GOOD MORNING! While visiting New York about a month ago, I had lunch with an older friend of mine who had recently lost of his wife. As one would expect, the loss of his wife had greatly impacted him and he had been coping with feelings of loss, sorrow, and a deep sense of loneliness.

When spouse dies all of their perpetual activity suddenly ceases and the surviving spouse has to adjust to a very different reality. The sudden disappearance of all the background sounds that come with living with another person just highlights the innate feeling of loneliness. For my friend, who had been married for over forty years, the deafening stillness of his house and the solitary meals have been a very difficult adjustment.

At its very essence true loss is actually bittersweet, because in order to have a loss you must acknowledge that you once had something special for which you are grateful. The fact that we often don’t fully appreciate things until they are no longer, is no one’s fault but our own. This is the essential underlying truth behind poet Alfred Lord Tennyson’s famous affirmation on relationships: “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” It may be bitter now, but it was once sweet and for that we should be appreciative.

My friend's painful situation also caused me to reflect on how certain circumstances can be viewed so incredibly differently. For example, if a married couple is constantly fighting and at each other’s throats, the ensuing divorce and resulting stillness of the house will likely be welcomed with no small measure of relief. Of course, this also reminded me of the following joke.

The rabbi's wife called and asked him to pick up some organic kale for that night’s dinner on his way home. He arrived at the store and found the kale, but it wasn’t marked organic. He approached the young clerk to determine if the kale was indeed organic or not. The young clerk seemed confused by the question, so the rabbi said: “Look, this kale is for my wife, I don’t even like the stuff. All I need to know is whether or not it’s been sprayed with poisonous chemicals.” The visibly horrified clerk lowered his voice and whispered, “No, rabbi, you will have to do that yourself.”

For my friend, the passing of his wife and the ongoing sense of loss and loneliness naturally preoccupies much of his waking thoughts. He is somewhat comforted by the fact that as long as he is thinking about his late wife she is, in some sense, still with him. This has also led him to contemplate his own demise, what he is leaving behind, and how he will be remembered.

As I wrote in a prior column, the reason we have a Nobel Prize is because of one man’s concern with his legacy. In 1888 Alfred Nobel, a Swedish chemist, engineer, and industrialist – most famously known for the invention of dynamite – was quite astonished to read his own obituary in a French newspaper titled, “The Merchant of Death is Dead.”

Of course, it was a mistake; it was actually Alfred’s brother Ludvig who had died. Still, it triggered a deep concern as to how he would be remembered. Thus, he specified in his will that his fortune was to be used to create a series of prizes for those who confer the “greatest benefit on mankind” in physics, chemistry, medicine, literature, and peace (the prize for economics was added in 1968). Upon his death in 1896, the “Nobel Prize” was born.

In this week’s Torah reading we have an incredible lesson regarding how the efforts and decisions a person makes during their lifetime are the ultimate decider of their eternal legacy and how they will be remembered. But first, here is a short background on the story that takes place in this week’s Torah portion.

Our foremother Rebecca had two sons: Eisav and Jacob. Her brother Lavan had two daughters: Leah and Rachel. Because each of the families were prominent and particularly successful there was some communal preoccupation with the trajectory of their lives (think an ancient version of Britain’s Royal Family).

According to the sages, there was a general understanding that the coarse older son (Eisav) would marry the older daughter (Leah) and that the studious younger son (Jacob) would marry the younger daughter (Rachel). For her part, Leah was very displeased with the prospect of marrying the wicked Eisav, and for years she cried bitterly about it, pining endlessly to marry Jacob instead.

When Jacob went to visit his uncle Lavan he struck a deal with him to work for his uncle for seven years for the right to marry Rachel. But Lavan had his own plans and deceived Jacob into first marrying Leah. Naturally, this deception did not particularly endear Leah to Jacob, and the Torah comments that Leah felt hated. For this reason, the Almighty blessed her with many children. This was particularly important to Jacob who was laser focused on having children and raising the future nation of Israel.

Still, Leah never really came to terms with the fact that she was second to Rachel in Jacob’s eyes and constantly yearned for a deeper connection to him. In fact, she gladly traded away her son’s mandrakes –  a root that was believed to promote fertility – to Rachel who was desperate to have children in exchange for more time with Jacob.

On the other hand, Rachel had the affection of Jacob, but no children. The Torah records that she became very jealous of her sister and she practically yelled at Jacob, “Give me children, if not I will die!” (Genesis 30:1). Her sole preoccupation was to seek some way to have children and she eagerly traded away the opportunity to spend more time with Jacob in exchange for the mandrakes and the possible chance to stimulate her fertility. Eventually, her pleas were answered and she had Joseph and then Benjamin.

Now, this week’s Torah portion opens with our forefather Jacob nearing what he realizes to be the end of his life. He asks his son Joseph, the viceroy of Egypt, to visit him. Joseph dutifully comes to visit his elderly and ailing father. During the visit Jacob asks Joseph to swear that he will not allow his father to be buried in Egypt:

“‘If I have found favor in your eyes […] act toward me with truth and kindness and do not bury in Egypt. Let me lie with my fathers. Carry me out of Egypt and bury me among their graves.’ Joseph replied, ‘I will do as you say.’ Jacob asked that Joseph swear to it and he did” (Genesis 47:28-31).

A few verses later, Jacob apologizes to Joseph for burying Rachel (Joseph’s mother) in a comparatively nondescript grave on the side of the road when the entire family was returning to the Land of Israel. He explains that Rachel died quite suddenly and that he was compelled to bury her where she died. The great Biblical commentator Rashi elucidates this point.

Rashi informs us that Jacob was really saying to Joseph, “I know that you hold it against me that I didn’t bury your mother in the Land of Israel, but instead I buried her on the side of the road. In fact, it may even seem particularly unfair that I am asking you to trouble yourself to take me all the way from Egypt to Israel to be buried when I didn’t do the same for your mother. You should just know that I was directed by Divine Providence to bury her on the roadside; for it was decreed that when Nevuzadaran would exile the Jewish nation they were destined to pass by her grave.” (Nevuzadaran was the captain of the Babylonian army; he was charged by with the destruction of the First Temple and the deportation of all the Jews to Babylon.)

The prophet Jeremiah foretells that when the captive Jewish nation shuffled by her grave on the road leading away from the Land of Israel, Rachel would then come out to tearfully see her children off and cry out to the Almighty regarding their plight: “Thus says the Lord; A voice was heard in Ramah, a lamentation and bitter weeping; Rachel is weeping for her children and refuses to be comforted – for her children were taken away and are gone.”

The prophet continues with the Almighty’s response to Rachel’s pleas on behalf of her descendants:

“Thus says the Lord; ‘Refrain your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for your prayers shall be rewarded, and they shall come home again from the land of the enemy.’ ‘There is hope for the future,’ says the Lord, ‘and your children shall return to their own land’” (Jeremiah 31:14-16).

Remarkably, Rachel – who spent her entire married life obsessing over and making every effort to have children – has the lasting legacy of the mother of the Jewish people; a mother who is wholly preoccupied with the welfare of her children and intercedes with the Almighty on their behalf.

Leah, who spent her entire married life trying to spend more time with Jacob and create a deeper connection, is the wife who is actually buried with him and gets to spend eternity at his side.

We have an incredible life lesson here: Don’t be surprised if your lasting and eternal legacy is whatever you spend your life trying to achieve. Whatever you decide to make the focus of your life will, in all likelihood, also come to be the very definition of your life. Choose wisely.

Vayechi, Genesis 47:28 – 50:26

The parsha, Torah portion, opens with Jacob on his deathbed 17 years after arriving in Egypt. Jacob blesses Joseph’s two sons, Manasseh (Menashe) and Ephraim (to this day it is a tradition to bless our sons every Shabbat evening with the blessing, “May the Almighty make you like Ephraim and Manasseh” because they grew up in the Diaspora amongst foreign influences and still remained devoted to the Torah. The Shabbat evening blessing for girls is “to be like Sarah, Rivka, Rachel, and Leah”). He then individually blesses each of his sons. The blessings are prophetic and give reproof, where necessary.

A large retinue from Pharaoh’s court accompanies the family to Hebron to bury Jacob in the Ma’arat Hamachpela, the burial cave purchased by Abraham. The Torah portion ends with the death of Joseph and his binding the Israelites to bring his remains with them for burial when they are redeemed from slavery and go to the Land of Israel. Thus ends the book of Genesis!