I cry a lot.
I cry at movies. I cry watching television. Even certain commercials can get put a lump in my throat.
I’ll be sitting with my kids, and something will come on the screen, and they’ll roll their eyes and say, “there he goes again.”
I weep at movies when in the darkness of the theater my heart opens to the characters, and their experience becomes mine. My soul welcomes them in, and their anguish is my anguish, their pain is my pain, their triumph is my triumph. And by opening up my heart, by opening up my soul, I open the faucet to my tears.
There are a lot of tears in this week’s Torah portion. Deeply moved by his brother Judah’s profession of loyalty and devotion to his brother Benjamin and his father Jacob, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers. Falling on his brother’s necks in tears, the Torah tells us that his sobs were so loud, that everyone in Egypt could hear his cries.
Later in the portion, when Joseph finally reunites with his father after so many years of separation, the Torah again speaks of Joseph’s tears. “Joseph ordered his chariot and went to Goshen to meet his father Israel; he presented himself to him and, embracing him around the neck, his weeping was long.” (Genesis 46:29)
But interestingly, the sages note that the tears are Joseph’s and not his father’s. Rashi writes: “Jacob, however, did not fall upon Joseph’s neck nor did he kiss him.”
Why? “Our Rabbis say: the reason was that he was reciting the Sh’ma.”
What is it that brings us to tears? As small children, we cry from an instant of pain, frustration, denial, or disappointment. Everything a child experiences is felt instantly by the soul.
But as we grow, we develop our intellect, a wall we build around our souls. Our intellect teaches us not to cry when our parents walk away, because we know they will return. Our minds learn to be strong and brave, so we hold back our tears when we pinch our finger or stub our toe.
Our intellects also teach us to see people differently. We see them for the roles they play, the services they perform – cogs in a machine, there to serve our needs. Rarely do we see others beyond their form and function, and even more rarely do we let them see us.
But in order for us to love other people, we need to let down our guard. We have to open our eyes to see the full holy humanity of the other person, and open our hearts so that we let them live in us.
This leaves us vulnerable to getting heartbroken and hurt. And the pain of that heartbreak can be simply overwhelming.
Earlier in their lives, the brothers’ hearts are broken when Jacob favors Joseph with special love and privilege. They become consumed with anger and resentment. They shut their eyes and close up their hearts. Their hatred blinds them so that they no longer see Joseph as their brother, or Jacob as their father. And in turn, Joseph and Jacob close their eyes and hearts to them.
Thus, when the brothers come searching for food, they fail to see Joseph their brother, and instead see only a Prince of Egypt.
But when Joseph sees his brothers’ contrition, his heart breaks open, and he reveals himself to them. Suddenly the man in the princely garb is once again Joseph, their brother. And so, they embrace, and tears pour from Joseph’s open heart.
And again, when Joseph greets his father, Joseph’s tears flow once more. But for Jacob, there is something even deeper.
In looking into Joseph’s eyes, Jacob doesn’t see a Prince of Egypt, or a lost “son of his old age.” Instead, he sees there the image of God.
Thus for Jacob, the only response can be to say the Sh’ma: “Listen Israel, Adonai is our God: Adonai is one!”
Too often we blind ourselves with arrogance and selfishness. Too often we blind ourselves with resentments and conceit. Too often we find ourselves incapable and unwilling to see the full humanity of those we dehumanize. Too often we neglect to see the presence of God in the eyes of the Other.
Wouldn’t it be better if we could open our eyes and our hearts with understanding? Wouldn’t it be better if we could open our hearts with compassion and love? Wouldn’t it be better if we could shed a few more tears?
Wouldn’t it be better if when we looked into the eyes of the stranger, we saw reflected there the eyes of our brothers, our sisters, and our children? Wouldn’t it be better if when we looked into the eyes of the Other, our only response was to say Sh’ma?
Rabbi Dan Levin
Temple Beth El of Boca Raton
