Parashat Vayeishev, Rabbi David Baum
December 21, 2024 - 20 Kislev 5785
(click on the picture above for the video version of the sermon by Rabbi David Baum)
In 2022, a significant discovery was made in Israel—a collection of 2,200-year-old silver coins near the Dead Sea, equivalent to two months' wages, was found in a cave near the Dead Sea. This find provides the first tangible evidence that Jews sought refuge in the Judean Desert during the persecution by Antiochus IV Epiphanes, as recounted in the Book of I Maccabees. Many devout Jews were compelled to leave everything behind and escape to the desert, where the king's forces later killed them for observing Shabbat. Archaeologists found a small, well-preserved wooden box in a cave at the Darageh Stream Nature Reserve containing 15 silver tetradrachma coins minted by Ptolemy VI of Egypt. Dating back to 170 BCE, just before Antiochus's oppressive decrees, these coins were probably hidden by a Jew fleeing the violence that preceded the Maccabean Revolt. This discovery is a poignant testament to one man's fight for religious freedom and survival. After thousands of years, this man's treasure finally emerged, this time in the independent Jewish state of Israel.
This discovery of ancient coins not only connects us to the Jews who fled persecution over 2,000 years ago but serves as a powerful metaphor for a hidden treasure—one that each of us carries within.
Hanukkah is one of the simplest yet most complex Jewish holidays. If I had gelt for every time I heard a rabbi say, Hanukkah isn’t an important holiday, I would have diabetes by now.
I think we have to stop saying this - Hanukkah is an important holiday, not just for us as a people, but for each one of us as a Jew. When I think about Hanukkah, now, I will think about this anonymous Jewish man who fought for freedom, who lived his final days in a dark cave, and yet, eventually, his treasure finally saw the light this week.
When I think about Hanukkah, I think about the “Pintelle Yid” in all of us.
Perhaps you’ve heard this Yiddish phrase before. The Yiddish term is translated as the Jewish spark.
The phrase is usually said with a finger pointing toward one’s own heart. It means that no matter how distanced one may become, there is always a Jewish point deep within, some small spark waiting to be ignited when the time is right. Every Jew has this “Pintelle Yid” and therefore every Jew is worth the effort to bring back to a life of Jewish wholeness and holiness.
We see this spark not just in caves near the Dead Sea but also in this week’s parashah, Vayeishev. Joseph’s story reminds us that even in the darkest moments, the divine light within can guide us.
In our reading this week, Joseph has been taken from the pit and his talents, character, and good looks, brings him to be the head servant in Potiphar’s home. He earns is called an ish matzliah, a successful man (JPS translation, Genesis 39:2), who benefits everyone around him, especially his master’s home.
When Joseph began his servitude with Potiphar, the Torah tells us that God was with him. (Genesis 39: 2) The presence of God, God’s light, and God’s support were always felt by Joseph, whether in the pit or Potiphar’s house, whether he was wrongfully thrown in jail or when he was provost in Egypt. In the darkest of times, or when he was ruler over the province of Egypt, second only to the Pharaoh, Joseph felt God’s presence. In the pit, he must have realized that should he survive, he had to rely on the spiritual light within him and shake off the darkness that could have overwhelmed him.
This is where we get our strength - from within, from the divine and hidden light God gave us, and it can come out at any moment. Although it is tiny, it is virtually indestructible.
It is the light that leads us back when we are astray. There’s an interesting moment in this week’s parashah, a rare trope is recited, the Shalshelet, which only occurs four times in the Torah, and only seven times in the Tanach.
וַיְמָאֵ֓ן ׀ וַיֹּ֙אמֶר֙ אֶל־אֵ֣שֶׁת אֲדֹנָ֔יו הֵ֣ן אֲדֹנִ֔י לֹא־יָדַ֥ע אִתִּ֖י מַה־בַּבָּ֑יִת וְכֹ֥ל אֲשֶׁר־יֶשׁ־ל֖וֹ נָתַ֥ן בְּיָדִֽי׃
Genesis 39:8
But he refused. He said to his master’s wife, “Look, with me here, my master gives no thought to anything in this house, and all that he owns he has placed in my hands.
Vayimayin וַיְמָאֵ֓ן he refused.
When we read it with the trope, we get a different meaning. He refused, but it was a struggle. The Shalshelet denotes a hesitation - he wavered - should I sleep with her, or not? This is a big moment in his life - does he give in to temptation? Does he give in to fear? Is this finally the moment when he would leave his past behind him? At this moment, when he is vacillating, the Midrash says that his father’s image appeared before him.
He remembered his ancestors and the light that they have in them, and he made the choice to remain a child of Israel.
Joseph’s moment of hesitation speaks to the human condition. Like Joseph, we all face moments when the spark could be extinguished—or reignited—depending on our choices.
Every year, we have that same choice, but this year, that choice is more apparent than in previous years. This year, the first night of Hanukkah falls on December 25th, known as Christmas Day in America.
I was recently at a friend’s house, a secular Jewish couple, and I noticed something in their house that wasn’t there before: a Christmas tree. As we walked by it, my friend’s Jewish wife said to me, “this is our secular tree, with secular ornaments.” I asked her husband, why did you get a tree, and he answered, “Because it makes me happy when I look at it.”
Ironically, that’s the purpose of the lights of the Hanukkiah: their purpose is to bring us joy, hope, and to teach us about miracles from the past, present, and the hope of future miracles. I’m still hoping the Pintella Yid in him sees the Hanukkiah one day instead of the tree.
The image of the tree, adorned with its “secular ornaments,” stuck with me. It’s a symbol that carries multiple meanings: for some, it’s a cultural marker; for others, it’s a joyful decoration disconnected from religious significance. Yet, for many Jews, it embodies a moment of choice—a question of how to engage with the world around us while holding onto our unique identity. This year, with Hanukkah and Christmas sharing the same calendar space, that tension feels more vivid.
How do we honor the sparks of our tradition in a season filled with competing lights? Here in America, we have a choice - tree or Hanukkiah? Do we give in to temptation, the temptation to be like everyone else, or do we find the treasure within.
These choices are not ancient relics; they are real and present. Today, we stand between the Hanukkiah and the ‘secular tree,’ deciding what light we want to illuminate our homes and our lives.
Reb Nachman of Bretzlov once told the following story about the treasure within:
A Jewish villager once dreamed about a treasure. In his dream the treasure was near a bridge in the city of Vienna. The very next morning, the villager packed his knapsack with his talit and tefillin, some clothes and a bit of food. Then he began the long, long walk to Vienna.
For many days and nights he trudged through forests and fields, valleys and towns.
When he arrived at last, the soldiers who guarded the city wouldn't let him near the bridge. So day after day, he stood by the side of the road, trying to think of what to do.
One afternoon, a soldier walked up to him and asked, "Why are you standing here?"
The villager was silent for a moment. Perhaps we could be partners, he thought. After all, half a treasure is better than none! So he told the soldier about his dream.
"Only a Jew cares about dreams!" he laughed. "For three nights in a row, I dreamed that in a certain village there was a certain Jew - and he named the man's village and his name - who had a treasure buried in his cellar. But do you think I believe in such foolish things?"
The villager simply thanked the soldier and began the long journey home. For many days and nights he trudged through forests and fields, valleys and towns. Finally, he came to his own little house. Without even sitting down for a cup of hot tea, the man went down to his cellar and started digging. Sure enough, he uncovered a huge treasure. He was able to live comfortably and do many good deeds for the rest of his days.
Later, when people asked him about his long journey, he said, "I really had the treasure all along. But to find it, I had to go to Vienna!"
Reb Nachman’s story reminds us that while the treasure may feel distant, it has always been within us. Like Joseph, like the Jew who hid the coins, sometimes we must embark on a journey—literal or spiritual—to rediscover it.
And sometimes, the treasure we bury isn’t for us, but for our descendants. We persevere for the hope that one day, someone will pick up the treasure, like the coins we found from the Jewish rebel in that cave.
The miracle of the treasure wasn’t the coins; the miracle was that Jews living in the land of Israel found those coins over 2,000 years later.
The miracle of Hanukkah isn’t just about oil lasting eight days. It’s about the light we find when we think all is lost—the spark that has kept our people alive through the darkest of times.
And so I return to the story of Hanukkah as told by the rabbis: the cruse of oil that was found in the Holy Temple after the Hanukkah story is bigger than just oil, it is a light that was seemingly abandoned, and found again. That cruse of oil is the Pintelle Yid in us, just waiting to be found, and every year, we challenge ourselves to find that light.
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