January 5, 2025|ה' טבת ה' אלפים תשפ"ה The Power of Perseverance: Yaakov's Lesson in Complaining and Living By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

Abe takes his dog, Irving, to Dr. Saul, the veterinarian. “My dog has a problem,” says Abe. “What’s the issue?” asks Dr. Saul. “Irving’s a Jewish dog, and he can talk.” “He can talk?” Dr. Saul is skeptical. “Watch,” says Abe. “Irving, fetch!” Irving slowly walks to the door, turns around, and says, “Why do you always talk to me like that? You treat me like I’m nothing. You make me sleep on the floor with my arthritis. You feed me this awful food with salt and fat and tell me it’s a ‘special diet’ – try eating it yourself! And don’t get me started on the walks – it’s just a few steps out the door and back. If I could stretch out a little, maybe my sciatica wouldn’t hurt so much!” Dr. Saul is stunned. “That’s incredible! You have a talking dog! But what’s the problem?” Abe replies, “He has a hearing problem! I said ‘fetch,’ not ‘kvetch!’”

Jews are often stereotyped as people who kvetch or complain a lot. Is that just a stereotype, or is there some truth to it? And more importantly, is complaining always a bad thing?

If you think kvetching isn’t a Jewish trait, look no further than this week’s parsha, where we encounter an interesting moment between Yaakov and Pharaoh. Pharaoh asks Yaakov, כמה ימי שני חייך “How old are you?” and Yaakov responds, “I am 130 years old, but מעט ורעים היו ימי שני חיי ולא השיגו את ימי שני חיי אבתי בימי מגוריהם – few and hard have been the years of my life, and they haven’t reached the lifespan of my ancestors.”

Is Yaakov complaining here? Pharaoh simply asked him his age, and yet Yaakov answers with a lament. Is this behavior befitting one of our patriarchs? It seems uncharacteristic, especially given that, just years earlier, Yaakov had told Esav, יש לי כל   “I have everything.” So why the complaint now?

To understand this, let’s consider the context. Pharaoh’s question is itself somewhat unusual. It’s not often that a ruler asks someone how old they are. And Yaakov’s answer is equally striking. Perhaps Yaakov wasn’t so much complaining as responding to a peculiar question. The Rashbam suggests that Yaakov appeared unusually old, and Pharaoh was surprised by his age. Yaakov may have felt the need to explain why he looked so worn. Yaakov wasn’t complaining, but simply explaining the physical toll that life’s challenges had taken on him.

This brings to mind a story from Chassidic Tales of the Holocaust. A young girl, Livia, who had survived the war with her mother, was asked by a German woman how old she was. The woman, seeing the deep scars of suffering in Livia’s face, guessed that she was about 60 or 62. But Livia answered, “I’m 14.” The woman was horrified – the trauma had aged her so much. It’s the same question Pharaoh asks Yaakov: “Why do you look so old?” And Yaakov’s response is one of humility and honesty about the difficult years he’s endured.

However, the Daat Zekeinim points to a midrash that criticizes Yaakov for complaining. Pharaoh asked an innocent question, and Yaakov could have simply answered, but instead, he focused on the hardships of his life. According to this view, Yaakov was punished for his bitterness with a shortened life.

But perhaps there’s another way to interpret this moment. The Seforno suggests that Pharaoh, upon seeing Yaakov in his old age, was genuinely amazed. He had never encountered someone so old and was likely seeking advice from this holy man whose son had saved Egypt from the famine on the secret to a long life. He’s asking Yaakov, כמה ימי שני חייך – how old are you and what’s your secret to your long life?

And what’s fascinating, says the Malbim, is that Yaakov responds by  saying ימי שני מגורי שלשים ומאת שנה – the days of my existence or dwelling are 130 years. I have lived on this earth for 130 years, but as to ימי שני חיי – the days of chayim – of real life, of value, they were מעט ורעים – they were few and difficult. They weren’t like שני חיי אבתי בימי מגוריהם –they weren’t like the days of chayim of my father and grandfather. My father and grandfather, Avraham and Yitzchak, lived lives of relative tranquility so they were able to more fully live lives of value. 

Yaakov is telling Pharaoh something so profound here. There is a clear distinction between megurai - mere existence, and chayim –  a life of value, and Yaakov is humbly suggesting that even though he has lived for a full 130 years, he has been limited in leading a life of value – of true chayim, because of his struggles throughout his life, with Esav, Lavan, the loss of Rachel and the apparent death of Yosef. He’s done the best he can. 

But here’s the profound point: Even though Yaakov sees his life as full of suffering, he doesn’t give up. He continues to persevere. This is where we see the true strength of the Jewish character. Complaining doesn’t mean weakness. Yaakov’s kvetching is not a resignation to fate, but a recognition of struggle. His life may have been hard, but he’s still here, still fighting, still doing his best.

And that, I believe, is why we as Jews sometimes complain. We acknowledge the hardships we’ve faced – whether personal or communal – but we never stop. We continue to build, to endure, and to move forward. Complaining doesn’t mean we surrender to the difficulties of life. Rather, it is a way of expressing that we won’t let those challenges define us. We’ll rise again. We will survive and thrive.

Yaakov makes an important distinction between megurai (my existence) and chayai (my true life), but ultimately, I think that he is incorrect. Because next week we will read ויהי ימי יעקב שני חייו שבע שנים וארבעים ומאת שנה – and the years of Yaakov’s chayim – of his life – are 147 years. Even though he feels his life has been limited by his struggles, the reality is that he has lived a full life – a life of perseverance, of growth, and of overcoming. When we, too, face difficulties, we must remember that the challenges don’t diminish the value of our lives. In fact, they often enhance it, making our lives richer with meaning, because we continue to strive, even throughout the hardships.

So let us take Yaakov’s example to heart. The next time we complain because it’s difficult for us to go to minyan or to go to a shiur or to participate in a chesed activity because we are simply overwhelmed – overwhelmed by our job, by taking care of our children or by taking care of our grandchildren, it’s okay. We are channeling our inner Yaakov. Yes, life can be difficult, yes, we can complain a bit, but we don’t stop living. We don’t stop trying. We endure, we build, and we make our lives meaningful – because that is what it means to live, truly live.