Vayechi
Genesis 47:28-50:26 

By Jen Smith 

Parshat Vayechi opens with a quiet paradox: “And Jacob lived…” Sounds like the perfect beginning, until you realize that the entire portion unfolds under the shadow of death. Jacob prepares to leave this world, and Joseph follows soon after his father. And with them, the book of Genesis comes to an end. 

In Jewish mysticism, rather than an ending, this is characterized as a threshold moment that feels like the world narrows for a bit before it expands exponentially once more. The Zohar teaches that when a righteous person approaches death, their soul begins to loosen its boundaries. Individual identity wanes, giving way to something more collective and infinite. Jacob is no longer only a father blessing sons, instead transforming to become the root of the People of Israel, propelling spiritual energy forward through the vast dimensions of time. 

This is why his blessings feel a little odd. Jacob’s blessings are sometimes sharp, sometimes unsettling, and rarely complimentary – definitely NOT the sappy Hallmark blessings you might imagine. They are a sort of spiritual map of the soul revealing each child’s inner divine spark and each tribe’s spiritual task. In this morning, Jacob is aligning the flow of divine energy, or shefa, that will sustain the people long after he is gone. 

Genesis ends quietly. Joseph dies and his body is placed in a coffin, or aron, in Egypt. There is no resolution, no redemption, and no promised land.  

Jewish mystical tradition reminds us that this silence is intentional. In Kabbalah, before any new creation, there is tzimtzum, a contraction or withdrawal of light, that ultimately opens space for something even more transcendent. Vayechi is that contraction. The light of our ancestors dims so that a different kind of light can eventually emerge. 

Bereishit is the world of beginnings, intimacy, and potential. It is sustained by singular figures in Abraham, Sarah, Jacob, Joseph, each of whom contain holiness in their fragile vessels. But if we have learned anything from Torah, we know that the Jewish people cannot be born into comfort, and our story is just getting started. 

To move toward Sinai, the soul of Israel must descend. There is a reason Exodus feels like it is the heart of our origin story. This is the part where God becomes louder, miracles break through history, and where suffering is transformed into revelation. And, we can’t leap into revelation without first passing through the narrow places. 

Joseph’s coffin in Egypt is a seed planted in darkness. The Zohar calls Egypt Mitzrayim, a place of constriction and the narrow place of the soul. And yet, it is precisely from that narrow place that redemption will emerge. 

Genesis ends with a promise not yet fulfilled because faith, in Judaism, is not about certainty. Judaism is about continuity, and the ability to carry light through the darkness fueled not by proof, but by faith. 

Vayechi teaches us something countercultural: rather than about failure, endings are about sacred labor. Jacob blesses and Joseph trusts, and the Torah closes the chapter and avoids doubling back to reassure us. I recently read a piece by Rabbi David Wolpe in which he explains that spiritually speaking, it would have been too early for the Torah to reassure us, which would have short circuited our induvial and communal growth toward understanding our relationship with God.  

Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is let a chapter end, without clarity and closure, believing that what feels like silence can be interpreted as preparation. 

As we complete Genesis and prepare to enter Exodus, may we honor some of the endings in our lives as well – the relationships, roles, or versions of ourselves that are quietly fading. May we trust that even when the light contracts, it is doing so only to return in a stronger form. 

And may we step forward like our ancestors, carrying unfinished promises, reminded that the journey toward freedom often begins in the dark.  

Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek. May we be strengthened by the courage to end, and the faith to begin again. 

Shabbat Shalom!