The Torah column is supported by a generous donation from Eve Gordon-Ramek in memory of Kenneth Gordon.
Miketz
Genesis 41:1−44:17
At the beginning of this week’s parasha Miketz, we read that Pharoah dreams that seven “gaunt and repulsive” cows eat seven cows that are “handsome and fat.” It’s a striking image.
Joseph will interpret this dream and a similar one to mean that a famine will come to Egypt for seven years. The dreams alert Joseph that bad times are on the horizon.
Rereading the passage this year, the image of these objectionable cows consuming the good-looking cows stands out. In our time, one cannot be blamed for thinking that ugliness tends to consume the beautiful.
Regardless of where we sit along the political spectrum, many of us feel we’re living through an era in which the worst qualities of human nature are winning out, a time when a hammer of ugliness is coming down on the delicate beauty we have sought to create.
But our Torah teaches us that this is not an inevitability.
Take Joseph’s story. In his youth, he rather obnoxiously declares his supremacy over his brothers. He then endures the terrible ordeal of being thrown into a pit and being sold into slavery. His life changes dramatically when he gains fortune and power in Egypt, culminating in Joseph showing a remarkable ability to forgive when he reconciles with his brothers.
Joseph’s father, Jacob, undergoes similarly marked growth. In his youth, he steals his brother Esau’s birthright and blessing, he flees, has children with four women and wrestles with a mysterious person, earning the name Israel. He then reconciles with his brother Esau. The ups and downs of his story continue. Jacob is a trickster at heart, but even he learns and evolves. The Torah tells the stories of flawed people — but they are still capable of growth.
At the same time, our sacred texts are unsparingly realistic in that they also show the human capacity to go astray. Noah, after the flood, becomes a drunkard who lies uncovered in his tent. In a more destructive example, King David orders the killings of large numbers of Philistines, Moabites and Edomites.
There is a truth at the heart of the Tanach’s portrayal of the possibilities of human morality: We can do tremendous good, we can do tremendous evil — but, most often, the sum total of our conduct is a mixed bag.
A remarkable recent study of human history bears out the Tanach’s insight into the wide spectrum of human potential.
Over 10 years, the anthropologist David Graeber and the archaeologist David Wengrow examined a huge amount of archaeological evidence on human existence dating back millennia. They asked fundamental questions about how humans have lived. Their book, “The Dawn of Everything,” looks at everything from the Fertile Crescent in the Middle East to the history of the Ohlone peoples of Northern California.
Instead of human civilization being a story of material determinism — of guns, germs and steel, as another popular book famously put it — Graeber and Wengrow argue that humans since the dawn of time have chosen how they want to live. For millennia, our ancestors have been consciously creating and forming their societies, choosing their lifestyles and purposes.
Joseph’s story offers an interesting example of what belief in a higher purpose can look like. When Joseph finally reconciles with his brothers, he says that all his travails ultimately happened for a higher purpose. “You intended evil against me,” Joseph says. “But God intended it for good, in order to bring about what is now: the survival of many.”
Joseph’s statement of faith is extreme. We know from our lives and history that not all bad things happen for a reason. Sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy.
Still, through his actions, Joseph presents a model. He endures difficulty and presumably becomes aware of the potential ugliness of human action. He then balances an optimistic take on his life with playing an active role in making that a reality.
Similarly, we can be clear-eyed about the wide range of possible human outcomes, including the potential for ugliness to triumph over beauty. At the same time, we can cultivate an active optimism that harmony will win out.
Developing this type of faith is not easy. But we can begin by reminding ourselves of this truth: Despite the ugliness we have collectively wrought, we are nevertheless capable of creating beauty.