Vayeshev
Genesis 37:1–40:23
By Jen Smith
Parashat Vayeshev opens with a simple line that is anything but simple: Vayeshev Yaakov b’eretz megurei aviv – And Jacob settled in the land where his fathers dwelled (Genesis 37:1).
After decades of turmoil including Esau’s rage, Laban’s deceit, and a lifetime of wandering, Jacob understandably longs to settle, breathe, and root himself in calm. Yet, as the midrash famously teaches: Jacob sought to live in tranquility, but the troubles of Joseph sprang upon him.i
Just when Jacob reaches a place where he can try to settle into peace, the Torah interrupts his rest immediately. This tension between the desire to feel settled and the reality of disruption sits at the heart of both Vayeshev.
Joseph’s story begins with fragmentation: a torn coat, a shattered family, brothers divided, and a dark pit that feels like an ending. In mystical literature, the world, too, begins in a fragmented state. The Rabbi Isaac Luriaii teaches that creation unfolded through shevirat ha-kelim, or, the shattering of vessels, scattering divine sparks across the universe. And our work in this life is tikkun, or, to gather these sparks back together.
Joseph’s journey mirrors this cosmic pattern. His brothers tear his beautiful coat, but they cannot tear his destiny. He is thrown into a pit only to become a source of ascent, and he is sold into slavery only to rise to leadership under Pharoah. Both circumstances remind us that every descent hides a divine spark and every fall further plants a seed for the future. Hanukkah echoes this same cosmic rhythm.
Much like the beginning of the universe, Hanukkah also begins with fracture. The holy temple is reduced to rubble after desecration, and yet, from this destruction comes a miracle: A single jar of oil, already small, vulnerable, and seemingly insufficient, burns far beyond expectation.
The Sfat Emetiii teaches that the light of Hanukkah is the same light that emerges after the breaking. It is not the polished light of a perfect vessel, but rather the raw, stubborn light that refuses to be extinguished. So too with Joseph. And so too with us.
Vayeshev is filled with dreams, both of Joseph and of the chief baker and cupbearer. In Jewish mysticism, dreams reveal the soul’s deeper vision, regarded as the eye that opens when the world is dark. Hanukkah arrives during the darkest time of the year and reminds us to be more like Joseph by using our inner light to illuminate our vision with the world around us is obscured by darkness.
The Hasidic masters call the Hanukkah flames Or ha-Ganuz, the Hidden Light of Creation, understood to represent an ethereal, primordial light that God concealed for the righteous to discover. Our ancient mystics believed that this magical light flickers at the very edges of perception. And Joseph proves exactly that: from darkness comes a dream; from a pit comes possibility; and from a torn technicolor Dreamcoat comes the promise of an even brighter future yet woven.
The story of Joseph truly faces the hardest truths about family: jealousy, favoritism, betrayal, resentment, hurt, and silence. Yet, once again, the arc of Genesis bends toward reconciliation. This is a key theme of the parsha: Human beings act with limited vision, and God weaves redemption from the torn fragments.
Whether rededicating our intentions or reigniting a flicker of hope, it is a perfect time to enter Hanukkah. Hanukkah is the ultimate story of rededication, the power of visions, and ultimately, of Chanukat ha-Bayit – the rebuilding of sacred space. With the days growing colder and darker in the far reaches of the Diaspora, maybe it is time to consider that the “Temples” in need of rededication are the ones closer to home: our relationships, our conversations, and our perceptions of one another.
The Maccabees didn’t build a new Temple, they reclaimed and rededicated the one they already had. Likewise, Joseph eventually rebuilds his family not by erasing the past but by transforming it. And this is a profoundly Jewish lesson: We are never asked to pretend that the darkness does not exist. Instead, we are commanded to shine anyway.
As we read Vayeshev while we prepare for the glow of Hanukkah, we are invited to hold three truths:
Breaking is part of the journey. Like Joseph and like the Temple, our stories contain moments of rupture. Rather than becoming signs of fracture, they instead become invitations to transformation.
Hidden light lives in broken places. The Hanukkah miracle is about persistence, not abundance. A small flame held with intention can illuminate an entire season.
Redemption often begins in the proverbial pit. Joseph’s rise began in a dark pit, and the Maccabees’ triumph began in a desecrated sanctuary. Our turning points often appear when we feel least prepared.
Vayeshev and Hanukkah together teach that holiness is found not only in the safety of settlement, but in our demonstrations of resilience. Yet another one of our Torah’s recurring whispers reminding us that holiness is often found in the vessel that continues to carry the light despite its cracks, rather than the unbroken, untested vessel.
Darkness is real, but so is the light. When we share our light, we increase the light. One candle (to 8!) at a time, until we illuminate the darkest corner of God’s most beautiful universe!
Shabbat Shalom!
i Bereishit Rabbah 84:3