Category: Weekly Torah Portion

In the parashah Vayetze, we read about Jacob fleeing from the wrath of his brother Esau, leaving the protective home of his parents Isaac and Rebecca, and embarking on a journey fraught with difficulties and disappointments, loneliness, love, and toil, which will lead him to an independent life as an adult and head of a family.

I will focus on the beginning of the journey of change, when he is alone, exposed to the forces of nature, in physical and mental darkness:

(j) And Jacob left Beersheba and went to Haran. (11) And he came to that place and spent the night there, because the sun had set. He took some of the stones from the place and put them under his head. and he lay down in that place. (12)  And he dreamed, and behold, a ladder was set up on the earth, and its top reached to heaven; and behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. (13)  And behold, the Lord stood above him and said, "I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac. The land on which you lie, I will give to you and to your descendants.  

Jacob dreams the famous dream of the ladder, through which he experiences the promise of divine providence. The angels ascending and descending symbolize the ups and downs and challenges that await him on his journey. The ladder touching the sky symbolizes man's ability to strive to improve his situation and himself and to reach higher. When he awakens, he realizes that there is a God and that he is not alone. He gathers strength and courage and continues his journey to Haran and his mother's family.

I have always asked myself: What gives us strength when we feel lonely in the face of life's circumstances? Where do we draw the strength from within ourselves to cope when we are faced with a reality that challenges us, and there is not always someone by our side who can support us?

As I was writing this, I remembered that as a child I had a feeling of divine providence that would protect me in a world where adults could not be a source of comfort and support. On the contrary, they were a source of constant anxiety, and I had to find strength within myself. I believed then that God was watching over me, that there was reward and punishment, and that those who were bad to me would be punished and those who were good, meaning me, would surely be rewarded.

This belief did not arise out of thin air, but was based, of course, on stories and legends I read and heard in my parents' home, and on my mother's absolute faith in God.

Faith is the fuel that drives us to take action, and at the age of 13, I initiated my own personal "Vayetze" story—I escaped the fate I thought awaited me if I remained in a home that was not good for me. Providence arranged for me to take the entrance exams for the Boyar boarding school in Jerusalem. I passed the exams successfully, and then I made the first significant and fateful decision of my life at the age of 13: to go to boarding school. My mother wanted me to stay at home because "good, quiet girls don't need to go to boarding school." But despite the voices that could have discouraged me, I was determined to leave, driven by a deep inner conviction that this was the right choice to save myself.

This decision presented me with challenges and personal growth, and I am grateful to that girl who, believing in the good that was to come, chose to take the leap. .

Let us return to the biblical story. The climax of the journey of transformation appears in the following passage:-:  When Jacob wrestles with the angel, he receives his new name, Israel, and with it a new identity. "Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and you have prevailed" (Genesis 32:29). Jacob receives a name that attests to his resilience and ability to survive—because Sarit fights. He succeeds in completing his journey and creating a family and continuity.

I, too, look back on the journey I have been through, on the difficulties and successes that were and still are part of it, and wish for all of us that even when we are down, we will know how to maintain our inner faith in ourselves along with our faith in God, and remember that there is a heaven. . 

Shabbat Shalom! 

The Torah portion of Toldot presents a complex reality that does not correspond with the norms we would expect. How is it that Jacob deceitfully buys the birthright from Esau and then receives his father's blessing through trickery? And all this with the help of our mother Rebecca. And in general, why is the hunter considered negative and the tent dweller considered righteous?

Reading this passage from the Netherlands, while observing Israel from afar, raises questions about the way we see ourselves and others. I know it is easier to see things from the outside, but perhaps this perspective can shed some light on the matter. The Sages tend to see the world in black and white: Esau is evil and Jacob is good. But the biblical text itself is much more complex. 

Esau deeply respects his father. "Hunting in his mouth" (25:28) does not necessarily mean deceit, but rather that he brought him game to make him happy (the plain meaning of Rashi, as opposed to the interpretation that explains it as deceit). And in the portion of Vayishlach, after all of Jacob's fears, Esau "ran to meet him, embraced him, fell on his neck, kissed him, and they wept" (33:4). He was a man of action with a deep connection to nature. But he was also impulsive: "And Esau despised the birthright" (25:34) – he disregarded its spiritual significance. And when he discovered the deception: "And he cried out with a great and bitter cry" (27:34) – true and genuine pain.

Jacob – A spiritual scholar, devoted to love, stubborn and unyielding. He understands the importance of the birthright. But he also takes advantage of a moment of weakness: he buys the birthright when "Esau was weary" (25:29-34). He lies to his blind father: "I am Esau your firstborn" (27:19), and even uses the name of God to lie: 'For the Lord your God has made me appear before you" (27:20). He acts through manipulation – through his mother, through Laban, always indirectly.

Why is this important today??

Israeli society tends to see things in black and white. Each camp portrays the other in a negative light. Ultra-Orthodox Jews see secular Jews as a threat to Judaism, and secular Jews see the ultra-Orthodox as religious coercion. The right wing sees the left wing as traitors, and the left wing sees the right wing as fascists. Those who advocate separation of powers see others as a danger to democracy, and those who prefer majority rule see others as a detached elite. Some see military service as a supreme value, while others see Torah study as the true contribution. Jewish and Arab citizens of Israel see each other as a threat rather than a partnership.

Each side exaggerates the negative behaviors of the other and ignores the good in them. These tensions create internal strife within our society.

But the story teaches us that reality is more complex. Esau himself, whom Jacob feared so much and was sure would want revenge, ultimately ran to embrace him. If our ancestors were not black and white, perhaps the "other" in our society is not black and white either.

The ultra-Orthodox Jew who does not serve in the army may contribute in other ways. The secular Jew who does not observe Shabbat may be very charitable. The right-winger who advocates sovereignty may truly care about security. The left-winger who advocates compromise may truly want peace. Everyone has their own values, as well as legitimate concerns.

And just as Jacob and Esau learned to embrace each other despite everything, perhaps we too can learn to see the complexity of the other. Not necessarily to agree, but to see that on the other side there are also people with good intentions, with genuine concerns, with a contribution to make to the nation.

And when we learn to accept complexity internally, perhaps we can also extend this outward—toward our neighbors. To understand that there, too, reality is not always black and white.

This story reminds us that the world is not black and white. That righteous people are not perfect, and wicked people are not one-dimensional. And that perhaps, if we stop for a moment to see only the bad in others and start looking for the good as well—even in those who think differently—we can move a little closer to inner peace.

Perhaps then we will become a more balanced society, one that knows how to embrace complexity.

At the heart of the story, we see how matchmaking worked in the ancient world, which gives us a glimpse into the social and economic systems that were common back then and might still be around today. We'll get to that in a minute...

The story starts with Sarah's death., Abraham's wife, at the age of 127, in Kiryat Arba, which is Hebron in the land of Canaan. Abraham purchases land and Sarah is buried in the Cave of Machpelah. Immediately afterwards, Abraham's servant is sent to Aram Naharaim to find a wife for their son Isaac.

Abraham's servant receives explicit instructions and sets out on his journey. The parashah repeats the story in variations three times:

The first time he received the task: Abraham swears his servant: "Go to my country and my birthplace, and take a wife for my son Isaac."

Second, the text describes the story itself: "And the servant took ten camels from his master's camels and went, and allhis master's goods in his hand, and he arose and went to Aram Naharaim, to the city of Nahor."  

Then again, the servant describes to the family of the girl chosen for marriage the task he has been given: "And my master made me swear, saying, "You shall nottake a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell. If you do not go to my father's house and my family, and take a wife for my son."

Finally, the servant returns to his master with the task completed and tells Isaac all that has happened, like a debriefing report. "And the servant told Isaac all the things that he had done.".

Why is the repeated description necessary? This may be to emphasize Abraham's intention to choose a wife for his son from among his own people, or to describe Abraham's wealth and thus the profitability of the proposed deal for the family of the girl intended for marriage.

It seems to me that the repetition in the description of events occurs in order to validate complex processes and remind us to revisit and examine what the mission was and what actually happened. Documenting significant events, investigating them, and holding those responsible to account are very important steps in our public life today. We must demand this.

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How romantic can a scene be that includes a desert, a spring, a beautiful girl, a caravan of camels, a water jug, and lots of gold and jewelry?

Poems were written, paintings, engravings, and photographs depicted this human, romantic, and even erotic scene. But things are not as innocent as they seem at first glance.

Abraham's servant arrives in Aram Naharaim, in the city of Nahor, and sees the daughters of the city's men going down to the spring carrying jugs.

What value does he see in the girl that makes him run to her? How is she measured? What are the criteria for a good and worthy woman?

The girl who caught the slave's eye is beautiful and a virgin. She is quick, knows her job, is kind and generous, volunteers to water the camels, and, just as importantly, comes from a respectable and wealthy family.

And here the trade begins: after the slave examines her behavior, which is to show kindness to strangers, hastening to give him and his camels water to drink, he rewards her with a nose ring and gold jewelry. Rebecca's brother, Laban, hears about this, runs to the spring to see what is going on, finds out who the messenger is, and invites him to their home.

After the servant describes his origins, his mission, and the sequence of events, Laban and his father Bethuel agree to give Rebecca to Isaac. Abraham's servant gives a reward "And the servant took outsilver and gold vessels and clothing, and gave them to Rebekah; and he gave precious gifts to her brother and her mother."

The surprising twist, like a feminist one, comes later. Rebecca is apparently very young. Her brother Laban and her mother Milcah are debating whether to send her away immediately or to wait. They suggest calling Rebecca and asking her if she would agree to travel far away with the messenger. And they said, "Let us call the girl and ask her." 58 They called Rebekah and said to her, "Will you go with this man?" And she said, "I will go."

Who is the feminist here? The family members or Rebecca herself?

It is not entirely clear how much freedom the young girl really has to decide her own fate. She received a nose ring and bracelets, silverware, gold, and clothes, and saw her mother and brothers receiving gifts... Perhaps she felt obligated, or perhaps she even fell in love with the slave himself.

In any case, it seems that this step taken by the family of Bethuel ben Nahor to ask the girl for her consent has resulted in women having the right to choose their husbands even today, thousands of years later, in our Hebrew culture.

And that, my friends, is no small thing, then or now.

When I wear a kippah, I show the world that I believe and remind myself that I fear God. This week's Torah portion contains two completely different fears of God.

The parasha opens with the words "And the Lord appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre…' from the word ra’ya (seeing). And Abraham sees and acts "He lifted up his eyes to him and saw…and he saw and ran…" Scripture accustoms us to interpret the root y.r.a. as a sensory experience of sight about twelve times in the parasha. But when Sarah laughs in disbelief at the angels" message, and then denies it, she says "I did not laugh, for I feared…" The internal contradiction in the sentence is blatant because we know that Sarah laughed and the denial contradicts the declaration of fear of God. A person who fears God would not declare a lie before the angels of God.

But what does fear (Yira) mean? In modern Hebrew, it means fear. Is a believer a person a person who fears God? We have all experienced leaders, commanders, and administrators who used fear to establish their control. If I fear the leader or respect him, in many cases my behavior towards the leader is similar, at least according to external signs. In the case of Sodom and Gomorrah, there is good reason for fear. The cities were destroyed and their inhabitants died because "their sin was great and very heavy." But besides fear, the chapter goes into depth by presenting two types of faith: faith based on benefit and fear of God that does not depend on anything.

In the Bible, a God-fearing person is a person of faith. The story of Vayyar presents us with two types of faith (fear of God). When Abraham arrives in Gerar, he does not present Sarah as his wife, but as his sister. Abraham explains to Abimelech, the king of Gerar, that "there is no fear of God in this place." According to the explanation to Abimelech, fear of God is a social system that enables control, prevention of suffering, and joint effort for the common good. The fear of God is a human means of establishing government, correcting the world, and improving the fate of man. In the extreme case, God is needed to create fear and awe, a fear of punishment for the benefit of social order.

In contrast, after Abraham passed the test of aqeedah, we read, "Now I know that you fear God." This is a different faith because such faith is of no benefit to a person, neither as an individual nor as a society. Moreover, faith breaks promises (I will multiply your seed), breaks social conventions (human sacrifice), and is contrary to human nature (loving our child). Abraham, the father of his son, as a spouse, as part of a human society, completely failed the test of aqeedah, and thus passed the test of faith and fear of God. We saw a few verses ago Abraham's ability to argue with God, to answer Him, to bargain with Him about the number of righteous people needed to save Sodom and Gomorrah (he reduced God's price from fifty to ten). But in the test of aqeedah, Abraham's devotion indicates a faith that is not based on fear and is of no benefit to the individual or society.

As a Jew, I wear a kippah (yarmulke, fear of the kingdom in Yiddish), as an external sign of fear of God and a reminder to myself. I move in the range between the fear of Elimelech and the fear of Abraham. I oppose with every fiber of my being the religious establishment's use of faith and fear of God for social exploitation, but I want to pray together with my people. I strive to reach a pure faith like Abraham's, but I am happy that I will never succeed. To me, such a faith is a very lonely place ("here I am") and devoid of morality. I live in the tension between fear-based faith and pure faith. As my late grandfather, David Stockfish, said with a half-smile, "It is not easy to be a Jew.".