From Jacob’s funeral to Max Profeta’s leukemia
After Jacob’s passing, this week’s Torah portion shares the largely unknown narrative of his funeral procession to Israel. In a lengthy description, one verse seems unnecessary. The Torah records, “And the people of Canaan saw the mourning in Goren Ha’atad (a place) and said, ‘What an intense mourning this is for Egypt!’ Therefore, they called the name of the place, ‘The mourning of Egypt’” (Genesis 50:11).
With all due respect to the people of Canaan, is it important to know that they too saw Jacob’s funeral procession?
Why must a verse convey a random historical fact, such as what gentile onlookers named a nearby city?
Earlier, Jacob had told his son Joseph that he insisted in being buried in the Land of Israel as opposed to Egypt. Rashi says that Jacob was afraid that if he were buried in Egypt his grave would become a place of idol worship. Given our knowledge of the Egyptian culture — mummifying and pyramid-like tombs — this is understandable. Our verse (“The mourning of Egypt”) substantiates Jacob’s concern, for we see even when his funeral procession was simply passing by, this alone warranted the naming of a city after him!
On a deeper level, though, it appears that Jacob not only successfully avoided becoming a site for idol worship, but he generated a “sanctification of G-d’s name.” Think about it. The Canaanites enunciated quite a banner, “The Mourning of Egypt.” They saw the funeral procession as the ultimate way to mourn for the deceased. They didn’t simply notice the event; they were moved by it. They designated it as a lesson for the ages, a paradigmatic way to mourn for a leader.
That this verse teaches about the sanctification of the Divine name, Kiddush Hashem, is borne out by two interacting elements.
The first is the Talmud’s teaching about a person who stimulates love of G-d through his actions (Yoma 86a). If a Torah scholar, community leader or rabbinic mentor interacts positively with his colleagues, pays his bills on time, assists the needy and performs other such virtuous acts, those who see him will praise him and his G-d.
The second element is the fact that places and positions are named only after people who are respected and appreciated. Many streets in Israel are named after IDF heroes who died defending our country. Why? Because we recognize that these men were killed in the line of duty. We have the utmost respect for them and are infinitely appreciative for the sacrifice they made on our behalf.
If the people of Canaan named a city after Jacob’s funeral procession — a name with a long-term import — it indicates that they had immense respect and appreciation for the proceedings at that funeral. The dictum of Yoma 86a was fulfilled: G-d’s name was sanctified, a Kiddush Hashem was made.
What were the factors that produced this Kiddush Hashem? I believe the Torah gives us two answers: quantity and quality.
Quantity: Earlier in the narrative, a lengthy list is given of those who joined Jacob’s funeral procession, and it concludes by saying, “And the camp had a substantial amount of people.” The non-Jewish observers were deeply impressed by sheer number of people who accompanied Jacob to his final resting place.
As for quality, the Torah isn’t simply talking about his funeral where the eulogies took place; it is talking about the entirety of the funeral procession from Egypt to Hebron — a long distance! So many people sacrificed days and weeks from their regular schedule to undertake what was surely an arduous trek! Not just Jacob’s family, but a broad swath of people. Their exertion, too, impressed the Canaanites.
The lessons of this passage continue to reverberate. When I was in college at Yeshiva University in New York City, a student named Max Profeta was diagnosed with leukemia. Max arrived at YU to study in its Hebraic program for beginners and he knew very few people on campus. A few weeks later, Rabbi Yonasan Shippel, head of the program, gave a regularly scheduled talk. He briefly mentioned that blood can be donated and earmarked specifically for Max, and thanked those who had already done so.
For better or for worse, I had donated blood a few weeks prior and was therefore ineligible to donate again just then. But a couple months later I went to Sloan-Kettering Hospital to donate blood for Max. While I’d donated blood numerous times before, this was an eye-opening, almost astonishing experience.
“Are you donating on behalf of a specific individual?” the receptionist asked upon my arrival. “Max Profeta,” I said, to which the receptionist gave a nod of clear familiarity.
“How nice it is that you’re donating for Max!” she exclaimed. This was strange simply because there are hundreds of patients in the hospital. Surely she didn’t know of them all on such a personal basis.
After I finished donating, I asked to visit Max. “I’m happy to call and check,” said the receptionist, “but could I know your relationship to Max please?”
“I’ve actually never met Max,” I responded. “I simply go to the same school and want to visit if possible.”
At this point, she lost it. She proceeded to shower me with compliments of all shapes and stripes, about how incredible people I am, what tremendous kindness I am doing, etc. When I finally got to the 9th floor where Max was staying, the nurses who actually knew Max were even more effusive in their praise than the receptionist, who had never met him. Without exaggeration, as I walked out of the elevators, one of the nurses called out, “So you’re the special person who just donated?”
All these accolades caught me quite by surprise. While I won’t deny that I was doing a kind deed, by no means did I feel it was extraordinary. In fact, it wasn’t extraordinary at all, as I soon learned during my visit with Max. Deserving of a compliment? Perhaps. But endless praises? I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. The answers soon became clear.
During what was truly a nice visit with Max, his brother and two friends, I found out two exceptional pieces of information.
First, in his relatively brief time at the hospital, Max had already nearly set the record of blood donations earmarked for a specific patient. Nearly 200 people had donated blood specifically for Max! (This confirmed that I wasn’t extraordinary, considering 200 other people did the same thing.)
Second, although Max needed approximately 50 blood transfusions, only twice had they needed to go to the general blood bank. All the other transfusions came from blood earmarked specifically for him.
You might be wondering, why any need to go to the general blood bank if there were nearly 200 donations for him.
That’s a good question and here is its significance: If blood donated for a specific patient isn’t used after a couple weeks, it gets transferred to the general blood bank. Which means, blood wasn’t donated to Max just in the initial week or two after his diagnosis while emotions were running high; rather, people donated blood continuously for Max, going three weeks, five weeks, 11 weeks later — so much so that throughout his treatment he virtually never needed the general blood bank!
I realized then that, yes, maybe I didn’t do anything extraordinary, and neither did any of the other 200 donors. But Max’s school did do something extraordinary! Max’s people did do something extraordinary. The Jewish nation as a collective did do something extraordinary.
While I saw my donation simply a kind act, for the hospital staff it was in fact extraordinary. This was not the depth of caring they were generally exposed to.
This was, of course, a remarkable sanctification of G-d’s name and for the same reasons that Jacob’s funeral procession was: quantity and quality. First, the pure numbers — the second most earmarked donations in the hospital’s history. Second, the effort. The NY Blood Center came to the YU campus every few months and anyone who wanted to donate could do so at their convenience. But Max’s nearly two hundred student donors, including many who did not know Max, had to travel to Max’s hospital to donate especially for him.
I believe this element of effort underscores one of the fundamental distinctions of Judaism. Judaism is a religion of effort, a life of initiative, a commitment to seek knowledge of what G-d wants from us, even when that entails sacrifice. We are blessed with the laws of family purity, yet they demand sacrifice. We are blessed with the laws of kashrut, yet they demand sacrifice.
We are blessed with a homeland, with Israel, yet it demands sacrifice. In fact, a primary definition of Kiddush Hashem in Jewish law is the willingness of a Jew to sacrifice his life for the sake of being, and remaining, a Jew.
What stronger illustration of these ideas than the quantity and quality of sacrifice demonstrated by IDF soldiers since Oct. 7? Quantity: No other country in modern times has seen a similar percentage of voluntary reserve duty than Israel did after Oct. 7. As for quality, it goes without saying that no sacrifice of time or effort can compare to the sacred depth of sacrifice exhibited by those putting their lives on the line so that their nation may live.
May G-d bless us with the strength to put forth our best efforts in all that we do, with the realization that while our individual actions may seem small, they add up.
In the spirit of Chanukah recently gone by, “each person is a small light, all of us are a torch.”
© IJN 2026