In this episode we consider Hebrews 11:23-31, what do Moses and Rahab have in common? Or Rahab and the children of Israel? Two simple words: “By faith.” We consider how the Lord worked by faith in the lives of Moses’ parents, Moses, the children of Israel, and a prostitute named Rahab.
Parshat Vayechi (וַיְחִי)
“And Jacob lived in the land of Egypt seventeen years. So the days of Jacob, the years of his life, were 147 years” (Gen. 47:28).
וַיְחִי יַעֲקֹב בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם, שְׁבַע עֶשְׂרֵה שָׁנָה
The Torah portion Vayechi, and he lived, opens with a quiet but powerful statement: Jacob lived. He did not just survive, but that he truly lived, even in Egypt. If we read quickly, we miss it, as this thought is striking. Egypt typically represents exile, compromise, restriction in Scripture, as well as the long descent into bondage that will shape Israel’s future. Yet, Jacob’s final years, paradoxically, are among the most peaceful and fulfilling of his life.
After decades marked by conflict, deception, estrangement, and grief, Jacob is reunited with Joseph, the son he believed dead. His family is preserved from famine, dwelling together in safety. Still, this Torah portion is not sentimental. Jacob knows his days are numbered, and his concern is not his own comfort, but continuity of the covenant family. He understands that faith must be consciously transmitted, especially in seasons of security.
As death approaches, Jacob calls for Joseph and makes him swear an oath: “Do not bury me in Egypt … Carry me out and bury me with my fathers” (Gen. 47:29-30). This is not an incidental request, but a theological one.
On one level, Joseph is the obvious choice. As viceroy of Egypt, he alone has the authority to ensure Jacob’s burial in Canaan; but the deeper reason is more unsettling. Joseph is the most assimilated of Jacob’s sons. He wears Egyptian clothing, bears an Egyptian name, is married into Egyptian society, and has sons born in exile. From a human perspective, Joseph has little incentive to return to the Promised Land or involve his children in the burdens of covenant history.
Jacob understands this danger intimately. He has lived seventeen years with Joseph and surely recognizes the subtle changes that prosperity, acceptance, and assimilation can bring. So Jacob does not just plan his burial; he re-anchors his family in covenant time. He, in essence, forces a question upon Joseph: Where do you belong?
This becomes explicit in Genesis 48, when Jacob adopts Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, as his own. This is a maneuver that carries legal weight in the future of the tribes of Israel, but it is also a pastoral act of healing and prophecy.
Joseph names his firstborn Manasseh, meaning “causing to forget,” because the Lord enabled him to forget the pain of betrayal and suffering he had experienced. His second son is Ephraim, meaning “fruitful,” because the Lord made him fruitful in the land of affliction. These names tell Joseph’s story: healing from trauma and blessing in exile.
Jacob honors this story, but he also reframes it to bring healing.
When Jacob reaches out to bless the boys, he crosses his hands, placing the greater blessing upon the younger son, Ephraim. Joseph objects, assuming a mistake. Jacob insists it is intentional. It is not an act of favoritism, but prophetic foresight.
Jacob knows that Israel is entering a long exile. These are the first sons born in Egypt. Forgetting pain is a gift, but forgetting identity is fatal. Jacob does not deny Manasseh’s blessing, as forgetting sorrow has its place, but the greater blessing belongs to fruitfulness that remembers its source and destination.
In essence, Jacob is saying: healing must never erase calling. Prosperity must never dissolve memory. Blessing must never replace hope for redemption.
This tension remains profoundly relevant. Our faith communities today often wrestle with success, safety, and assimilation. When life becomes comfortable, covenant memory fades. Jacob’s crossed hands remind us that the greatest blessing is not ease, but purpose.
Jacob’s work continues as he blesses all his sons, prophetically situating them within God’s unfolding plan. Two blessings stand out: Judah and Joseph.
From Judah will come kingship and Messiah, as he prophesied that the scepter shall not depart Judah “until Shiloh comes.” From Joseph comes fruitfulness among the nations, echoing the apostolic insight that Israel’s story unfolds alongside the ingathering of the Gentiles (Ro. 11:25). These brothers once stood at odds, one nearly destroyed by the other, are both woven into the redemptive plan of God in Messiah Yeshua/Jesus.
This is covenant time at work: rivalry transformed into cooperation; wounds redeemed into purpose (Ro. 8:28).
The structure of the Torah itself reinforces this message. Vayechi (and he lived) is unique in that it contains no paragraph break from the previous portion, Vayigash. Rabbinic tradition requires breaks between parashot, yet here the text flows uninterrupted. Why? Simply, because covenant history does not stop.
Scripture consistently resists tidy endings. Genesis does not resolve its story; it spills into Exodus. Joseph’s bones do not reach rest until Joshua 24. The Gospels flow naturally into Acts, and Acts ends abruptly, inviting participation. Even Revelation concludes not with finality, but expectancy: “Surely I am coming quickly.” This is not a literary accident. It is theological design.
The Bible is not solely a record of what God has done, it is an invitation into what He is still doing. Covenant time moves forward with purpose, promise, and hope in Christ.
This stands in stark contrast to the Greco-Roman concept of cyclical time, embodied in the myth of Sisyphus, endless repetition without progress or meaning. Covenant time, by contrast, moves toward fulfillment. History matters. Choices matter. Faithfulness matters.
Jacob understood this, and he did not want his descendants to sink into the despair of exile or the emptiness of assimilation, ultimately leading to disappearance. He blessed them with hope, foreshadowing the Spirit of Adoption in his grandsons that Paul will later amplify (Ro. 8:15, 23) as assurance to gentiles in Messiah. But Jacob’s words were not just for their survival, but for destiny.
For us today, Vayechi (and he lives) asks searching questions: Are we living as children of remembrance, or children of forgetting? Do we see our lives as isolated episodes of a sitcom, or as chapters in the Lord’s unfolding story? Do we bless the next generation with comfort, or with calling?
In Messiah Yeshua/Jesus, covenant time continues. Through forgiveness, reconciliation, obedience, and hope, we are still living His story by faith. The road is open, the destination is certain, and the journey matters. Jacob lived, even in Egypt, because he knew where the covenant promise was going. May we always live mindful of His promises.
Maranatha. Shalom.
“And Yeshua/Jesus stretched out His hand and touched him, saying, ‘I will; be clean” (Matt. 8:3; cf. 8:1-4).
Matthew records that when Yeshua descended from the mountain after the great sermon, the crowds who listened, followed Him. Jewish readers would immediately recognize the significance of this moment. Like Moses descending Mount Sinai with the Torah, Jesus comes down from the mountain carrying authoritative teaching about the Kingdom of Heaven. The crowds are astonished, not only by His words, but by the authority with which He interprets, teaches and embodies Torah itself (Jn. 1:14).
The first encounter that follows is unexpected. A man afflicted with leprosy, צָרַעַת /tzara’at, approaches Him.
In Jewish understanding of the time, tzara’at was not just a skin disease. As detailed in Leviticus 13–14, and later discussed extensively in the Mishnah tractate Nega’im, it represented a state of ritual impurity (tumah) that resulted in social and spiritual separation. The afflicted person was examined by a כֹּהֵן/kohen (priest), declared unclean, and sent outside the camp. He was forbidden from normal human contact, required to announce his uncleanness when walking or being approached by others (Lev. 13:45), and barred from Temple worship.
This was not punishment, but protection of holiness. Later rabbis understood leprosy to be the result of gossip, the effects of which spread rapidly in a community, destroying reputations and families. The Torah preserves the sanctity of the Lord’s dwelling among His people. This affliction was to lead the gossip to repentance, and ultimately restoration. Yet, the separation reality for the leper was devastating, cut off from family, synagogue, and sacrifice. He became, in every sense, an outcast.
Still, the man comes; and he broke religious and cultural boundaries to do so. He passes through the crowds to approach Jesus.
He kneels before Yeshua and says, “Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean” (Matt. 8:2). This is a profoundly Jewish expression of faith. The man affirms Yeshua’s authority while submitting himself to God’s will. In rabbinic thought, healing always flows from the Lord’s compassion (rachamim), not entitlement. The question is not whether Jesus is able, but whether He is willing to act now.
What follows is nothing short of shocking, “Jesus stretched out His hand and touched him.”
According to halakhic expectation, contact with a leper would render one ritually impure. Yet, Yeshua’s touch does not transmit impurity; instead, it transmits purity. In Jewish thought holiness is active, not fragile. As later rabbinic teaching affirms, the honor of human dignity (kavod habriot) can override certain restrictions when compassion/mercy is at stake. Here, Yeshua reveals that the Lord’s holiness does not recoil from human brokenness. Rather, it confronts it and restores it.
Before the man is cleansed, he is touched. This is critical. The healing is not just physical; it is relational. Yeshua restores the man’s humanity before restoring his status. Then He speaks: “I am willing. Be cleansed.” Immediately, the tzara’at/leprosy leaves him. The miracle echoes prophetic expectations of the Messianic age, when, as Isaiah foretold, the afflicted would be healed and the excluded restored (Isa. 35). Jesus recognized him, heard him, and healed him.
Still, Yeshua does not dismiss the Torah or the Temple. Instead, He says, “Go, show yourself to the priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded, as a witness to them” (Matt. 8:4). This instruction anchors the miracle firmly within the Word of God and expected practice. Leviticus 14 describes a detailed process for a cleansed leper: inspection by a kohen, offerings, and restoration to the community. Yeshua honors this process, affirming the ongoing authority of God’s commandments (cf. Matt. 5:17).
And He calls this a witness. A witness to the priests, and to the Temple leadership. Even to Israel itself. The witness is this: God is moving again among His people, because is among them (Jn. 1:10-11, 14). Cleansing is happening outside the expected channels, yet never apart from God’s Torah. This man, once exiled, now walks toward the Temple, but not defiled, he is restored.
This moment proclaims that the Kingdom of Heaven is not theoretical, it is not just a system of rules and regulation, it is faith in action according to His Word. It is faith reaches the margins. It touches the untouchable. It heals without abolishing God’s order. This miracle calls religious leaders to recognize that the Holy One of Israel is once again at work.
When Messiah descends the mountain, the first sign of the Kingdom is not judgment, but mercy. And the first testimony of His faithfulness is written on the restored body of a man whom no one else would or could touch, until the Holy One of Israel stretched out His hand.
This passage reminds us that Messiah meets us not at our strongest, but at our most excluded and isolated places. He touches what others avoid. He restores without dismantling God’s order; and He turns the healing of one outcast into a testimony for an entire generation, even all generations. When Yeshua descends the mountain, the Kingdom came with Him, and it reaches first for the ones no one else will touch.
Maranatha. Shalom.
the mountain mensch 