Bereshit 47:28 – 50:25
Haftarah: I Melajim / I Reyes 2:1–12
This week we study the perashá “WAYEḤÍ”, “And he lived.”
It is a sacred irony since the portion called “life” is precisely the one that recounts the passing of Ya‘aqob Abinu and the death of Yosef HaṢadik. Through its very title, the Torah teaches us that true life is not measured by years, but by what remains alive after us: the faith, identity, and mission we plant in our children and disciples.
The perashá opens with Ya‘aqob preparing for his departure. He asks Yosef to swear that he will not be buried in Egypt, but in Me‘arat HaMajpelá, alongside Avraham, Yiṣḥaq, and their wives. This is not a mere burial request; it is a declaration of belonging. Ya‘aqob teaches that even if a family lives in galut (exile), its roots do not change. Exile may be a circumstance; it must never become an identity. Ya‘aqob goes down to Egypt out of necessity, but he refuses to “belong” to Egypt by definition.
One of the most delicate moments in the entire Torah follows: Ya‘aqob blesses Yosef’s sons, Efrayim and Menashé, and deliberately crosses his hands. Yosef tries to correct him: “Not so, my father… the firstborn is Menashé.” But Ya‘aqob insists: “I know, my son, I know.” Here a powerful teaching is revealed. Ya‘aqob does not bless according to protocol, but according to spiritual potential. Not always is the “first” the one called to lead; sometimes the one who appears smaller carries a light the future needs. True blessing is not the repetition of patterns—it is clear vision.
After this, Ya‘aqob calls his twelve sons and speaks words that are at once blessing, prophecy, and correction. Not all receive gentle words. Because a true father does not only comfort—he forms. The Torah shows us that transmission is not sentimentalism; it is truth delivered with love. Ya‘aqob does not want a “nice” family; he wants a family capable of carrying the covenant. In that moment, he is not creating memories—he is creating continuity.
And then Ya‘aqob dies… yet the perashá insists: “and he lived.”
Why? Because Ya‘aqob does not end with his final breath. He lives in children who now better understand their responsibility; he lives in the direction he set; he lives in the identity he affirmed even within Egypt. Some people die young and leave eternity; others live many years and leave silence. Ya‘aqob belongs to the former.
After the burial, an old tension resurfaces: the brothers fear that Yosef will now take revenge. It is as if the ancient sin begins to breathe again. But Yosef responds with a sentence that defines a righteous man:
“You intended evil against me, but Hashem intended it for good.”
Yosef does not minimize the wrongdoing; he transcends it. He does not say, “Nothing happened,” but rather, “It happened… but it will not rule me.” This, too, is a high form of teshubáh: not only changing oneself, but breaking the chain that turns pain into cruelty.
And with this we reach the end of the book. Yosef dies—but he leaves a promise. He makes his brothers swear that when Hashem redeems them, they will carry his bones with them. Yosef, the man who ruled Egypt, does not ask for monuments, palaces, or honor. He asks to belong to the future of Israel. He teaches us that true power is not rising within exile, but never forgetting where we are going.
The Haftarah reinforces this very message. David HaMelej, in his farewell, does not speak sentimentally; he speaks as a responsible king. He instructs Shelomó regarding loyalty to the covenant, justice, and the weight of leadership. It is the same message as Ya‘aqob’s: when a leader departs, what matters most is not what he leaves in one’s hand, but what he leaves in one’s conscience.
Thus we understand the central message of WAYEḤÍ:
There is a life that depends on the body, and there is a life that depends on legacy.
And when the Torah calls this parashah “And he lived,” it is asking each of us:
What part of you will continue to live in others?
May this perashá inspire us to live with direction, to bless with truth, to correct with love, and to build a life that does not end in Egypt—or in any exile—but walks toward the promise. And may we merit to see the legacy of our fathers transformed into complete redemption, speedily and in our days. Amen.
Rabbi Netanel Gil