“Nelson Mandela, Joseph and the Power of Reconciliation”

Over the last two days, I have been watching with great interest the near universal expressions of praise and admiration for Nelson Mandela. I say “near universal admiration” because in some quarters of the Jewish press, there has been some criticism of Mandela for his complicated relationship with Israel. There was of course the time when he publicly hugged Yasser Arafat and a number of critical statements of Israel regarding the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict. Because of this controversy, I was at first hesitant to speak about Mandela from the pulpit. But then I read the laudatory words of Benjamin Netanyahu about Mandela. I don’t think anyone here will accuse Bibi Netanyahu of being Anti-Israel! And I don’t think anyone here will accuse Bibi of being a lover of Yasser Arafat so I think I can follow his lead!

Here is what Bibi said yesterday in an official statement upon the death of Mandela:

"Nelson Mandela was one of the outstanding figures of our time. He was the father of his nation, a man of vision, a fighter for freedom who avoided violence. He was a humble man who provided a personal example for his nation during the long years he spent in prison. He worked to heal the rifts in South African society and succeeded, through the power of his character, in preventing racial hatred. He will be remembered as the father of the new South Africa and a moral leader of the highest order."

So I will follow Bibi’s lead and share a lesson based on Mandela’s personal example and life and the amazing thing is that it is right there in our parshah - Parshat Vayigash.

I am going to focus on perhaps the most dramatic moment in Tanach. It is the moment when after so many years of imprisonment, abandonment and pain, Yosef finally reveals himself to his brothers, his brothers who sold him into slavery in the first place.

אני יוסף העוד אבי חי.

“I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?”

I will analyze these words in a few minutes but first, I want to put all of the emotions on the table. What do you think the brother’s were feeling at that moment? Name the emotions:

From the audience: “Shame, Fear, Embarrassment” “anger at each other”

Great. This is all there. Rashi says they were feeling בושה - shame. Other commentaries talk of fear. Now that Yosef has the power (he is the Viceroy of Egypt), he might take revenge.

I also often think of Benjamin. What was he thinking at this moment? For his entire life, he had been taught the family myth. His older brother was killed by a wild animal. I am sure that from time to time, he would ask his older brothers whom he respected so much “tell me what happened on that day.” And they would get all emotional and lie about how they found their brother’s bloodied coat of many colors.

Now, in this one moment, his entire world turns upside down. On the one hand, he finds out that one brother Joseph is still alive. But at the same time, he finds out that his other brothers are capable of such evil. The family secret is revealed. Imagine the anger, The betrayal. I cannot think of a moment in biblical narrative that is as emotionally complex.

And I am sure that many of these emotions were felt by Afrikaners who were perpetrators of Apartheid. In the 1990’s when things started changing, I am sure they felt shame, embarrassment and fear.

Now let us analyze Joseph’s statement: “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?”

This question is perhaps the most famous in the Bible but it also makes no sense.

Joseph must have known that his father Jacob was still alive. Just 5 verses ago, Judah begged Joseph to allow Benjamin to go home lest his father die from the shock and pain. Furthermore, the brothers never explicitly answer the question, “is my father still alive” yet a few verses later, Joseph tells the brothers to go home and tell father of the glory he has achieved in Egypt.

So how do we explain the question?

I believe we can explain it with a very powerful midrash.

ר' אלעזר כי מטי להאי קרא בכי (בראשית מה, ג) ולא יכלו אחיו לענות אתו כי נבהלו מפניו ומה תוכחה של בשר ודם כך תוכחה של הקדוש ברוך הוא על אחת כמה וכמה

The Midrash says that whenever Rabbi Elazer reached this verse, he would cry. The brothers were speechless (after the Yosef’s question). Now if the rebuke of a man (Yosef) was so painful, how much more so the rebuke of G-d.

Many commentaries ask the following: What rebuke does Yosef offer his brothers? On the contrary, he seems to be very forgiving.

The Torah Temimah offers a beautiful insight. He says that when Yosef asks, “is father still alive” he of course knew the answer and the brothers knew that Yosef knew the answer. It was rhetorical. “It is shocking that father is still alive after all that you put him through.” In other words, despite whatever complaints you had against me (I was a tattle tale), how could you hurt father so much?” This was the rebuke.

I would take this one step further. Have you ever hurt someone sometimes even inadvertently? You do everything you can to not see or run into that person because you are ashamed. The mere presence of the victim, even if he or she says nothing, is a rebuke. This is what the brothers felt when they saw him. Shame and fear and Yosef did not even have to say a word.

I think the same is true when Mandela was released from prison in 1990. Mandela did not even have to say a word. His very presence, the vicitm standing before all to see is a source of shame and fear for the perpetrators.

And How does Yosef respond. The power is in his hands. He can now pay back from a life lost. Years in jail. Dreams squashed. What does he say?

"Now, do not be anguished, and do not reproach yourselves that you have sold me here, for it is to be a source of life that God has sent me ahead of you." (Breishit 45:4).

He is completely forgiving. He would prefer to look forward. To reunite with his family and work for a brighter future. The past is important. But he is not going to allow rehashing over everything that happened to get in the way of a brighter future.

And how does Mandela respond in a similar situation. Let me read to you from his autobiography, “Long Walk to Freedom.” Mandela is discussing his first press conference after being released from prison in 1990.

“I was asked as well about the fears of whites. I knew that people expected me to harbor anger toward whites. But I had none. In prison, my anger toward whites decreased, but my hatred for the system grew. I wanted South Africa to see that I loved even my enemies while I hated the system that turned us against one

another...Whites are fellow South Africans….we want them to feel safe and to know that we appreciate the contribution that they have made towards the development of this country. Any man or woman who abandons apartheid will be embraced in our struggle for a democratic, non-racial South Africa; we must do everything we could to persuade our white compatriots that a new, non-racial South Africa would be a better place for all.” (Long Walk to Freedom,  page 559)

Like Yosef, Mandela is more interested in a bright future than to be fettered to the past. He harbors no hatred to those who caused him so much pain.

One more example perhaps more relevant to the Jewish Community: Percy Yutar, a respected member of an Orthodox shul in Johannesburg, was a government prosecutor in the Rivonia Trial in 1964 at which Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment. True to his generous spirit, however, Mandela invited Yutar to lunch just months after being inaugurated as the South African president, and made a point of publicly shaking his hand, thus sending a message that the bitter past must not be allowed to prevent a better future (Jewish Week).

Let me conclude with another section from his book. In 1978, Mandela’s daughter Zeni married Prince Thumbeumuzi, son of the Swazi king. Mandela discusses their first visit after they had a baby.

 “There was a tremendous advantage in Zeni becoming a member of the Swazi royal family: She was immediately granted diplomatic privileges and could visit me virtually at will. That winter after she and Thumbeumuzi were married, they came to see me, along with their newborn baby daughter.

“Because of the prince’s status we were allowed to meet one another in the consulting room, not the normal visiting area where one is separated from one’s family by thick walls and glass. I waited for them with some nervousness.

It was a truly wondrous moment when they came into the room. I stood up, and when Zeni saw me, she practically tossed her tiny baby to her husband and ran across the room to embrace me. I had not held my now grown-up daughter since she was about her own daughter’s age. It was a dizzying experience, as though time had sped forward in a science fiction novel, suddenly to hug one’s fully grown child.

“I then embraced my new son and he handed me my tiny granddaughter, whom I did not let go of for the entire visit. To hold a newborn baby so vulnerable and soft in my rough hands, hands that for too long had held only picks and shovels, was a profound joy. I do not think a man was ever happier to hold a baby than I was that day.”

And now here is the part of the story which brings home the point of the sermon:

The visit had a more official purpose and that was for me to choose a name for the child. It is a custom for the grandfather to select a name, and the one I had chosen was Zaziwe—which means “Hope.”

The name had special meaning for me, for during all my years in prison hope never left me—and now it never would. I was convinced that this child would be a part of a new generation of South Africans for whom apartheid would be a distant memory—that was my dream. (Long Walk to Freedom,  page 482)

That word, hope, also has special meaning for us, Hatikva. Yosef and Mandela teach us that we should live with hope and not fear. This lesson is true not only on the National and Political level. It is just profound and important in our personal lives. How often do siblings or friends not talk to each other because instead of creating a brighter future, they are fettered to the past? If Joseph can forgive his brothers for selling him into slavery and Mandela can forgive his jailers and prosecutors for stealing 27 years of his life, I am sure we can be a little more forgiving as well. We do this not only to forgive, but to create a brighter future.

I will conclude with the eloquent words of Rabbi Warren Goldstein, the current chief Rabbi of South Africa:

“The greatest tribute we can pay is to live like Mandela, in accordance with the values he practiced and taught - values of human dignity, forgiveness, kindness, courage, tenacity, strength, honesty and integrity.Let us all resolve to follow President Mandela’s inspiring moral legacy and let us commit to living in accordance with the values he taught us in the most eloquent and powerful sermon of all - his life.”