On a recent episode of “Grantchester,” a long-running PBS mystery series, the plot included a storyline focusing on the dysfunctional parent/child relationships of two local detectives and the vicar. Three adult men, all with unresolved issues from complicated childhoods. In two cases, you witnessed grown men in acute distress.
It was not what I was expecting. Instead of an ordinary mystery, I found psychologically wounded crime fighters. Now I must admit I am not a regular viewer of “Grantchester.” Perhaps the series is known for tackling psychological topics and the emotional frailty of its detectives.
The end of the episode saw one man crying in the arms of an older woman. One would hope he got some relief from that exchange. A second detective wanted to tell his young son he loved him but somehow could not bring himself to do so. The third, the vicar, left a letter from his adoptive father addressed “To My Son” in his desk drawer unopened.
After the program was over, I thought a lot about the parent/child relationships that I know best … those of my own family and those of my friends who have shared their pain, frustration, disappointment, and anger over the years. It appears to be a subject of consequence in many peoples’ lives.
Those I know who have had wonderful childhoods and loving, supportive parents have not been the majority. Or perhaps, they just don’t need to talk about it. But in the last several years, I have seen many articles and advice columns (yes, I do read them) about estrangement between parents and children. I have read about children who feel they must cut off their parents for wounds seen and unseen. And parents who are trying to understand what they could have done to deserve such treatment.
Some months ago, I consulted a psychologist about a problem one of my grandchildren was having. I wanted to understand it better. At the end of the session, I mentioned my children. The therapist congratulated me on having relationships with my children. It seems he is treating an inordinate number of people who have walked away from their parent/child connections, claiming the pain in their relationships makes keeping in touch too difficult or impossible.
Then there are those who have walked away from sibling relationships. It is interesting to note that a recent article in The New York Times talked about siblings as being more influential in our lives than our parents. I can’t say I agree with that one. But I do have many friends who have had troubled relationships with their siblings. Most of those I have spoken to are women with poor older brother/younger sister relationships. I must admit, I count myself in that group.
How did these schisms happen … suddenly, gradually, over many years? Why does it happen? A complicated subject, which I will leave to the experts. Do these estrangements ever get resolved?
Sometimes, there are parents and/or children who recognize their contributions to the fractured relationship and reach out to make peace. I have no statistics as to how often these relationships are repaired, but those I have heard about bring much-needed relief and satisfaction to both parties.
With sibling problems, results appear equally complicated. Only one of the women I spoke to told me of her brother’s regret at how he had treated her over the course of their lives; he wrote her a letter of apology asking for forgiveness. I don’t know if he gave a reason for his animosity. But in all the other cases, there was no apology and no kumbaya moment.
So where does blame lie? Everyone has a point of view. And what does our Jewish faith teach us about familial relationships?
One of the Ten Commandments tells us to honor our father and our mother. No equivocation here. But what happens when there is little love or respect given by a parent to a child? Or vice versa? Or when there is favoritism shown to one child at the expense of the others?
I remember going to the synagogue for Yizkor some years ago and finding in the prayer book a sidebar I had never noticed previously. It raised the question of one’s obligation is to a parent who was less than kind. I don’t remember the exact wording, but I was pleased that the prayer book acknowledged that all parent/child relationships are not ideal. The writer said that the parent gave you life, and, at the least, deserves a respectful Kaddish.
When I spoke to a friend recently and mentioned the advice given in the prayer book, she asked me if a parent had been physically or sexually abusive, would I still feel good about the advice in the prayer book? A valid question.
When interviewing a therapist for an article many years ago, the doctor noted that people are prone to blame parents for any estrangement. “Sometimes,” she noted, “it is the child.” Of course, she was correct.
In looking into Jewish sources, I particularly love the Bible. One of the reasons is the inclusion of all types of human relationships found there. These stories make for a most unusual and thought-provoking read. And it has definitely enriched my own religious life.
Prophets call out our sins and transgressions. Proverbs and psalms provide guidance and wisdom. And Bible stories mirror the fragility and complexity of human relationships. Even our heroes are painted with flaws and foibles.
While the Bible does show a variety of dysfunctional relationships, it also allows us to see change, repentance, and reconciliation in the family dynamic. Interestingly, sibling rivalries start as early as Cain and Abel, with Cain killing his brother out of jealousy. They continue with Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers, and Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. (Yeah, a woman shows up!)
For our purposes, I would like to focus on the story of Joseph (he of the “coat of many colors”) because the story provides a rich tapestry of emotions focusing both on parent/child and siblings.
Jacob, still in mourning for his beloved wife Rachel (one of four wives), favors his children with Rachel. In particular, Joseph. Perhaps his loss feels less acute when he showers Joseph with the love and attention he can no longer bestow on her. But Jacob’s behavior is clearly unfair, and he creates animosity and even hatred on the part of his less favored sons. It is interesting to note that the angst among his other sons is not directed against him, but at Joseph. Perhaps a less formidable target. But favoritism breeds anger and resentment.
Sounds quite modern, yes?
Joseph, on the other hand, appears oblivious to this situation. Is he too young to understand the situation? It is unclear. But the special treatment he receives from his father emboldens him to share his dreams of dominance over his brothers, dreams that only exacerbate their loathing and anger.
The environment between Joseph and his brothers becomes toxic, and the brothers conspire to sell him to passing traders. After the deed is done, they bring the bloodied coat of many colors to Jacob, suggesting his favorite son has been killed by wild animals. Jacob is understandably bereft.
FYI: While the story shows how favoritism causes betrayal and hatred, it is also the mechanism for Joseph to be transported to Egypt, creating the historic setting for the enslavement of the Israelites, the Exodus from Egypt, and the encounter of the children of Israel with G-d at Mt. Sinai.
Back to our story: In Egypt, Joseph’s mettle is tested, first by Potiphar’s wife, whose unsuccessful attempt to seduce him lands him in prison, and then in his relationships with two other prisoners. Eventually, his gift of interpreting dreams brings him to the attention of Pharaoh and causes his ascension to the role of trusted advisor. By now, Joseph understands that his afflictions have had a purpose and that his ability to interpret dreams is a gift from G-d.
Most likely, you know the rest of the story: As predicted by Joseph, Egypt enjoys seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine. But the Egyptians, at Joseph’s urging, are prepared to meet the emergency with an abundance of food in their storehouses. Other communities are less fortunate. Jacob, like many heads of household, urges his sons to travel to Egypt in search of sustenance.
Once the brothers arrive in Egypt, the story takes an unusual turn. First, the brothers do not recognize Joseph, but he recognizes them. His travails, as per the biblical narrative, have matured him. And it appears that his dreams of power and dominance have come true. But rather than use his power to punish his brothers, he takes the high ground. It is he who initiates reconciliation, although he is the injured party. When his brothers are fearful that he will retaliate against them for their misdeeds, he assures them of his loyalty and that it has all been G-d’s will.
I absolutely love the fact that the brothers do not recognize Joseph. The Bible is replete with interesting parallels in wording and story lines. Later in the year when we celebrate Passover, the Bible tells us a new Pharaoh arose in Egypt, “one who knows not Joseph.” What a wonderful dichotomy.
For a contemporary take on this concept, one need only look to one of my favorite movies, “Avatar,” when Jake and Neytiri exchange the same words of love several times in the film: “I see you.” The phrase shows a deep understanding and connection in spite of their cultural and species differences. “To see you” is to know and recognize you, your essence and your humanity.
As the story continues, we note that Joseph’s brother Judah also has grown and matured, probably as he witnessed the anguish he and his brothers have caused their father. When Joseph demands that his younger brother Benjamin remain in Egypt as a hostage and surety for his brothers’ return to Egypt with their father, Judah offers himself instead, fearful that his father Jacob will not survive the loss of the second son of Rachel.
Earlier in Genesis, G-d asks Cain the whereabouts of his brother Abel. Cain answers G-d with a question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” This question, so relevant in sibling relationships, is answered in our Joseph story. By his actions, Judah answers, “Yes, I am my brother’s keeper.”
Some scholars point to Judah’s growth and repentance for his previous behavior as the reason for the importance of the tribe of Judah in the Bible and in our history.
The story ends with reconciliation and forgiveness, on all sides. What began with jealousy and hatred ends with acceptance and peace. Perhaps this famous biblical story can be a template for some of us at Rosh Hashanah.
Happy New Year.
Judith Manelis is a writer, editor, and journalist whose work has appeared in American Jewish newspapers and magazines. Her book “This Shall Tell All Ages: Art, Music and Writings of the Holocaust” was published by United Jewish Appeal.
