Mendocino Coast Jewish Community

The root of the Hebrew word for “sheaf” is א׳ל׳מ׳ (alef/lamed/mem). As is often the case with Hebrew, there are other words with the same three-letter root. Turns out that א׳ל׳מ׳ (alef/lamed/mem) is also the root for the word “mute.” There is no obvious connection (at least to me) between sheaves of wheat and muteness. But one could, kind of playfully, read the verse to say something like, “Behold! We were being mute in the fields when my muteness arose and towered over the muteness of all the rest of you, and your muteness bowed down before mine.”

A lot of muteness! Even though that’s not the explicit meaning of the text here at all, it was somehow suggestive, at least to me. And part of the joy and fun of Torah study is following these little shimmers of possible meaning to see where they go. So I started noticing the many times in the Joseph story when things that needed saying were not said. The whole story is carried forward by these terrible silences, until all the brothers are cowering before a terrifying Egyptian lord whom we know, but they do not, is their brother Joseph.

Finally (spoiler alert), three parshiyot later, Joseph explodes with words and tears and says everything that needs to be said. “I am Joseph!” He goes on in a torrent to forgive and rectify and settle so much that needed to be articulated. It is a huge catharsis, for Joseph, presumably, and for us the readers. I love this explosion of words and tears as much as anything in Torah.

That little Hebrew hint about sheaves and muteness has got me thinking about the unspoken, on invisibility and the ways that we hide and disappear. I had a conversation with a friend recently in which she related being at her adult children’s home for a couple of days just after she had taken a big trip. No one even asked her about her travels. Another friend spoke about being with her family and falling back into habitual silence as everyone else planned and talked over her. I think of my dad, who teaches computer skills to seniors: he used to give an annual award to a salesperson at the local computer store who would acknowledge older customers instead of walking right by them as though they were invisible.

I also find myself thinking about artists I admire and how brilliant it is when one can really express one’s inwardness in an outward medium, in music or paint or dance or poetry. It is so exciting to me when I can witness part of someone else’s inner world that has not been muted by cliché or convention or inhibition.