Do We Belong Anywhere?

Fair Lawn, NJ, circa 1980.  I was a freshman in Fair Lawn High School.  It was the holiday of Sukkot, a weekday, and I was walking to services, a little bit earlier than my mom.  I was walking to the local Conservative synagogue.  There was a group of kids my age walking to the Orthodox synagogue that I passed.  There was a group of kids walking to high school that I passed. 

Though I had friends in both groups, I felt, to invoke the Yiddish expression, nicht ahin, nicht ahier – neither here nor there.  I felt like I didn't quite belong anywhere.

This sermon is devoted to the part of us that is neither here nor there, the part of us that struggles to discover our identity as we navigate between worlds. 

We may navigate between family and work, between the traditions of our parents and grandparents and the inclinations of our children, between one part of the community and another.

And if we do that, we are likely to feel at times that we don’t fully belong anywhere.

I’d like us to consider a young man who navigated several worlds successfully, but not always comfortably.  My hope is that consideration of this young man will help all of us, men and women, all ages, all backgrounds, to consider more carefully how we navigate the contours of our own lives.

Joseph was the favored son of his father, Jacob.  He was ben z’qunim, the son of his old age.   He was brought down to Egypt by a band of merchants to whom his brothers sold him.

He rose up, and he was brought down, and then he rose way up.

In this morning’s reading, we are told that he was appointed second in command to Pharoah who says to him אין נבון וחכם כמוך ein navon v’chacham kamocha – there is no one as intelligent and wise as you.  Pharaoh gives him an Egyptian name, the people cry out some non-Hebrew phrase as he walks through the street, he is given as wife the daughter of an Egyptian priest.

At this point, if I may invoke a contemporary reference, he most likely walks like an Egyptian, looks like an Egyptian and talks like an Egyptian.

But he struggles to navigate through it all.  The names he gives his sons reflect his ambivalence.  Menashe, for example, denotes how God made him forget his troubles and his father’s house. 

Clearly, however, he has NOT forgotten his father’s house.

Joseph must navigate the external terrain – how does he look?  How does he position himself after this new promotion?  Will he reveal himself to his brothers when they arrive in Egypt, looking for food?

He must also navigate the internal dynamics – he wants to forget, but he can’t.  He is angry at his brothers but willing to look for signs of repentance on their parts. 

Last week, we read how he said to some man he came upon, “et achay anochi m’vakesh!”  I am looking for my brothers.  The phrase seems to be an expression of his desire, on some level, to reunite, even as he seethes with resentment and grows ever more deeply entrenched in Egyptian society.

I’d like to suggest that Joseph’s struggles, all or in part, may be familiar to each of us.

The nexus of self, family, community and livelihood is a complicated intersection and the traffic lights aren’t always working clearly.

If we’ve ever felt ambivalent about members of our family, or our family as a whole;

If we’ve ever felt awkward about having to assume a different identity at work than at home;

If we’ve ever struggled to determine to what extent we will incorporate our religious and cultural backgrounds into our daily lives;

If we’ve ever wondered how to position ourselves vis a vis national and international policy, given the multiple hats we wear;

Then we can understand Joseph, and perhaps his life, as described in the Torah, can be illuminating.

While much can be said about this whole cluster of questions, I want to make just one point.

Joseph teaches us that we cannot completely divorce ourselves from the particular aspects of our identity.  While of course it’s hard to make a complete analogy to a patriarchal figure from a thousand year old tradition, Joseph comes to the realization that he cannot completely abandon his family, his faith, or his people.

There’s a heart breaking scene where Joseph and his brothers sit down to eat.  He knows who they are; they don’t know who he is. 

The Torah tells us that when it came time for the meal, there were three groups.  The brothers sat together; the Egyptians sat in a separate group together; and Joseph sat all by himself.  He couldn’t eat with the brothers because of his social status, but the Egyptians didn’t want to eat with him either, because eating with a Hebrew was considered an abomination to the Egyptians.

So Joseph is completely alone.  Nicht ahin, nicht ahier.

Until the reconciliation.  From that point on, he can advocate for his family and also help the Egyptian people. 

Does everything get resolved?  Probably not.  Does Joseph stop needing to navigate?  Definitely not.

But once he gains increased comfort with the unique aspects of his life - cultural, theological and psychological – he is less tormented and more energized.

I want us each to think about ourselves as moving targets, navigating self and other, particular and universal, home and work. 

If we look to the patriarchs and matriarchs as models, it seems that we are not expected to become carbon copies of our parents and grandparents. 

And we may well experience moments when we feel neither here nor there.

But if Joseph’s life can give us any insight, let’s look to it as a possible paradigm for how coming to some terms with one’s family, religion and culture can help the journey be more uplift than torment, more exciting than frustrating.

The Hanukkah story is about overcoming obstacles and navigating identity.

How much of the majority culture do we adopt?  Is there a point where we’ve crossed the line?

I want us to think about our children and grandchildren, our nieces and nephews, who will one day leave home like Joseph – hopefully under more pleasant circumstances.

Can we model for them what it means to be both here AND there, what it means to bring the uniqueness of one’s background to the challenges and opportunities of the larger world?

Like we are doing, they will chart paths that are uniquely theirs.

And the fun will continue as all of the generations discover what Joseph ultimately did – the creativity and fulfillment that emerge when our GPS has figured out how to navigate between home and everywhere else.

Originally delivered at Temple Israel on December 15, 2012, Parashat Miketz, Shabbat Hanukkah