The confrontation between Yosef and Yehuda - first at the pit, now in the palace - is played out with high drama. The stakes are great. Yehuda not only knows that he is placing the lives of all the shvatim (tribes) at risk; he is also prepared, with his brothers, to go to war against Egypt and to try to wipe them out.
Yet, there is another dimension to Yehuda's impassioned plea to free his younger brother, Binyamin. Yehuda says: "The boy cannot leave his father; for if he leaves his father, he will die." Later, he adds: "If [Yakov] will see that the boy is not with us, he will die." Still later, when Yosef reveals himself, his first, famous words are: "Does my father still live?"
I suggest that the term, "Father" can have a dual meaning. It can refer to one's biological parent, or it can refer to G-d. The two, of course, are connected. By following in the ways of our fathers, and upholding their values and traditions, we are, in effect, strengthening our link with Hashem. The unbroken chain of tradition, generally speaking, flows through our fathers and our mothers.
Yehuda contemplates Binyamin sitting in jail, cut off from the family, being kept apart from the source of Torah ideals and practical observance, and he worries: "The boy might physically survive, but spiritually, he may very well perish." And, if that happens, then Yakov the parent will also die. Knowing that his son is no longer connected to G-d's ways is, in itself, a kind of death sentence.
How relevant this is to our own generation! We have also seen, far too often, our young people drifting away from the values of their fathers, abandoning the tenets of our Father in Heaven. The "death" of their commitment to Yiddishkeit is like a knife in our own hearts, for we truly believe that the quality and the quantity of their lives is directly linked to their adherence to Judaism.
When Yosef asks, "Does my father still live?" he is probing the deeper character of the First Family. He wants to know if Yakov's passionate relationship with Hashem also burns within the hearts of his children, and is being passed on to the next generation.
Quite often, I meet Jews of varying levels of observance who proudly tell me, "My grandfather was a rabbi, you know! And my grandmother was unbelievably pious!" Politely, I tell them, "I'm less interested in how Jewish your grandparents were; I'm much more interested in how Jewish your grandchildren will be."
If we manage to pass our values on to our children, then, indeed, we can say, "Od avinu chai." - "Our Father yet lives."
Yet, there is another dimension to Yehuda's impassioned plea to free his younger brother, Binyamin. Yehuda says: "The boy cannot leave his father; for if he leaves his father, he will die." Later, he adds: "If [Yakov] will see that the boy is not with us, he will die." Still later, when Yosef reveals himself, his first, famous words are: "Does my father still live?"
I suggest that the term, "Father" can have a dual meaning. It can refer to one's biological parent, or it can refer to G-d. The two, of course, are connected. By following in the ways of our fathers, and upholding their values and traditions, we are, in effect, strengthening our link with Hashem. The unbroken chain of tradition, generally speaking, flows through our fathers and our mothers.
Yehuda contemplates Binyamin sitting in jail, cut off from the family, being kept apart from the source of Torah ideals and practical observance, and he worries: "The boy might physically survive, but spiritually, he may very well perish." And, if that happens, then Yakov the parent will also die. Knowing that his son is no longer connected to G-d's ways is, in itself, a kind of death sentence.
How relevant this is to our own generation! We have also seen, far too often, our young people drifting away from the values of their fathers, abandoning the tenets of our Father in Heaven. The "death" of their commitment to Yiddishkeit is like a knife in our own hearts, for we truly believe that the quality and the quantity of their lives is directly linked to their adherence to Judaism.
When Yosef asks, "Does my father still live?" he is probing the deeper character of the First Family. He wants to know if Yakov's passionate relationship with Hashem also burns within the hearts of his children, and is being passed on to the next generation.
Quite often, I meet Jews of varying levels of observance who proudly tell me, "My grandfather was a rabbi, you know! And my grandmother was unbelievably pious!" Politely, I tell them, "I'm less interested in how Jewish your grandparents were; I'm much more interested in how Jewish your grandchildren will be."
If we manage to pass our values on to our children, then, indeed, we can say, "Od avinu chai." - "Our Father yet lives."