Ze ev Maghen, the author of Imagine: John Lennon and the Jews and professor of Arabic literature and Islamic

history at Bar Ilan University, tells a humorous story from his childhood. He was 19 years old and had come to New York City to participate in a freestyle Frisbee tournament in Central Park. Late at night, he walked into an almost pitch-dark, low level subway track to catch a Brooklyn bound train. He was unshaven and barefoot, wore Bermuda shorts, a Grateful Dead bandanna and a t-shirt that said War is Unhealthy for Plants and other Living Things with the sleeves ripped off. Maghen slumped down on a bench, and in the illuminating light of a passing train, noticed a young Chassidic woman sitting only a few feet away on a bench directly opposite his. As Maghen describes it, She saw me... in all my glory, and her eyes instantly registered fear. Looking at this woman, Maghen imagined that she looked just like his great great grandmother must have looked in Europe. In a marijuana induced haze, he was unable to stop himself from leaning over and addressing the following soliloquy to the terrified Chassidic woman: What you are afraid of me? Of me? Why, for God s sake, don t you know? Could it be possible that you do not know that I would die for you? That I would gladly sacrifice my life to pull you out of harm s way? That if they came, those vodka swigging savages on their horses, those drunken peasant butchers that if they came charging through your village to despoil and slaughter that I would protect you, that I would go find young Jabotinsky and his friends and we would form a circle around you and keep you safe from them, from their ravaging hands, that we would Predictably, the poor woman took off as fast as she could and raced out of that subway station to get out of reach of yet another Manhattan subway lunatic. But we are left with a question; where, exactly, do these feelings come from? Why would a secular, nineteen year old Jew from Philadelphia experience such profound emotion even when high on pot simply from seeing a vulnerable Chassidic woman in a subway station? Last week s Torah portion ends with Yehudah and his brothers pleading unsuccessfully with Yosef: please, let our younger brother Binyamin return home to our father! In the middle of this dramatic confrontation, Parshat Miketz abruptly and strangely ends. We are forced to wait a week, until Parshat Vayigash, to read the continuation of Yehudah s plea Vaygash Yehudah - and reach the dramatic and emotional conclusion of the story, in which Yosef reveals himself to his brothers. According to the chapter divisions and verse numbers used for the Bible, which are of Christian origin, the story continues uninterrupted. It is only the Jewish tradition that, in puzzling fashion, divides the confrontation between Yosef and his brothers into separate parshiyot. Why does the Jewish tradition divide this confrontation into two separate Parshiyot? I d like to suggest that Vayigash Yehuda represents a fundamental, game-changing moment in Jewish history a moment that altered the course of Jewish history. Let me explain: Vayigash Yehudah Yehuda approaches Yosef; he walks closer, indicating that he is speaking emotionally and personally to Yosef. He speaks honestly and directly, and explains: I have an elderly father, and I must bring this boy home. So here is what is going to happen please let your servant

stay instead of the boy as a slave to my lord, and may the boy go up with his brothers I will stay here, I will be your slave, in place of Binyamin. I will give you my life, instead of his. It is a gesture of true sacrifice.
Now, courage and the willingness to sacrifice for family is not new to the sons of Yaakov. Shimon and Levi had stood up for their sister Dina, risking their lives to bring her home from the clutches of Shechem. But Yehudah s willingness to sacrifice his life for Binyamin is qualitatively different from the heroics of Shimon and Levi on behalf of Dina. For Dina was, unlike Binyamin, a child of Leah. Dina was Leah s daughter, and Shimon and Levi were Leah s sons. She was one of their own. What makes Yehudah s sacrifice different is that Yehudah, a son of Leah, is willing to sacrifice his life for Binyamin, a son of Rachel. This is no small difference. For their entire adult lives, the sons of Leah were locked into a deep confrontation with Yosef and Binyamin, the sons of Rachel. As Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook explains, this was more than mere jealousy; the brothers were deeply opposed to Yosef s way of life, his openness to the world, his cosmopolitanism. Yosef was a man who lived among gentiles, a man fluent in the 70 languages of the nations. The sons of Leah, by contrast, were more insular, focusing on the uniqueness of the Yaakov s family and mission. It was their fear and loathing of Yosef s path that led to their tragic decisions to throw him in a pit and sell him off as a slave. And yet at this moment, for the first time, Yehudah and his brothers attain a broader vision, a new appreciation for the meaning of "Klal Yisrael." At this moment, Yehudah is saying: It doesn t matter that I do not approve of the path of Yosef and Binyamin it is irrelevant! Binyamin is my father s son, he is my brother; and I will bring him back, come hell or high water! It doesn't matter that we are not close, that my spiritual path is a world apart from his. He is my brother, and I will sacrifice my life for his! Yehudah, then, is making a fundamental statement: what binds us together is not our ideology, our shared values and approach to life. No! What binds us together as a people is that we are a family. And no matter how much I loathe a family member s ideology or way of life, when my family is in danger, I will be willing to sacrifice on their behalf. This is why Parshat Vayigash begins in the middle of the brothers confrontation with Yosef; because this is a moment in Jewish history which cannot be missed! Something new, something extraordinary, is happening here, and Jewish tradition wants us to pay attention! Yehudah s willingness to sacrifice his freedom for Binyamin, is the beginning of a long and incredible history of Ahavat Yisrael, of love of Israel, without strings attached. Throughout the generations, Jews have stood up for each other despite their differences. When eight Sephardic Jews in Damascus were accused the ritual murder of Christian priest in the infamous blood libel of 1840, secular Ashkenazi Jews throughout America rallied on their behalf. And when Soviet Jewry, not known for its piety, suffered behind the iron curtain, Jews of every denomination rallied on their behalf throughout the world. Jews stand up for each other, regardless of their differences in background and outlook. We are family!

When a marijuana smoking Ze ev Maghen declared his willingness to die for a chassidic woman on the subway, he was acting in consonance with an old tradition a tradition of standing up for our fellow Jews that begins with Yehudah. It is no accident that Yehudah is the namesake for our people; we are Jews, descendants of Yehudah, both physically and spiritually. On Tuesday night, an estimated 3,000 Jews gathered in Beit Shemesh to protest the attacks carried out by Chareidi extremists against young religious Zionist girls attending the Orot Bnot elementary school in Beit Shemesh. The rally was attended by senior Israeli politicians, including the head of the opposition, Kadima MK Tzipi Livni, and former Labor party head MK Amir Peretz. Unfortunately, however, the rally was conspicuous not because of who was present, but rather because of those who chose not to show up the silent Chareidi majority and its leadership. Now, it is clear that the great majority of Chareidi Jews, both in Israel and around the world, repudiate the acts of extremist elements in their midst. And yet, the Chareidi community remains largely silent. Certainly, Chareidim disagree very strongly with religious Zionists, on a host of sensitive political and lifestyle issues. But are we not, as Yehudah understood, one big family? And shouldn t family stand up for each other in times of distress, despite their disagreements? Where are the thousands of Chareidi protesters marching together with their fellow Jews in Beit Shemesh, led by Chareidi leaders, decrying the violence? Their absence is both a failure of leadership and a failure to live up to what it means to be a Jew. But it is a failure that can yet be remedied. We wait.