11/13/2007
If Jacob struggled through the night with a strange presence (by the way, in Genesis 32:24 it is a “man,” iysh, in 32:29 it is a “divine being, God, elohim, while according to the Prophet Hosea (12:4) it was an “angel”), I have a real struggle with Jacob, especially here in parashat Va-yishlah.
Despite Jacob’s change of name from Jacob to Israel, he still remains Jacob and the old Jacob is never far away. Aspects of the old Jacob, will, in fact, be present throughout his life. Jacob will remain very much a two-fold character.
Not for nothing did the rabbis see this in the very opening section of the sidra when, immediately before leaving Haran, Jacob sends messengers on ahead to his brother Esau with the words, “I stayed with Laban and remained until now.” “I stayed with Lavan,” im lavan garti, the numerical value of the word garti, “I stayed,” “I resided,” comes to 613, equal to the number of the mitzvot. Even as he wheeled and dealed with Laban, was cheated by him, did not fail to get rich at his expense and surely incurring the envy of Laban’s own sons, Jacob nevertheless professed to keeping the mitzvot, as if one could compensate for the other.
Later in the sidra, how do we explain Jacob’s action when, on seeing the great size of Esau’s retinue of some 400 men, and fearing the worst that might be in store for him, he divided up his own family, endangering some so that he might protect others, specifically Rachel and Joseph? How do we explain this? And before this occurred, again near the opening of the sidra, when Jacob first heard of these four hundred men, he immediately divided his own camp, endangering one half to protect the other. Brought up as the preferred son of Rebecca, familial preferential treatment, with all its dangers and consequences, still remained very much part of his psyche.
So what, if anything, changes with Jacob? Here and there in the text of this sidra there are intimations of change on the part of Jacob.
Perhaps we first see this change when Jacob heard of
the four hundred men that Esau had brought along with him. The Hebrew
reads, va-yira ya’akov me’od va-yetzer lo, “Jacob
was afraid and was distressed” (Gen. 32:8). The second Hebrew word
seems superfluous, hence Rashi, following the Midrash explains, “Jacob
was afraid,” lest he be killed, “and was distressed” lest
he kill Esau. Over and above the distress and anguish that either or
both deaths would cause their father, Jacob shows here his feelings for
the other and the consequences—the widows and orphans—that
the other’s death would result in. Perhaps for the first time in
his life Jacob shows feelings of empathy, even empathy towards a potential
enemy.
If we leap ahead several millennia, this is the dilemma that the State
of Israel has faced ever since its inception: not just the pain of its
own losses but the pain of reluctantly causing pain to the families of
the enemy as well. We pray that anguish such as this never departs from
the soul of Israel as it struggles for its survival and existence.
A second intimation of a change on the part of Jacob occurs when Jacob showers upon Esau the gifts that he brought for his brother. Jacob’s guilt for his treatment of his brother must have been enormous. Lucky for him that he had become wealthy and could spare all those gifts, a total of five hundred and fifty animals! The Hebrew term for these presents, miṇhati, is repeated and stressed quite a number of times. But is not a gift something that you give out of generosity of heart, and not for some other motive, which, as Jacob explicitly stated, was to propitiate his brother?
Yet when Jacob actually meets Esau face to face, and when he urges upon Esau to accept the gift, he suddenly makes a profound slip of the tongue. Instead of saying “this gift,” miṇhati, he says birkati, “my blessing.” Jacob had, of course, deceived his brother out of his father’s blessing. By this slip of the tongue Jacob transformed the animals from a mere gift to a reparation for his deceit, and he transformed the blandness of the designation “gift” to a verbal confession for his misdeed those many years ago.
We might go further here. Just before Jacob lets out this slip of the tongue, he says, “for to see your face is like seeing the face of God.” When Jacob had struggled with the strange being he responded, “I have seen God face to face,” ki raiyti elohim panim el panim. Richard Elliott Friedman in his Commentary on the Torah adds here, “after facing God, one is certainly able to face any human.” Now, when Jacob confronted Esau, perhaps the text is telling us that Jacob could finally look at Esau in the face. It had taken him 20 years to find the courage to look his brother in the face. Yes, sometimes it can take twenty years or longer.
Perhaps a third intimation of a change in Jacob was a sense of humility and modesty: Humility before God, humility before Esau. Unlike the prayer which Jacob offered to God when he left for Haran twenty years previously, when he sort of bargained with God with respect to fulfilling His will, now Jacob uncharacteristically declared, “I am unworthy [katonti] of all the kindness [kol ha-ḥasadim u-mikol ha-emet] that You have steadfastly shown Your servant” (Gen. 32:11). And when Jacob meets his brother, he speaks to him deferentially and with respect. He refers to himself as “your servant” and to Esau as “my lord.” Interestingly, it is Esau who tries to break the sense of distance: he refers to Jacob as aḥi, my brother, a gesture which Jacob does not, or cannot bring himself to take up. But perhaps it took Jacob’s deferential language and modesty for Esau to call Jacob once more, his “brother.”
It is not always easy to try to make amends, to recognize one’s fault or sin, to face the music and confront the person one has hurt or injured. The struggle that Jacob had with the strange being, whether it was with God or with himself or both remains, in the last resort, a mystery, just as our own inner struggles can be so deep and complex that their meaning might surface only after years of searching or even therapy. The process of self-discovery and self-awareness can be painful and hurtful, but like that struggle of Jacob, it can also change us.
When Jacob departs from his brother Esau he moves to the city of Shechem. The Hebrew reads, va-yavo ya’akov shalem iyr shekhem, translated in EH as “Jacob arrived safe in the city of Shechem.” But surely there is something implied here. Shalem means, complete, whole, at one with oneself. Jacob had survived the encounter with his brother, he had struggled with himself and with God, and he had achieved a degree of wholeness that he had never had before. His life would still be full of struggles, pains and disappointments, but something within him had begun to be healed.
Jacob’s life, like our lives, never seems to get easier. There is no “happily ever after.” But an inner healing comes to Jacob and he shows signs of moral growth. He resumes contact with his father, Isaac, and Esau and Jacob come together to bury their father when he dies. No, nothing ostensibly earth shattering. But for him, and possibly for us as well, these were mighty steps forward.