The Power of One - Vayeshev 5772

Harry Truman. Doris Day. Red China. Johnnie Ray. South Pacific. Walter Winchell. Joe DiMaggio.

These are, of course, the opening lyrics of the famous 1989 song “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel. And I’d like to begin tonight at the beginning—naturally—of this song: Harry Truman.

On a trip to the Religious Action Center in Washington a few years ago with our high school students, we were able to visit the then-brand-new American History Museum. In touring the beautiful facility, I learned something fascinating about President Truman I never knew: namely, that while in office, there was a serious attempt to assassinate him. As I continued to read the short blurb accompanying his picture, I was struck by the story behind it. It told of how President Truman escaped unharmed because of the actions of one Secret Serviceman whose life was taken that day.  And I thought, This man made the ultimate sacrifice, giving his life for that of his president and his country, and they don’t even mention him.  This man was the reason why President Truman lived out his term, effectively altering the course of history, and here, he doesn’t even have a name.

And so it is with my favorite biblical character, Joseph, introduced this week in Parashat Vayeshev. We know the story, from Broadway or wherever.  He’s given a “dazzling coat of many colors” by his father, and foolishly shares megalomaniacal dreams with his overlooked brothers. They hate him with such a passion that even our usually sparse biblical text can’t play it down. And Israel sees that the time has come for Joseph to face the music, to confront his brothers and deal with the consequences of his actions. He sends Joseph to his brothers, pasturing at Sh’chem, and with the utterance of that powerful one-word phrase, Hineni, “here I am, I am ready,” Joseph is on his way. But when he reaches Sh’chem, he finds no one, and, we read, a man comes upon Joseph, asking him, Mah t’vakeish? “What do you seek?” And Joseph says, “I seek my brothers. Can you tell me where they are pasturing?” And this man, never given a name in our text, shares what he overheard them say, that they were heading to Dothan. And Joseph continues on his way.

We know how this chapter ends. Joseph is thrown into a pit by his brothers, who sell him into slavery as a vicious compromise rather than simply murdering him. What we often overlook is how the whole Joseph story, not only the final 14 chapters of the book of B’reishit, but essentially the rest of our biblical history, hinges entirely on this anonymous man and his singular action. The downfall, rise to greatness, and ultimate redemption of our hero never happens without him. The poignant culmination of the first book of our Torah rests completely in his hands. 

One man. One voice. One piece of information, and one decision to share it. We never hear from him again. We never learn his name. But his impact is quite literally immeasurable.

Many of our sages and commentators have tried to identify this man.  But I think they’re missing the point.  The point is not to figure out who he is.  What’s important here is that he is the Everyman, you and I, capable of changing the course of a life, and perhaps human history, with the simplest of actions. We know some of the grander examples: The one vote that made English and not German the official language of the United States of America. Abraham Lincoln’s decision to grant amnesty to the seceded states following the Civil War.  Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on a segregated Montgomery bus in December of 1955. One person, one act that, simply put, changed everything.

And chances are someone you know played a similar role in your life. Someone who inspired you, who showed you that anything was possible. Someone who dreamt like Joseph, who made their dreams a reality, and taught you that you could dream too. Someone who took the time to nurture or mentor you. Someone who saw some spark of something special in you that you may have never have seen yourself.

For me that was Mrs. Hohweiler. Aside from having a strange and perhaps even unfortunate name, Mrs. Hohweiler was the chorus teacher for 9th and 10th grade and musical director of the theater program. After feeling like I absolutely bombed my audition for Fiddler on the Roof, I thought she was only trying to make me feel better when she said she needed my strong voice in the company, and wanted me to join chorus for the following year. See, I thought I could carry a tune, but I didn’t know that somewhere within me was the ability—and the desire—to really sing. I made the company, had a small speaking role, joined chorus, and even had my own song in the following year’s musical. From that point on, through high school, college and into my life today, singing, music has been one of my greatest joys and passions. It is at the very core of who I am. And I may never have discovered it if Mrs. Hohweiler hadn’t seen it within me first.

Who is that person in your life? Who said the kind word, reached out a hand of support, smiled at you to redeem a miserable day, changed your entire outlook on the world in a brief moment? Who saw that divine spark within you and wanted nothing more than to set it aflame inside of you? Who was that for you? And how can you be that for someone else?

On Tuesday night we begin the festival of Chanukah, lighting one more candle each night, until we conclude with a chanukiyah of nine candles all aglow. On this Shabbat, may we remember those who lit our candle, who started the fire within us. And may we use that light, that warmth, that glow to kindle a flame within someone else.

AMEN.