Rabbis Rice: Cast Aside Stones

"I am your brother Joseph!"

     They enter the gates of the cemetery at Congregation Micah and dutifully place stones on the gravesite. They recite the tradition's prayers and/or just stop to consider a few memories; savoring the sacredness of the space and moment. The stones they carry home are so much bigger than those they leave behind. Tiny pebbles are left on the headstones, but whole rocks remain in their hearts: rocks of bitterness, betrayal, and rage. Some of them are people still arguing with their parents, still longing for their approval. Others are alienated from a brother or a sister, the loved ones who know us our whole lives. Still others mourn for a cousin, a child, a friend.

     Commenting on this week's Torah portion, Rabbi Ed Feinstein points out the entire book of Genesis is now coming to a dramatic climax. It is not an epic battle, no momentous act of state, but rather it occurs in the heart of one man. Joseph sits next to Pharaoh, controlling the life of all Egypt. He is haunted by his memories: The brothers who cast him into a desert pit and then sat to enjoy an afternoon meal while plotting his murder. He recalls the days in the pit of Egypt's prison - alone, abandoned, forgotten. Why was there no rescue sent by Jacob to recover his favored son?

     Joseph's eldest son is named Menashe -- "for God has made me forget all my tribulation and the house of my father." Still, he remembers. And then, one day, the brothers show up. He delays them, toys with them, as he struggles with himself. If ever there was a man who deserved permission to turn his back on his family and his past, it is Joseph. But something won't let go. And when he hears his brother Judah offer himself in the place of the youngest, Benjamin, Joseph cannot hold back. "I am your brother Joseph!"

     There are times, as Ecclesiastes writes, to cast away stones. To let go. Not to forget but to forgive. Among all the ancestors of Egypt, Joseph is given the unique title of Tzaddik, the righteous one. To be a tzaddik is to vanquish bitterness and rage and find a way to love. To enjoy the release and renewal that comes with casting out the stones and becoming one again. So as the secular new year approaches, and we begin to close the book of Genesis and open the book of Exodus, let us all learn to leave the rocks of resentment and anger behind.