
There is only one acceptable answer to the question “How are you doing?” It is meant as small talk, offered with the expectation of receiving some empty positivity in response; and so we offer an upbeat reply, such as “great,” “wonderful,” or “amazing.”
Not so Jacob. When he arrives in Egypt, Joseph takes him to meet the Pharaoh. When Pharaoh asks “How old are you?” as a way of making conversation, Jacob gives this bitter response:
“…few and evil have been the days of the years of my life, and they have not attained to the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage.”
Jacob didn’t say “I’m great.” His life had been awful. He had fled from a brother who wanted to murder him into the arms of a father-in-law who cheated him and worked him day and night in harsh weather conditions. In the end, Jacob had armed confrontations with both that were luckily defused at the last moment. He returns to Israel, only to have his daughter Dina abducted and raped, his beloved wife Rachel die in childbirth, and the disappearance and presumed death of his favorite son Joseph. And now, he and his family are about to begin a long exile in Egypt.
Jacob had a miserable life.
Even so, some commentaries take Jacob to task for his negative response, which they consider ungrateful and impious. One Midrash writes that God responds:
Jacob had said, “With (just) my staff I crossed this Jordan” when he fled Esau; and God did so much good for Jacob afterward to help him prosper. Yet Jacob said to Pharaoh, “Few and evil have been the days of my life.” God responded: “Have I ever caused you evil, Jacob, that you speak so?”
Another Midrash goes further, and says that God shortened Jacob’s life because of this response.
But most commentaries refuse to condemn Jacob; what he says isn’t impious, it is honest. They note that Jacob must have looked exceptionally old; and his response, that his life has been filled with heartbreak, explains why he was so broken and worn. Jacob’s life of misery can be seen on his face.
The Torah wants us to know Jacob lived a miserable life; that is why it shares with us this otherwise unimportant exchange. It does so because what Jacob does before he dies is heroic, and we need to pay attention to how he navigates the final chapter of a broken life.
Jacob recognizes that this final chapter is critical. After he is reunited with Joseph, he exclaims, “I can die now, now that I have seen your face, because you are still alive.” Of course, Jacob doesn’t want to die at that moment; but being reunited with Joseph, even in the twilight years, is enough to make his life feel full. The ending changes everything; in the story of our lives, the final chapter defines the entire book.
Even though it is too little, too late, Jacob gets a measure of comfort from his reunion with Joseph. But what truly redeems Jacob’s life of suffering is something else: binding himself to the future of his family and his people.
Jacob, in his final days, has his eye on the ultimate final chapter. He adopts his Egyptian-born grandchildren as his own, and blesses his children. More importantly, he speaks to his children about the “end of days,” and exhorts them to grab hold of their destiny as a people. Jacob becomes the father not just of a family, but of a nation. And in doing so, Jacob transcends his own tragedy-filled life and connects himself to his nation’s destiny and future redemption. For this reason, the Talmud (Taanit 5b) remarks “Jacob our forefather never died.” Jacob teaches us that building a legacy allows one to touch eternity.
This lesson becomes a foundation of Judaism. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik wrote, “The first concept of immortality as coined by Judaism is the continuation of a historical existence throughout the ages.” To be a part of a Knesset Yisrael, the Jewish community, is to merge one’s individual existence with that of an eternal nation. Isaiah (56:3-5) speaks about the eunuchs who had come to join the Jewish people, who considered themselves a “withered tree” because they would not be able to have children of their own. He comforts them by saying that God will give them “a place and a name (yad vashem) better than that of sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off.” The eunuchs will not be forgotten, and will have a permanent place in the holy of holies.
I am an inveterate optimist; and I have spent much of my career encouraging people to hold tight to hope. And hope is often the answer; but not always. Not everyone gets a happy ending to their personal story. It is easy to forget that in the agony of exile, generations of Jews suffered silently through lives that were short and painful. It is for them that Jacob offers this lesson of immortality.
And we must remember them. Without the lonely, anonymous Jews who persevered, none of us would be here today. Every Jew stands on the shoulders of others who didn’t live long enough to see the return to Zion.
When I visit Israel, I always take a moment to imagine that I am being accompanied by my grandfather who died in the Holocaust, who never got a chance to visit Israel. I wouldn’t be anywhere without him; and each step I take on the streets of Jerusalem belongs to him as well.
No Jew ever walks alone; we stand shoulder to shoulder with ancestors who never stopped dreaming of the Jewish future, even when their own future was bleak. And after a grueling war that has claimed the lives of far too many who were far too young to die, we once again take on the sacred task of creating a legacy for those who have fallen.
A few months ago, we celebrated in synagogue a baby girl who had just been born; she was named Eden Carmel, in memory of two hostages who had been killed the previous week. It might seem unusual for new parents to name their child after complete strangers; but not if they’re Jewish. To us, those who have fallen since October 7th are part of our family, and their story is our story.
And their everlasting name with live on with us.
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.