We daven and Hashem answers our prayers— not always how or when we want, but when the time is right
We all know what a picture’s worth. The family bar mitzvah photo sent to me by my former student Leah evoked a rush of memories and gratitude that she’d reached that milestone.
Leah was a sweet, unassuming, solid girl. She wasn’t the life of the party, nor was she painfully shy. She was funny but not silly, smart but not brilliant. In short, she was a normal, nice person.
Which meant that shidduchim weren’t so nice. Leah sorta had the perfectly generic Bais Yaakov shidduch résumé. She just didn’t stand out, for bad or good — which meant that she wasn’t suggested many shidduchim. Yet Leah accepted reality, telling me, “I don’t need a specific type. I just need my bashert.” I was always impressed with her ability to home in on the crux of her situation and recognize where her avodah lay.
Then, for essentially the first time, Yosef takes his fate into his own hands and asks the butler to remember him to Pharaoh. But the end of the parshah declares: “The cupbearer did not remember Yosef, and forgot him.” The anticlimax is intense, emphasized by the double verbs, “did not remember” and “forgot.” Yosef is waiting day after day for news. None comes. His last, best hope has gone. It seems he’ll never go free.
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