The Power of Vulnerability and the Cry for Connection (Vayigash)
This week’s Torah portion, VaYigash, centers on one of the most emotionally charged moments in the Torah: Joseph’s reunion with his brothers. After years of separation, layers of hidden pain, and a facade of composure, Joseph reaches a breaking point. He can no longer contain his emotions. The text says, “Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, ‘Have everyone leave my presence!’” (Genesis 45:1). Left alone with his brothers, Joseph weeps so loudly that all of Egypt hears his cry.
What strikes me about this moment is its raw honesty. Joseph, who had maintained such tight control, cracks open. His tears, amplified by years of pent-up pain and longing, pour out in a torrent. And what breaks him? The tenderness of his brothers. Their vulnerability meets his, and the carefully constructed walls he built around his heart collapse.
Vulnerability is often something we avoid — it feels too raw, too messy, too exposed. But the Torah teaches us that in the breaking open, there is possibility. As one of my mentors once said to me when I was in a moment of deep despair, “You’re not falling apart; you’re cracking open.” Both can be true. And in the breaking, in the opening, there is the potential for profound connection, for healing, and for transformation.
This lesson feels deeply relevant today. We live in a world where pain and disconnection seem to echo louder than ever. It’s tempting to keep busy, to focus on doing rather than feeling. But as Joseph’s story reminds us, the moments when we pause, when we allow ourselves to truly feel, are often the moments that connect us most deeply to ourselves and to each other.
Viktor Frankl wrote, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space lies our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.” In the space of Joseph’s pause, when he let his feelings flow, he found the freedom to reconcile with his brothers. It wasn’t easy. Reconnection rarely is. But it was transformative — for him, for his family, and for the generations that followed.
This moment also reminds us of the power of community. Joseph’s cry was loud enough for all of Egypt to hear, but it was directed toward his brothers — the people who had caused him pain, yes, but also the people who could help him heal. Similarly, in our own lives, we need the presence of others — family, friends, community — to hold space for us when we crack open. It’s in these moments of shared vulnerability that we find strength, comfort, and hope.
So as we carry the lessons of VaYigash into our lives, may we find the courage to pause, to feel, and to allow ourselves to crack open. May we surround ourselves with people who can hold us in our vulnerability, just as we hold them. And may our cries, like Joseph’s, pierce the heavens and return to us as compassion, healing, and connection.