Sermons

January 6, 2011 - Blessing Our Children

Download this Sermon as a Word Document

On Friday evening at Shabbat dinner, there is a tradition of Jews giving blessings to their children. To our sons we say: May God make you like Ephraim and Menasseh. It's an odd blessing, if you stop to think about it. We bless our daughters with the words May God make you be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Leah. It makes complete sense that we would want our daughters to be like the matriarchs, but who are Ephraim and Menasseh? And why do we want our sons to be like them?

The blessing for boys is taken, word for word, from this week's Torah portion – Va Yechi. Jacob, as we read this evening, is about to die, and Joseph brings his two sons – Ephraim and Menasseh – to see their grandfather. Jacob claims the two boys as if they are his own sons and blesses them, saying: By you shall the people of Israel give blessing, saying, May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.

But we're still left with the question – Why? The only thing we know about Ephraim and Menasseh is that they are Joseph's sons, born in Egypt to an Egyptian mother. So, why did Jacob say that this is how our people will give blessings? Why doesn't Jacob blessed them, saying: May God make you like your ancestors Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob? Or why not bless them with the hope that they will be like their father Joseph, Jacob's beloved favorite son?

Of course, Ephraim and Menasseh are not the only ones who receive Jacob's blessing. When Jacob is ready to die, he calls together all of his sons, so he can bless each of them. When they gather at his bedside, Jacob says to them: Shimu b'nai Ya'akov, v'shimu el Yisrael Avichem. "Shimu" is the plural form of our familiar word shema. Here, on a simple, literal level, Jacob is saying to his sons: "Listen, sons of Jacob; pay attention to your father Israel." His name has been changed from Jacob to Israel, and he is simply saying: "Listen to what I have to say to you before I die."

However, our ancient rabbis were rarely content to take the words of Torah at face value. One of the interpretive tools they used was to make linguistic connections between completely different parts of the Torah. So, it's not surprising that the words Shimu and Yisrael resonated for them and led them to make a connection between this verse at the end of B'reshit, the book of Genesis, and the verse in Deuteronomy when Moses says to the people of Israel: Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad.

Do you hear the similarity – Shimu el Yisrael and Shema Yisrael?
According to a rabbinic interpretation in Midrash Rabbah, when Jacob called his sons to his deathbed, he was worried that, after his death, they would abandon Adonai, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. After all, they were living in Egypt; their brother Joseph was in favor with the Pharaoh of his day; they had plenty of food; life for them was comfortable and good. Perhaps, Jacob thought, they will assimilate and take on the ways of the Egyptians and the gods of Egypt.

So, the rabbis reinterpreted the words Shimu el Yisrael Avichem. [Remember that the Torah scroll is written without vowels or punctuation, so this is not as far stretch as it might initially seem.] The word "el" can be the preposition "to," but it can also mean "God" as in the Amidah when we say Ha el ha gadol, ha gibor, v'ha norah – the great, glorious, and awesome God. Now, the verse reads: Shimu – listen! El Yisrael Avichem? – Is the God of Israel (my God) your father? The rabbis imagine him saying to his sons: Maybe in your hearts, you wish to break away from my God – Adonai. And then in the midrash imagination, Jacob's sons respond with the words: "Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad– Listen Israel/Jacob, our father. Just as Adonai your God, Adonai is our God, our only God." At which point, Jacob responds as we do after the Shema, "Baruch shem k’vod malchuto - Blessed is the name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever."

As I read the Midrash, I was thinking that things haven’t really changed all that much in the past several thousand years. Jacob on his deathbed worries about whether his sons will assimilate into Egyptian society. The First Century rabbis who wrote Midrash, facing Roman pressure to give up Jewish customs, wondered: Will our children break away from Adonai, the God of our ancestors? And today with our high rates of assimilation and intermarriage, we too often wonder: Will our children and grandchildren leave behind Jewish ways and blend into the surrounding culture?

So, I return to Jacob’s blessing for Ephraim and Menasseh and my original question: Why does Jacob say that our people will bless their children by saying, May God make you like Ephraim and Menasseh? And I think in the Midrash we glimpse a possible answer. What we know about Ephraim and Menasseh is that they were born in Egypt; their mother was Egyptian; and they were cut off from their extended family and their history and culture. And yet… somehow they remain identified as Israelites.

Their descendents too will escape from slavery in Egypt, wander in the wilderness, receive the Torah at Sinai, and be given a hereditary portion of the Promised Land. Joseph’s sons, born into privilege and power in Egypt, find a way to connect to the Israelite People. They do not turn away from the God of Israel or the ways of Israel.

And so, throughout history, this becomes our hope, our fervent wish and prayer that we bestow on our children every Shabbat: May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh – two nice Jewish boys who were born in the Diaspora, who were part of two worlds, and yet found a way to maintain a connection to our People.
I realize there is legitimate cause for concern today. I am sure every one of us has members of our family – siblings, children, grandchildren – who have no connection to Judaism.

We face particular challenges in modern American society. Most of us no longer even say those words of blessing to our children on Friday nights. Yet, these stories from the Torah and the Midrash remind us that ours is not a new problem. I find it comforting to realize that it has always been a challenge for the Jewish People to maintain a distinct identity as we live among other people, surrounded by a dominant culture and often a hostile ruling power. And somehow we are still here.

So, there is cause for concern, but there is also reason to hope. Our challenge in this generation, as in every generation throughout Jewish history, is continue to infuse old traditions with new meaning and to allow our children to create new traditions. And if we do this, I believe there is reason to hope that at least some of our children will be like Ephraim and Menasseh, living fully in their world, but caring deeply about being Jews.

Download this Sermon as a Word Document