We are in the middle of Chanukah, and the Shabbat of Chanukah always brings the story of Joseph. Hated by his brothers, Joseph is thrown into a deep pit from which he is sold as a slave to Ishmaelite traders. This terrible fate is actually his best case scenario, considering that at first his brothers planned to kill him, and only when Reuben insists they not kill him themselves do the brothers instead opt for the pit. We are told next that the “pit was empty and had no water.”
Commentaries differ on whether this made matters better or worse. No water to drink or no water to drown in? In the midrash, the rabbis go in a different direction. Why does the Torah tell us an empty pit has no water, when “empty” means containing nothing – water or otherwise? The rabbis answer that we are told this so we know that although there was no water, there were snakes and scorpions. Where do the Sages get this?
We find this teaching in the Talmud in an unexpected place: in the middle of the laws about Chanukah candles and where they must be placed to fulfill the mitzvah of Chanukah. The juxtaposition of this particular Biblical story and a holiday that isn’t even mentioned in the Hebrew Bible calls out to be understood in a deeper way. The candles, we are told, must not be placed higher than a person’s eye would naturally look. In other words, a passerby would be able to see the flames without having to crane their neck and make an effort to look up. The purpose of the candles, after all, are to be seen, to publicize the miracle of the oil and to give thanks to G*d for sustaining the Jewish people in our time of need.
What does this have to do with Joseph, the pit, and the alleged poisonous creatures at the bottom? Just as something too high can escape the eyes of passersby, someone placed so low can fall out of view. The brothers decided to put Joseph in a pit rather than murder him, but they didn’t care if he died anyway from the unseen dangers there. To place someone where they are not seen is already deadly.
If the menorah being in view helps publicize the miraculous way that G*d looked out for the Jewish people, then a person being unseen tells us that we are undoing that miracle. To render someone invisible, to force them out of sight, places someone created in G*d’s image on the way to mortal danger.
Joseph, in fact, survives, “rescued” by being sold into slavery in Egypt. There, he is eventually placed in a position of unmatched prominence, with the power to provide or withhold life-giving sustenance. The midrash, however, makes clear that his story could have been cut short right then in the pit. That disappearing from view even once could have been enough to end his life.
Who are the Josephs stuck in the pit right now? Who has fallen out of view? With or without intention, who has become invisible in our society? Whose lives are endangered by the toxic bite of negligence and isolation? This Chanukah, let us consider how we might kindle the lights of kindness, justice, and dignity to make well-known the great miracle that happens wherever we lift up the image of G*d in each of us.
Michael Bernstein, a Rabbi, has served since 2009 as Rabbi of Congregation Gesher L’Torah, a vibrant and dynamic Synagogue community in north Atlanta where each person’s story is embraced and Judaism is personal. He was ordained as a conservative Rabbi at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York in 1999. He and his wife Tracie have three children, Ayelet, Yaron and Liana.