In this week’s Torah Portion we witness the number one crier recorded in the Torah and all of Jewish text. No, it’s not stereotypically one of the Matriarchs; rather it’s one of the Patriarchs. Joseph, without a close second, cries more than anyone else in the Torah. In at least five different encounters we find Joseph not sniffling, not shedding a tear but soul-crying, wailing out, albeit it rather self-consciously at times, but balling nonetheless.

Tears are one of the most powerful tools that we possess. As far as I know, no other mammal or animal cries. Sure my dog whimpers but I have yet to walk in on him having an all-out melt down. No, tears are uniquely human and for an adult, the act of crying is a profound experience.

There is something powerful, mysterious and holy, bound up in tears and something we must rethink in spiritual, not just emotional terms.

The great Jewish mystic Rebbie Nachman writes, “My tears are my divinity; they come from the inside of God’s face.” Something about tears and the act of crying feels holy.

But what does that mean? It is just one of those things to be experienced and not merely talked about. For anyone who has had a deep, authentic, soul-cry knows, it a moment of transformation and an incredible cleansing experience; tefilah.

Transformation and cleansing, that is exactly what tefilah is all about after all – soul-tears. To enter into the darkness of our lives, to completely and utterly relinquish control; to open ourselves up, and unconditionally offer up every ounce of our thought, emotion and spirit – what could be more of an authentic expression of self – the whole point of true tefilah, the experience of soul-crying.

And what, almost invariably, is the outcome of this cry, this authentic outpouring? Relief, clarity and hope! To cry, cry out and unleash soul-tears always illuminates the darkness; certainly it always leaves us feeling a little less confused, less overwhelmed and less sad. Even if nothing has changed about our circumstances, we have somehow been changed, our chemistry is certainly different but most importantly, our perspective has changed – we are transformed – as and now we are able to move forward once again.

And so, we get some insight into the act of crying, and Joseph’s intense spirituality, but what’s also fascinating is when Joseph cries.

Joseph, as you recall, was betrayed by his brothers, left for dead, enslaved, imprisoned and left to rot in the dungeons of Egypt. Not once during these would-be justifiable crying opportunities is he said to have shed a tear. It isn’t until he ascends from those depths, rises in power and affluence, and begins the process of reuniting with his family, that he begins to cry. However, from the moment he is reunited, the flood gates of tears are opened. First he soul-cries when seeing his brothers; then again, with his youngest brother Benjamin; then with his father; then at his father’s death, and finally upon finally forgiving his brothers – each moment is marked by Joseph and his tears.

Why? Why here? Why now? Why not earlier when he was physically suffering, down on his luck and struggling? The great modern Torah commentator, Avivah Zornberg, tells us, it’s precisely now that Joseph begins to cry because it’s only now that he fully realizes what has been lost. Judah, his oldest brother, uses the word “ayn” (“there is not” - physical and existential absence) time and again in describing the absence of Joseph. It is only now that Joseph fully wakes up to the ayn, all that has been absent, and all that was lost in his life and all that never will be. And in that ayn moment, the flood gates open, the tears flow, and for the rest of Joseph’s life, he will cry.

It’s a complex sadness. You see, the very fact that he is able to cry and able to now fully feel the ayn, the absence, is a remarkable, even a joyous turning point.  As the Psalmist writes:

“Though he goes along weeping, carrying the seed bag, he shall come back with songs of joy, carrying his sheaves.” (Psalms 126:6).

In retrospect, what is truly sad are those years in “bor” (bor in Biblical Hebrew means both a pit and jail, both where Joseph was imprisoned) without tears that is saddest of all. Or as Dante says in the Inferno, “The punishment of the damned is the inability to cry.” Joseph, now through crying, no longer damned, no longer emotionally or spiritually imprisoned, finally reunited with his family, his soul through being reunited with his tears; and Joseph is finally free. The tears, in the end, were seeds planted which would one day bear the fruit of joy. These tears are good tears, a good cry from a state of enlightenment, mourning over a loss that will eventually turn to joy.

Rebbie Nachman teaches us that tears are divine. Crying is an act of prayer, taking us from despair to hope, from confusion to clarity, from desperation to joy and from the bor (the pit) to freedom.

Ribono shel Olam, bless us with good cries. Help us feel the permission to release the soul-tears that are pent up inside of each and every one of us. Take our tears of prayer and transform them to songs of joy.

© Ranon Teller 2006

Sermon Classification: 154