Monday, November 26, 2012

December 1, 2012


Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4–36:43


The Question Is The Blessing


By asking Yaakov his name, his wrestling adversary challenges him to examine himself and whether he is ready to enter a new phase of his life.


At the beginning of this week's parashah, Jacob sends messengers ahead to his estranged brother Esau, who has a large assembly of men coming toward Jacob and his family. The night before he meets his brother, Jacob wrestles with the angel who changes his name to Yisrael. The meeting with Esau goes peacefully. When Jacob and his family arrive at the town of Shechem, his daughter Dinah is sexually assaulted by the prince of the town, and Jacob's sons go on a violent rampage in retribution. Both Rachel and Isaac die and are buried. The parashah ends with a review of all Yitzhak's descendants.

In Focus
"Then he said, 'Let me go, for the dawn is breaking.' He [Jacob] replied: 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.' He said to him, 'What is your name?' He answered, 'Jacob.' He said 'No longer will your name be Jacob, but Israel, because you have fought with God and with men and have prevailed.'" (Genesis 32:26-28)

Pshat
All alone the night before he is to finally meet up again with his estranged brother Esau, Jacob is approached by a mysterious stranger, who wrestles with him until the dawn. The text says this figure is a "man," but most of the commentators assume it was some kind of angel or a holy vision. Jacob holds on until he can reach some understanding of the moment; at the end of the struggle, the mystery wrestler announces that Jacob, like his grandfather Abraham, will receive a new name.

Drash
There have been many, many interpretations of Jacob's "God-wrestling." (A term coined by Arthur Waskow, I believe.) Some commentators, as noted above, understand this as an encounter with an angel, and some, especially Rambam, understand Jacob as experiencing some kind of holy vision, rather than an actual wrestling match.

While most of the commentators focus on the homiletical meaning of Jacob's change of name, they tend to gloss over the passage before it, presumably assuming that it's just a rhetorical setup for the announcing of the name Yisrael. By asking Jacob's name, and getting the reply "Jacob," the messenger can more dramatically announce the new name by which Jacob will be known.

Along these lines, Radak (R. David Kimchi, a 12th century French commentator) seems to explain the angel's question as just a formality:

This question is an opening to the conversation, like "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9) and "What is that in your hand?" (Exodus 4:2), and other similar places, because he knew his name when he was sent to him.

The first example Radak offers of a rhetorical question is from story of the Garden of Eden. After the man and woman eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they become self-conscious of their nakedness, and attempt to hide from God in the Garden. God asks--knowing full well the answer!--"where are you?"

Radak's second example comes from Moses' experience at the burning bush. When Moses doubts that the people will believe that God has sent him, God turns Moses' staff into a snake, prefacing the miracle with the question "what is in your hand." Again, both Moses and God knew exactly what was in Moses' hand, just as the wrestler knew Jacob's name.

What's going on here? We might say that God was just striking up a good conversation, but Torah stories of encounters with the Divine tend to be terse and focussed. In each of the three stories Radak offers as an example of a rhetorical question, the main character is about to begin a new chapter in life--Adam is about to leave the Garden, Jacob is about to meet his long-estranged brother, and Moses is about to confront Pharaoh.

Perhaps the question is not merely a conversation-opener, but the main point of the conversation. In the case of Jacob, the messenger seems to want Jacob to think deeply about the meaning of his name, which we learned at his birth would represent the depth of his troubled relationship with his brother. (Cf. Genesis 25:25-27 and 27:35-37.)

The messenger knows not just Jacob's name, but his history--he's asking if Jacob has wrestled sufficiently with his own identity. "What is your name," in this context, can be understood as "are you still Jacob, the deceiver, or are you ready to become Yisrael, the person of conscience?"

What's so striking about our passage is that Jacob receives a question in response to his demand for a blessing--it seems to me that the question itself is the blessing he receives.

The right question, at the right time, from the right person, can change a person's life, enabling them to see and understand themselves in an entirely new light. When God asks a question, it's not for the sake of an answer, but for the sake of an inner response, a change in the person.

Who am I? What is the name I have made for myself, and what is the name I am capable of achieving? Just to ask the question can move us towards a better answer--just to ask the question, and thus demonstrate our capacity for growth and introspection, is one of the greatest blessings we have as human beings.

Monday, November 19, 2012

November 24, 2012

I Have A Dream...

Jacob's response to his dream teaches us to turn our dreams into visions and our visions into reality.


By Rabbi Ed Rosenthal
Q: What do you get when you cross Martin Luther King and Led Zeppelin?

A: The dream of a stairway to heaven or....this week’s Parashah.
Parashat Vayeytze begins:

"And Jacob went out from Beer Sheva and went toward Haran. And he lighted upon the place, and stayed there all night, because the sun was set. And he took of the stones of the place and put it under his head and lay down in that place to sleep.

“And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth and the top of it reached to heaven and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it. And behold the Lord stood beside him and said:

“'I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father, and the God of Isaac. The land on which you lie to you will I give it, and to your descendants. And your descendents shall be as the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south. And through you and your descendents shall all the families of the earth be blessed. And behold, I am with you, and will keep you wherever you go and I will not leave you, until I have done all that I have spoken of to you.' And Jacob woke up out of his sleep and said: 'Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it.' And he was afraid and said, 'How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God and this is the gate of heaven.'"

The story of Jacob's dream has inspired countless paintings and poems over the millennia. What is it about this passage which has made it so personal for so many throughout the ages? Is it the dream itself (something which every person does)? Or perhaps it is the angels (which provide a source of comfort)? Is it the image of God as an imminent force so near to us and watching over us wherever we may be? Or is it the promise of redemption and blessing for all humankind?

Continue reading.

Monday, November 12, 2012


Rebekah's Spiritual Crisis

Like Rebekah, we should turn toward God, not away, in our moments of spiritual crisis. by Rabbi Jordan D. Cohen 

Overview Toldot is the only parashah in the Torah that puts Isaac at the centre of the action. Yet it jumps right into the next generation. The portion begins with the birth of Isaac and Rebekah's twin sons Jacob and Esau. Like Sarah before her, Rebekah is deemed to be barren, but then miraculously gives birth later in life. It's a difficult pregnancy. She "inquires of the Eternal" and finds out that she's carrying twins.

The first child emerges all red and hairy, and is named Esau. The second boy comes out holding onto his brother's heel. He is named Jacob, from the Hebrew root meaning "heel." When they grow up, Esau becomes a hunter, "a man of the field." Jacob is described as a "mild man," who preferred to remain back in the camp. Isaac favoured Esau. Rebekah prefers Jacob.

This context of parental favouritism and sibling rivalry serves as the backdrop for the complex relations and tragic events that follow. Jacob takes advantage of a weakened Esau and gets him to sell his birthright for a bowl of lentils.

Later, famine forces the family to leave Canaan and travel to Gerar. Isaac and Rebekah repeat (third time--second with Abimelech) the wife/sister confusion of Abraham and Sarah, and then they must deal with some issues of water rights left over from Abraham. Now wealthy, they end up settling in Beer Sheva, where God appears to Isaac, and Abimelech, the King of Gerar, established a treaty with him. This section ends with the news that Esau, at the age of forty, married two Hittite women. They are described as being a "source of bitterness to Isaac and Rebekah."

The story continues some time later when Isaac is old and blind. Fearing the end of his days is near, he called his oldest son Esau to receive his final blessing. But first he asks Esau to hunt and prepare him some game. Rebekah overhears this request and, while Esau is out is the field, she prepares the food and dresses Jacob like his brother and sends him in to receive the special blessing in Esau's place. Esau comes in later, and it is then that he and his father Isaac realize they have been tricked. Isaac offers Esau a secondary blessing, but it is not enough. Having now been tricked out of both his birthright and his blessing, Esau declares his hatred for Jacob and his intention to kill him. Rebekah hears of the plot and arranges for Jacob to flee to Haran, to the home of her brother Laban.

In Focus But the children struggled in her womb, and she said, "If so, why do I exist?" She went to inquire of the Eternal." (Genesis 25:22)


Monday, November 5, 2012

November 10, 2012


Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1–25:18

Prayer: Service Of The Heart 

Abraham's servant teaches us the power of spontaneous prayer, a concept that challenges our contemporary focus on consistency and conformity.


One of the universals of human culture is the need to commune with something larger, something that extends beyond ourselves. We all feel the desire to speak, to create, to perform. One aspect of the human urge to communicate is worship--the simple act of noticing the awe of existence, the staggering marvel of the world and its order. Awe moves us to a silent expression of gratitude and wonder. Awe moves us to worship.

What is Worship?

For many Jews, worship means the formal ritual of reading from a printed Siddur (prayer book), listening to the chanted words of the Torah and the Haftarah (weekly reading from Prophets or Writings), and absorbing the insights of the rabbi's sermon. Worship is public, planned, and cyclical. What we did last week we will do again next week.

Today's Torah portion illumines another aspect of Jewish worship, one sadly neglected by too many Jews today. While most of us are familiar with reading the stirring words of prayer composed by other, earlier Jews, few of us are comfortable approaching God with the simple outpouring of our own hearts. The whole notion of just speaking with God sounds strikingly un-Jewish.

Yet consider Abraham's nameless servant, given the assignment of traveling to a distant land to find a bride for the Patriarch's son. Overwhelmed by the gravity and seriousness of his mission, the servant creates a new religious form. Without the possibility of sacrificing an animal, unable to summon a special revelation, the servant simply sits and speaks.

Without any elaborate introduction, stripped of the appropriate formula or poetry, the servant just shares what is on his mind:

O, LORD, God of my master Abraham, grant me good fortune this day, and deal graciously with master Abraham.

The servant speaks to God with directness borne of necessity. Filled with a sense of the uncertainty of his task, aware of his own limitations, he turns to the Source of Life and shares his fear.

Note also that the servant establishes criteria for judging the successful accomplishment of his mission, and then prays that his standard should be God's as well. Those standards are themselves an insight into the human heart--he asks for a woman who is generous, compassionate, and willing to act on behalf of others. Such a person is indeed a fitting mate.

Modern people are no less in need of pouring out their hearts than were our ancestors. We, too, are daily sent on missions which test our limits, which force us into territory we have not previously explored, and for which the stakes are very high indeed. Sustaining a marriage, cultivating a friendship, raising children, or pursuing a career all test us every day.

With as great an emotional burden as Abraham's servant faced, with no less a need to cry out (and to absorb the comfort of having been heard), we have nonetheless cut ourselves off from God's listening ear.

Are We Just Superstitious?


We worry that speaking to God is superstitious. We feel that God doesn't answer prayer. Or, that God doesn't hear prayer. Or that there is no God. Or that we simply dare not address God for fear of being hypocrites.

Part of the price we pay for living in our age is that we are plagued by the illness of consistency and weighted down by the power of conformity. Both would have us deny a need simply because we don't always feel it.

Our discomfort with spontaneous prayer does a disservice to our sacred tradition, to our deepest needs, and to our relationship with God.

Prayer is not philosophy--it need not justify itself at the bench of reason, consistency, or sophistication. Prayer, what the Talmud calls "the labor of the heart," is answerable to the heart alone.

Our discomfort with spontaneous prayer can lead us to the very first prayer we need: "Help me, Lord, to pray." Or, in the words preceding the Shabbat Amidah (the silent, standing prayer), "When I call upon the Lord, give glory to our God. Open my mouth, Lord, and my lips will proclaim Your praise." If you are uncomfortable praying with words teach yourself to sit with silence. Let your awareness of your need become your prayer, let your awareness of God's love be your answer.

If you need to pray, if your sorrows or your joys move you to speak--from a simple "thank you" to an elaborate speech--then pray. If you rise from your prayers a more sensitive and aware person, then your prayer was worthwhile.