Not all tears are tears of sadness

As an avid crier, I’ve come to realize the importance of letting people I’m close to know this about me. When it’s not blatantly obvious why I’m crying, I appreciate when someone asks, “What type of tears are these?” This question shows me that the person who sees me crying is aware of my processing style and wants to support me in that moment. The range of emotions that elicit tears spans in all directions — from being overwhelmed by nature’s beauty to feelings of excitement, frustration, anger, exhaustion, hunger, appreciation, success or kindness. You get the point.

I process emotions through tears in both public and private spaces. I don’t hide them, nor do I apologize for them. I’ve learned the value of a good cry and deeply appreciate being in spaces where I can cry with others for all sorts of reasons. My favorite type of tears? Tears of laughter shared with my siblings.

I come from a large family and we’re all pretty close, though we don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like. When we do, it’s usually during late-night gatherings, sprawled across the living room, reminiscing about the past, that we often are laughing until tears stream down our faces, clutching our stomachs and trying not to laugh so loudly that we wake our parents. I know this is a real blessing, probably the greatest blessing I have. I also recognize that not all families share this dynamic, nor do all (Jewish) leaders feel comfortable with their tears, whether in public or private.

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Take Joseph in this week’s Torah reading, Parshat Miketz. His story — from rags to riches — culminates in a somewhat anonymous reunion with his brothers. He recognizes them, but they don’t recognize him. During a second reunion, which includes his brother Benjamin (born of the same mother, Rachel), Joseph is so overcome with emotion that he leaves the room, cries, washes his face and returns to instruct everyone to sit down and eat (Genesis 43:30–31).

Commentators speculate on why Joseph cried. Perhaps it was because he had just learned that his father, Jacob, had been in mourning since his disappearance. Or maybe it was because Benjamin had named all his children after Joseph’s qualities.

For me, the question isn’t why Joseph cried but rather why he left the room. Would it have seemed strange for an Egyptian chief of staff to shed a few tears after hearing about a family’s plight during years of famine? It’s not unusual for male leaders in the book of Genesis to cry. Of the 16 times crying is mentioned, 15 of the criers are men, with Joseph being the No. 1 crier (big fan of that!). Earlier in the parsha, he cried when he first encountered his brothers; there he turned away but did not leave the room. So, why now does Joseph leave the room to cry?

I find the answer in verse 32:
“They served him (Joseph) by himself, and them (the brothers) by themselves, and the Egyptians who ate with him by themselves, because Egyptians could not eat bread with the Hebrews, for that is an abomination to the Egyptians.” (The Schocken Bible, Everett Fox) Perhaps Joseph cried because of the unjust systems of racism embedded in his identity.

He was second in command in Egypt but mourned by the Hebrews. He belonged to both worlds yet wasn’t fully accepted by either. When he saw his brothers for the second time, now including Benjamin, he realized he had never been forgotten — he had been missed, mourned and loved.

It’s possible he longed to sit at the same table with his siblings, reveal his identity and cry with them until his tears of sadness turned into tears of laughter. But he knew he couldn’t — not yet. He would have to wait. Those tears, I believe, were tears of longing for a moment when his worlds could collide peacefully, when he could be fully reunited with his family, and when Egyptians and Hebrews could share the same table. The first time he turns away because he recognizes them; it’s a surprise reunion that stirs something in him. This time, it’s tears for his own hidden identity and desire for shalom bayit — peace in the home. And for that he must hide his tears because it’s not the right moment to advocate for peace and reveal his identity. That happens in next week’s Torah reading.

My blessing for all of us, as we continue to celebrate Chanukah and move into 2025, is to be like Joseph: Have a good cry or two or three. But may our tears be of joy and laughter, rooted in a celebration of peacebuilding and communal healing, around diverse dining room tables, where everyone feels seen, valued and embraced. May our shared moments foster unity and understanding, and may we carry the light of Chanukah into the year ahead, spreading warmth and hope to all.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Chanukah! PJC

Rabbi Hindy Finman is senior director of Jewish Life and director of the Center for Loving Kindness at the Jewish Community Center of Greater Pittsburgh. This column is a service of the Greater Pittsburgh Jewish Clergy Association.