Pretty, pretty good

There’s a line in the opening verse of this week’s Torah portion that most people skim right past. It says, “Jacob lived in Egypt for seventeen years.” A medieval commentator, the Baal HaTurim, drops a bombshell. He says that “those were the best years of Jacob’s life.”

Egypt wasn’t exactly a spiritual retreat. It was corrupt, materialistic, and pretty hostile to Jewish values. The Torah itself calls it the moral low point of the world. So how does someone like Jacob, whose whole life was about faith and integrity, end up having his best years there?

That question was asked centuries ago by a curious child who later became a great Jewish leader himself. A young Menahchem Mendel, who later was known as the “Tzemach Tzedek,” the third Rebbe of the Chabad movement, asked his grandfather, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi; the answer was surprisingly practical. Before Jacob moved to Egypt, he made one important decision: he sent Judah ahead to set things up. Not to buy real estate or start a business; he set up a place of Torah study, a Jewish anchor. A space where connection to G-d could live, even in Egypt.

In other words, Jacob didn’t wait for Egypt to become holy. He brought holiness with him.

The Midrash explains this with a simple story. A king has one beloved daughter. She marries and moves far away. The king says, “I can’t live without her. Wherever you go, build me a small room so I can stay with you.” That “room,” says the Midrash, is the Torah. Wherever Jews create space for it, G-d is there. Fully present. No matter the zip code.

That idea feels especially relevant in 2026.

Most Jews today don’t live in a hostile Egypt, but many live in a noisy one. Life is fast, online, competitive, and exhausting. Work never really ends. Phones never stop buzzing. Identity gets flattened into politics or headlines. Judaism, when it shows up at all, can feel like something for holidays, nostalgia, or guilt.

So the Torah’s question becomes our question: can you live a meaningful Jewish life in this world? In corporate offices, college campuses, social media feeds, and group chats that don’t exactly encourage depth?

Jacob’s answer is yes, but not by accident.

Here’s the key part. The Torah says there’s an advantage to light that comes from darkness. Lighting a candle in a bright room is nice. Lighting it during a blackout is everything. That kind of light hits differently.

That’s why Egypt became Jacob’s best chapter. When you choose meaning in a place that doesn’t naturally support it, it becomes deeper and stronger and more real.

To be sure, Judaism is very clear: don’t go looking for trouble. We’re not meant to test ourselves unnecessarily. But real life doesn’t always give us ideal conditions. Sometimes you’re already in the situation that feels spiritually thin or draining.

Jacob teaches that when you can’t escape the darkness, you illuminate it.

That doesn’t mean becoming ultra-religious overnight. It means small, intentional choices that anchor you. Learning something Jewish for five minutes a day. Turning Friday night into something different, even once a month. Talking to your kids about where they come from. Choosing values over convenience when no one is watching.

Those choices don’t shrink your world. They expand it.

For many people, those years, when life is messy, demanding, and far from ideal, end up being the most meaningful ones. Not because everything was easy, but because they chose to live with purpose anyway.

Jacob didn’t wait for Egypt to change. He changed how he lived in Egypt. And that might be the most relevant Jewish lesson for our time.