Let’s face it: Joseph had it pretty good. After a few rough years, including some intense sibling rivalry, being torn from his father’s home, and a brief stint in an Egyptian prison, he had become one of Pharaoh’s closest confidants, his second-in-command. He had acquired exquisite possessions, a lovely wife, an Egyptian name, and authority over all the land. Even with famine on the horizon, Joseph’s future was looking bright. It appeared as though he had moved on, past the trauma of his youth.
Then his children entered the world, ushering in the next generation. As we read in parshat Miketz this week, Joseph named his firstborn son Manasheh: “God has made me forget all my hardship, and my father’s home.” And his second son he named Ephraim: “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.” Joseph had started over, risen to the top, and created a family. Yet the names he chose for his sons – Hebrew names – leave one curious. One might think every mention of Manasheh – derived from נָשָׁה –to forget – would ironically remind Joseph of the trauma of his past, and the home of his father. And as for Ephraim – from פָּרָה – to be fruitful – this name suggests that Egypt simply was not Joseph’s home, despite his many achievements there.
Commentators note that Joseph’s choices of names are unique, but disagree over their intended meanings. Akedat Yitzhak says that in choosing these names, “Joseph acknowledges God had allowed him to forget the hardships his brothers had inflicted on him. Everything they had done was part of a Divine Plan and thus, he bore them no ill will.”
Nahum Sarna writes, “With the birth of an heir, Joseph has now founded his own nuclear family. He has achieved physical and psychological security and feels he can forget his miserably unhappy youth, or at least not allow it to intrude upon his future.” Both commentaries suggest Joseph had forgiven his family and moved on. Yet this goes against Joseph’s very human response upon recognizing his brothers in Egypt several chapters later.
Samson Rafael Hirsch argues that Manasheh and Ephraim “are the greatest proof of loyalty to Joseph’s origins, and his determination not to be sucked into Egyptian culture.” And Abarbanel claims that “despite all the greatness and splendor Joseph enjoyed as viceroy, he still regarded Egypt as the land of his suffering, for he was still a son of Jacob and a native of the Holy Land.” Despite everything he had gained in Egypt, Joseph would always be the beloved child of Jacob, the owner of a multicolored tunic, the gifted young interpreter of dreams. He could not look ahead, toward his family’s future, without also acknowledging the truth of his past.
Hirsch goes on to comment that “nashah can have connotations other than forgetting. It can also denote being a “creditor,” conveying that ‘God has turned my trouble and my family into my creditors. That which until now seemed to me misfortune and abuse, God has turned into the instrument of my greatest happiness.” For Hirsch, the name Manasheh signifies the gift Joseph’s brothers unintentionally bestowed upon him. Even in their despicable act of jealousy, they pushed Joseph toward his personal destiny and our people’s eventual redemption.
Today, in Jewish homes across the world, parents bless their sons on Shabbat evenings: “May God make you like Ephraim and Menasheh.” It harkens back to the blessing an ailing Jacob bestows upon his grandsons – the first brothers in the biblical narrative to coexist peacefully, the first Israelite children to maintain their identities in a foreign land. With this blessing, modern-day parents look forward to the future achievements of their children. Yet Menasheh and Ephraim also remind us all to look backward, toward our own richly layered, often complicated pasts. For as these names teach us, we cannot get to where we’re headed – no matter the destination – without remembering where we’ve been.
Boker Tov.
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