בס”ד

Integrating Torah into one’s life through reflection and conversation can be an incredibly fun and engaging experience. It’s a journey of discovery, where ancient wisdom and timeless teachings come to life in our daily experiences. Through reflection, we have the opportunity to dive deep into the rich tapestry of Torah, extracting profound insights and lessons that resonate with our modern lives. The joy lies in the ‘aha’ moments, those instances when a Torah verse or story suddenly connects with our personal challenges, aspirations, and values. And when we engage in conversations about Torah with others, it becomes an interactive exploration, where diverse perspectives and interpretations enhance our understanding. These dialogues often spark excitement and intellectual curiosity, making the learning process both enjoyable and fulfilling. Torah becomes a vibrant and dynamic part of our lives, offering not just guidance but also a source of endless fascination, connection, and growth.

NOTE: Don’t feel obligated to go through every source or answer all the questions—unless you want to. Even one source, or one question will give you plenty of material for discussion and meditation. Enjoy this!

Some thoughts from the Parsha

“And it came to pass at the end of two full years that Pharaoh dreamed…”
(Genesis 41:1)

Joseph’s story pauses for two full years in prison after the chief cupbearer forgets him. The Torah could have moved on quickly. Instead, it emphasizes the waiting. Nothing happens. No progress is visible. No explanation is given.

And then, suddenly, everything changes.

The Torah marks that turning point with the word ketz , “the end.” Not the end of suffering, but the end of a phase whose purpose was invisible from the inside.

One of the most corrosive assumptions human beings make, religiously and psychologically, is that if something is delayed, it must be denied. If help does not come quickly, perhaps it is not coming at all. If a promise is not fulfilled on our timetable, maybe it was never real.

The Torah challenges that assumption directly.

From Joseph’s perspective, Pharaoh’s dream looks like the cause of his redemption. From the Torah’s perspective, it is merely the mechanism. The ketz had already been set. The dream was just the key that fit the lock when the time arrived.

This distinction matters. There is a difference between waiting without meaning and waiting within a process. Joseph was not in limbo. He was in formation.

That is why the Torah repeatedly emphasizes that G-d was “with Joseph” even when nothing outward improved. Divine presence does not always express itself as visible success. Sometimes it expresses itself as preservation: the ability to endure, to retain moral clarity, and to remain inwardly oriented toward G-d even when circumstances stagnate.

Chanukah carries the same lesson, but from a different angle. The miracle of the oil is not impressive because it burns brightly. It is impressive because it burns consistently. One small flame, day after day, refusing to go out before its time.

The Sages chose to commemorate that constancy rather than the military victory because wars belong to history, but patience belongs to faith.

This also guards us against a theological error that has caused immense confusion across cultures: the belief that delay, struggle, or failure means rejection. From that assumption grows the idea that covenants can be annulled, replaced, or superseded when human beings falter.

The Torah does not operate that way.

G-d does not revoke responsibility because people struggle to live up to it. He does not replace covenants because history gets complicated. He works through time, not around it. Covenants mature; they are not discarded.

For Noahides, this is especially important. The moral structure given to humanity was not provisional. It was designed for a long, difficult human story. Delay does not mean disqualification. Waiting does not mean abandonment.

Miketz and Chanukah together teach a disciplined form of hope: not impatience disguised as faith, and not despair disguised as realism — but trust that time itself is one of the instruments G-d uses to shape human beings.

Darkness does not mean G-d has left. Often, it means He is still working.

Now, reflect on the following questions:

  1. How do I usually interpret delays in my life — as rejection, randomness, or part of a process?
  2. What would it look like to wait faithfully rather than passively?
  3. Can I identify times when nothing changed outwardly, but something was forming inwardly?
  4. How does this perspective challenge the idea that struggle invalidates a mission or covenant?
  5. What “small light” am I responsible to keep burning steadily, even without immediate results?

Shabbat Shalom!

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By Rabbi Tani Burton

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