portion. Isaac’s choice of a mate was precisely what his mother would have wanted. The verse tells us that prior to their marriage “He brought her into the tent of Sarah his mother.” According to the interpretation of the Midrash, when Rebecca came into the tent he perceived her as his mother Sarah, i.e. identical to his mother in her righteousness and piety. Only then, the verse continues, did Isaac take her as his wife.

Similarly, when Abraham remarried Hagar, not only wasn’t it antithetical to Sarah’s will but it actually vindicated her position on Ishmael. The Torah tells us that Abraham sent away his children from Hagar to the lands of the east, and only Isaac remained with him. Abraham thus demonstrated that although he had remarried Hagar, her children were not his true heirs. Isaac alone was destined to be the progenitor of the Jewish people by Divine instruction.

Now it’s time to fashion your own living legacy. But the only way to successfully ensure your living legacy is to live a living legacy yourself. A living legacy is one that issues forth from the fount of eternal life, our Holy Torah – the word of God. It is related in Pirkei Avot, that we should examine and re-examine the Torah because everything is in it. Through the study of Torah, we create a living legacy of endurance.

Needless to say, my mind lately has been very much on trees. It is almost impossible to rid my memory of two Shabbatot ago when the sounds of trees in my neighborhood crackling and moments later falling to their demise on the ground below.

With trees so much on my mind, my curiosity was piqued to the significance of the concluding verses of the twenty-first chapter in Beresheet, where we read that following Abraham’s pact with Abimelech, “Vayita eshel,” Abraham planted an eshel, a tamarisk tree, at Beersheva.

Nogah HaReuveni, z”l, a noted scholar on the natural history of Israel, explains that the tamarisk is an unusual tree in that its shade is cooler than that of other trees. It can withstand heat and long dry spells by sending roots deep down to find underground water. Furthermore, he writes, if water is available during the first growing season, the tamarisk’s roots continue to seek out the damp soil and continue to flourish without additional irrigation, therefore causing many tamarisk trees to grow quite quickly. Midrashim, in fact, say that Abraham did not just plant one tree but a whole grove!

What the text doesn’t tell us is why Abraham plants this tree. Surely there was not a late October snowstorm in the desert! To answer this question, we return to the name of the tree, the eshel, which the Midrash understands to be an acronym for ahilah (eating), sh’tiyah (drinking), and linah (sleeping). This interpretation hints that Abraham’s hospitality we read about at the beginning of this week’s parashah, where he welcomes the three angels of God to his home, was a life-long quality of his — that he “planted” for many future generations.

As we read in Baba Batra 31b, we are “d’talya b’ashlei rav’r’vei,” we rely upon the tamarisk trees that have come before us. Over the week that followed the storm, so many of us, including myself, were welcomed in by friends, neighbors, even people we didn’t even know. Schools, shuls, supermarkets, anyone who could lend a helping hand to his/her neighbor did so because it is “planted” within us as a people to perform the mitzvah of hakhnasat orhim (hospitality to guests). In fact, this mitzvah is so important that according to the Talmud (Shabbat 127a), Rav Yehuda said in the name of Rav, hospitality to guests is greater than welcoming the presence of the Shekhina (God’s presence).

As I have driven around Bergen County over the last two weeks, it has been incredibly sad to see so many trees on the sides of driveways waiting to be hauled away. It is my prayer that, much as Abraham planted a tamarisk tree to perpetuate the importance of being a welcoming presence to everyone we meet, we too take the unfortunate circumstance of this storm that inconvenienced many of us for several days and remember the importance of planting a bright future for ourselves and our fellow human being in the performance of the mitzvah of hakhnasat orhim.

Sitting at the dinner table, the conversation drifted to a young man’s complaint about an absent elder’s reminiscence. The newly-minted college grad had dismissed the elder’s story as mere prattle not worthy of his consideration. An elder at the table objected to his youthful callousness: “But that’s his story,” melting the condescension — at least a little bit. Yes, the teller is as important as the story.

We Jews tell our stories over and over again. While rabbinic tradition teaches us to turn each story over and over again, many leave or never appear at the table because they are not interested. Still there are Jews who take their places. And yes, we are worried that fewer and fewer of us will listen, learn, and engage in strong conversations about who we were, who we are, and who we may be.

We tend to tell immigrant stories, a universal genre that can evoke sympathy for the traveler and nostalgia for an imagined past. Jewish immigrant stories massage Jewish souls as if their souls are the latest edition of a compiled heritage waiting to be updated by someone else’s Jewish experiences — although not theirs. The Abraham story is one of those stories.

Listening to the Abraham story unfold, the immigrant, still named Abram, who with his family will fulfill a divine request, at first seems to understand only the rewards of answering God’s call: a magnified reputation, increased wealth, safety, and a land his progeny will inherit. As time goes on, we see a more complex Abram. But we moderns are ill at ease with Abram’s willingness to experience naively the journey in store for him. If it were we, we would want to know all the details at first, planning our journey to make it meaningful and also to make it safe. We don’t get any of that in God’s bargain with Abram. We are tested by Abram’s lack of intellectual involvement in his destiny although it is Abram’s responses to circumstances that give us insight into Abram’s complex character. No sooner is Abram given God’s blessing than he disappoints us by his seeming cowardice out of fear of Pharaoh by not revealing to him that Sarah is actually his wife and not his sister (commentaries aside). But we are impressed by Abram’s resolve to rescue his nephew Lot from his captors. We do perk up at the conclusion of the war among the kings when Abram rejects the king of Sodom’s offer of wealth for his part in defeating the other kings because he doesn’t want the king to take credit for his wealth. Abram is no hero. However, we do not have to imagine a flaw or a virtue. Surely not all is revealed in the Script, but there they are.

Abram’s big story is exactly that. God dreams, Abram does. Earthly Abram’s faith allows him to trust Heaven’s perspective, but finally, it is Abram’s journey that we follow.

Lech l’cha is typically translated “go forth.” The sages play with “lecha” which may be translated “for you” or as Rashi had it, “for yourself.” The Zohar has it “go and refine yourself.” In neither translation do we understand that Abraham is to complete his journey. But it is the Zohar’s perspective that intrigues.

For us in the 21st century the challenge is not either or but “both and.” For contemporary Jews, like our ancestors, what matters most are the journeys themselves. On this Shabbat lech l’cha, let us begin our journeys anew; let us Go forth, both for the sake of God and for our own sake as well.

This week’s Torah portion is Noah. We are told that Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation. (Genesis 6:9) The rabbis of the Talmud debate the meaning of the qualifier “in his generation.” On the one hand, it can mean that he was better than everyone else, but since the whole world was wicked and deserving of being destroyed, it isn’t that impressive. On the other hand, it could mean that in spite of the depravity of his peers, he was still an outstanding individual. That’s no small feat; we all know how hard it is to make good decisions when surrounded by friends making bad choices. We want to be accepted, we want to fit in, we want to be a part of things even when those things are not right and we know it.

When we think of Noah and the ark, we think of the animals coming two by two and 40 days and 40 nights of flooding rain. Most people are less familiar with what happened afterwards. For those of you who have not read your Bible for a while, Noah plants a vineyard, makes some wine, and gets drunk. Not exactly the vision of our hero that we like to bring to mind. His behavior while inebriated is less than exemplary, and it leads to a breakdown in his family structure.

Sadly, today we know well how destructive drinking can be not only to the individual but to the family and to the community. For many years the accepted wisdom was that drinking was not a problem in the Jewish community. The Jewish community was slow to accept that alcoholism exists in our ranks, but now we know that it does. We are not immune to the peer pressure that influences us to make bad decisions. We can succumb to addictions the same as any other religious or ethnic or cultural group. However, the first step in solving a problem is recognizing that it exists in the first place.

Even today, it is not easy to overcome the stigma of alcoholism in the Jewish community. Besides not wanting to admit to ourselves that we have a problem, our immediate and our extended families think it can’t happen to us. The Jewish community does not like to acknowledge that problems like alcoholism exist in our midst. But over time, we have worked to change things, to be more open and accepting.

Today there are so many community resources to assist one with an addiction within the Jewish community beyond what exists in society at large. First of all, one can turn to one’s rabbi, who we hope will have educated him/herself to be in a position to provide support and help both the individual and the family to get the help that they need. No longer do we try to hide from the truth and pretend that it is not so. We have finally, painfully, learned the importance of acknowledging and dealing with the problem. Problems don’t just go away on their own; you have to work at them to resolve them.

Beyond the rabbi/synagogue, within the Jewish community we have institutions like Jewish Family Service (JFS). JFS provides counseling services to help with an array of issues that challenge us in life. There are two JFS centers in our community — one in Teaneck and one in Wayne. Both have qualified staff available to help. Beyond JFS there is also JACS — Jewish Alcoholics, Chemically Dependent Persons, and Significant Others — an Alcoholics Anonymous for Jews. AA is a tremendous program, but it does have a spiritual component, and some Jews feel more comfortable in a JACS setting than in a regular AA meeting. Of course, help can be found beyond the bounds of the Jewish community at AA, Al-Anon, Alateen, and other groups dedicated to assisting those struggling with alcohol addiction.

Alcohol is a chemical, chemicals can be addictive, Jews are not immune, and so we need to be both vigilant and supportive. We need to educate ourselves to the signs and symptoms of alcoholism and we need to be there for the benefit of anyone and everyone trying to overcome their addiction. Overcoming the obstacles that are presented to us in life is never easy, but with the help of family, friends, and community, working together, so much can be accomplished.

So when we read Parshat Noah and we encounter the rainbow, remember that it is a promise of a better tomorrow. It has its own special blessing, “Praised are You, Lord our God, Sovereign of the universe who remembers the Covenant, is faithful to it, and keeps promises.” Let us all promise to do what we can to help one another!