How do we pass down identity across generations and exile?
Table for Five: Vayechi
In partnership with the Jewish Journal of Los Angeles
Edited by Nina Litvak & Salvador Litvak, the Accidental Talmudist
The angel who redeemed me from all harm may he bless the youths and may they be called by my name and the name of my fathers Avraham and Yitzchak and may they grow abundantly like fish within the land. –Â Genesis 48:16
Miriam Mill – Kreisman
Tzaddik Foundation
In his blessing to Ephraim and Menashe, Yaakov speaks from a lifetime of challenges: “The angel who redeemed me from all harm.” He’s not reminiscing; he’s passing on a mindset. Life brings its share of turbulence, but a person can move through it with a quiet confidence that they are guided and protected. It’s a blessing for resilience — not the loud kind, but the steady, dependable kind that carries a Jew through every chapter of life.
Then Yaakov adds something surprising: he asks that these boys should “be called by my name and the name of my fathers.” He isn’t just hoping they’ll stay traditional. He’s giving them a sense of identity that travels well. Ephraim and Menashe grew up in Egypt, far from the holy influence of their ancestors, yet they remained grounded. Yaakov’s message is simple: your surroundings don’t decide who you are. Your values do.
The final paradoxical line — that they should “grow abundantly like fish within the land” — ties it all together. Fish flourish when hidden beneath the surface, untouched by outside pressures. Yaakov is blessing the children to grow not only when the environment is perfect (in water), but specifically when it’s not (on land).
To thrive in the real world, with its noise, distractions, and mixed messages, and still stay spiritually alive is a true blessing for every generation: to carry our identity with pride, to meet life with courage, and to quietly expand our light wherever we find ourselves.
Benjamin Elterman
Screenwriter, Essayist, Speechwriter at Mitzvahspeech
As Jacob gives this blessing to his grandsons, he famously switched his hands, placing his right hand on the head of the younger, Ephraim, and his left on the head of Menashe. Jacob also claims them as his own sons giving them the status of a tribe. To this day, we bless our sons every Shabbos night to be like Ephraim and Menashe. Why did they merit such honor?
Throughout the book of Genesis, nearly every brotherly relationship is marked by destructive conflict, almost always fueled by jealousy when honor favored the younger. Cain killed Abel over excelling with his idea of sacrifice. Cham acted against Noah fearing he might have more children and diminish his inheritance. Ishmael tried to corrupt Isaac. Esau sought to kill Jacob over the blessing and birthright. And the 10 older brothers sold Joseph because of jealousy.
But when Ephriam gets the honor as if he were the first born, Menashe doesn’t protest nor is there any resentment. Despite being raised in Egypt, the brothers internalized the message that it’s not about who gets what, but what is for the best. Judaism believes in yeridas ha-doros, the spiritual decline of successive generations. Yet, through Menashe’s humility and the unity between the brothers, they both are elevated to the stature of their father and uncles, reversing yeridas ha-doros. An achievement that arguably has not happened since. Their unity broke the cycle that plagued Genesis. That’s why we bless our sons in their merit.
Rabbi Avraham Greenstein
AJRCA Professor of Hebrew
On its own, this verse is a bit cryptic. It is not clear why Jacob need declare that these grandchildren of his be called by own his name and by those of Abraham and Isaac. Was there any doubt that Joseph’s sons were Jacob’s descendants? Does this declaration change Efraim and Manasseh’s status in any way? In fact, if we read back a few verses (48:5), we see that Jacob is putting forth a novel assertion: Jacob considers Efraim and Manasseh to be his own sons, not merely his grandchildren. They are to be no different than Reuben and Simeon. There are to constitute the final members of the Twelve Tribes of Israel. If this is true, then it is also the case that two of the tribes are characterized by having been born and raised in Egypt, not Israel. They are diaspora Jews. For this reason, Jacob directs special blessing towards them and states that Efraim and Manasseh will provide a means for blessing all of Israel. The unique struggles to maintain Jewish identity which we encounter in the diaspora were foreseen by Jacob, and he gifted us with extra strength to persevere. At the same time, our struggles furnish a model for Jewish integrity that benefits all of Israel, and by which Israel is characterized. We must know in all of the challenges we face that we have been given the blessing to succeed, and that through our efforts we give others the strength to do so too.
Rabbanit Alissa Thomas-Newborn
BCC / Congregation Netivot Shalom and New York-Presbyterian
Yaakov prays that Ephraim and Menashe are blessed by “the angel who delivers me from all harm”. What does this mean? Our rabbis teach that this angel is one who was regularly sent to Yaakov whenever he was suffering. The simple read is that Yaakov wanted his grandsons to be saved from harm, a sentiment for which any grandparent or parent would yearn. But inherent in this blessing is that struggle will still happen! Wouldn’t it have been more powerful to pray that the angel not be needed at all? Yaakov reveals here that he couldn’t prevent the obstacles that came across his path, even by running from them. We will inevitably find ourselves feeling pain we don’t want to feel, mourning losses we never thought possible. Yaakov knew this truth better than most, and he also tapped into a deep wisdom, a key to resilience and hope: When Yaakov struggled, he always looked for the angel by his side and demanded blessing amidst the struggle. At the time of our verse, everything seems great in Egypt– Pharaoh knows Yosef. But Yaakov knows that his grandchildren do not have a simple path ahead. Nor will the Jewish people. So Yaakov doesn’t ask that the angel isn’t needed, but that the angel will show up for them as it did for him when he needed an angel. His prayer can then be read both that the angel shows up for them, and that they recognize the angel and the blessing.
Rabbi Brett Kopin
Founder, The Six11 Project
In a few moments, Jacob will bless his grandchildren with words that will carry down the generations; words that I bless my daughter with every Friday night. But it is peculiar that Jacob describes the angel as redeeming him from all difficulty—rah in Hebrew—considering that in the previous chapter, when he meets Pharaoh, he reports that “few and difficult (rah) have been the years of my life.” So were all the years of his life difficult, or was he redeemed from all difficulty? Consider that Jacob had just arrived in Egypt when he spoke to Pharaoh. He just learned that his beloved son Joseph was still alive after years of bereavement. A famine had ravaged his homeland and he was once again a stranger abroad. But 17 years later, as he prepares to bless his grandchildren, perhaps he had a realization. All those years of difficulty he faced—and they certainly were difficult—led to this singular moment. Not only did his son live, and not only did his living son become the most powerful person on Earth, but generations of descendants would bless their children through his words.
It is often difficult to count our blessings in the moment, to see how the trials and tests of our journeys bind together to shape a larger story. What Jacob saw at the end of his life was that it meant something. It meant something because he was able to pass on his blessing. And in doing so, he was finally redeemed.
With thanks to Miriam Mill-Kreisman, Benjamin Elterman, Rabbi Avraham Greenstein, Rabbanit Alissa Thomas-Newborn and Rabbi Brett Kopin.
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