Genesis The Gift of Final Words

Parashat Vayechi Genesis 47:28-50:26

Parashat Vayechi (“and he lived”) is the final parsha in the book of Genesis and serves as the coda to a family saga and a prologue to the children of Israel’s sojourning in Egypt. The “he” that lived is the patriarch Jacob, and after living in Goshen for 17 years, he is now preparing to die.

This type of “deathbed scene” is new in Genesis. While we are told of the death and burial of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and Rachel, the only one who speaks with foreknowledge of their death is Rachel, who died in childbirth after naming her second son. The parsha states:

“And when the time approached for Israel to die, he summoned his son Joseph and said to him, “Do me this favor, place your hand under my thigh as a pledge of your steadfast loyalty: please do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my ancestors, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial-place.” He replied, “I will do as you have spoken.” And he said, “Swear to me.” And he swore to him. Then Israel bowed at the head of the bed.” (Genesis 47:29-31).

But, how does Jacob know he is approaching death? According to a midrash, Jacob requested illness preceding death. He said:

‘Master of the universe, a person who dies without illness and cannot settle matters between his children. But if he is ill for two or three days, he settles matters between his children.’ The Holy One blessed be He laughed and said to him: ‘As you live, what you have requested is a good thing, and it will begin with you.’ (Bereshit Rabba 65:9)

This parsha inspired the tradition of writing “ethical wills” (tzava’ot in Hebrew) — personal documents that convey wisdom, blessings and values rather than property, and also models discussing one’s wishes for burial or other arrangements after death.

Four years ago, I began to lose my peripheral vision, and a cyst was discovered in my brain. Within weeks of the MRI, I was having neurosurgery. I began writing an ethical will, and discussed my own mortality with my children. At the time, they were 17 and 19, not babies, but not adults either. Despite doctors expecting a good outcome, I was terrified. I did my best communicating my love to my children, and wrote letters to them in case I did not make it, and I spoke to friends about my wishes for my children. This bare minimum was better than nothing, but in hindsight, I simply didn’t have time to absorb and process this information, and could not truly prepare.

In Parshat Vayechi, I see the tremendous respect that Jacob has for his son, and the weightiness of what he is asking. Before they were reunited in Egypt, the last time Jacob saw Joseph he was 17 years old, sent off on an errand he never returned from. Joseph had to make his own way and survive without his parents. Against the odds, Joseph thrives. Jacob knows that Joseph will honor his wishes if he possibly can. Joseph is a leader, and a sojourner like his father. Jacob begins to treat Joseph almost like a peer: he claims Joseph’s two sons born in Egypt as his own sons, rather than grandchildren, in symbolic acknowledgement of this change in their relationship. It is clear that Jacob is no longer setting Joseph apart from his brothers due to favoritism, but because of who Joseph has become. Jacob has grown, too.

I recently had my third neurosurgery, followed by six months of radiation to attempt to finally get rid of the cyst for once and for all. This time around, my children were four years older, at almost 21 and 23. Both have lived apart from me and have come into their own. Although the thought of losing them — and them losing me — was unbearable, even worse than the thought of leaving them is the thought of leaving them without saying what I needed to say. I feel incredibly lucky that I was able to discuss my wishes and theirs for mourning, and impress upon them one last time how much I love them and respect them. Jacob has three deathbed scenes in this parsha: three chances to say it all and get it right during those metaphorical “two or three days” that God gives him to put his affairs in order. Thankfully, I am well enough now that I see it as a gift to have the chance to face some of my fear of dying, and to be able to say what I needed to say, and to ask what I needed to ask.

In these scenes, two physical acts called out to me. In the first, “Israel bowed at the head of the bed.” (Gen 47:31) and in the second we are told that when Joseph came to see Jacob, having heard he was sick “Israel summoned his strength and sat up in bed.” (Gen 48:2) From Jacob’s literal sick bed, we see him adopting a humble posture relative to his son. Some commentaries interpret Jacob as bowing to Joseph, because of Joseph’s power and rank in Egypt. Other sources see Jacob as bowing for the Shechina, the earthly emanation of God. The Talmud in Tractate Shabbat teaches us that when visiting the sick it is important not to stand over the sick person, rather sit on a low stool or on the floor, because the Shechina is hovering above them.

Jacob bowed in the presence of God, who is protecting him on his death bed, and in the presence of his son, who will protect him after death. Jacob got the blessing of time to get it right. I draw strength from the beauty of his example.

Rachel Bloch is a third year rabbinical student at Hebrew College, with interests in pastoral care, halacha and education. Before Hebrew College, Rachel worked as an Information Architect, with degrees in mathematics and library science. They have lived in a variety of Jewish communities and loves finding common ground in text study.

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