Why the Obsession with Israel?

I do not see a way of rationally explaining the obsessive hatred to Israel and Jews without the faith that Jews are G-d’s chosen people to make the world a place of goodness and kindness.

The obsession with Jews, a people that does not even constitute a quarter of a percent of humanity, is going on for almost 4000 years. It makes no sense. 500,000 people were murdered in Syria, including tens of thousands of children, and I did not hear of one demonstration. Israel is trying to protect its children from being slaughtered, fighting an enemy that wants its own children to die, so Israel can be demonized, and yet the Jews are condemned.

Traumatized self-hating Jews and anti-Semites even have the chutzpah to call Gaza a Jewish “concentration camp,” when Israel expelled every last Jew from Gaza in 2005. Had the Gaza population not voted in Hamas in 2006 and chosen to spend all its resources to murder Jews, Gaza could have been the Singapore of the Middle East. They blame Israel for having checkpoints, which only exist because without them, there would be terrorists’ attacks on a daily basis. They want an airport in Gaza, so that planes can murder tens of thousands of Jews daily?

The obsession with Israel makes no sense unless you can appreciate the truth that we are G-d’s people. We were chosen to serve as a light onto the nations, a Divine flame lit on the cosmic way, hence we trigger the world in unimaginable ways.

But this is not easy for Jews to accept, even though the world knows it. Virtually every other nation has perceived itself as chosen or otherwise divinely special. For example, China means “Middle Kingdom” in Chinese – meaning that China is at the center of the world; and Japan considers itself the land where the sun originates (“Land of the Rising Sun”). The British thought they were chosen, and the Muslims and Christians of course see themselves as chosen. And they would love hearing it. But when you tell a Jew you are chosen, he says: “Me? Never. I am just a human being.”

Of course, Jewish chosen-ness cannot be racist because Jews are not a race; there are Jews of every race. What is more, any person of any race, ethnicity, or nationality can become a member of the Jewish people and thereby be as chosen as Abraham, Moses, Jeremiah, Maimonides, or the chief rabbi of Israel.

Can reason alone explain how a hodgepodge of ex-slaves was able to change history — to introduce the moral Creator we know as G-d, to devise ethical monotheism; to write&nbsp;the world’s most influential book, the Bible; to be the only civilization to deny the cyclical worldview and give humanity belief in a linear (i.e., purposeful) history; to provide morality-driven prophets; and so much more — without G-d playing the decisive role in this people’s history?

But we are still uncomfortable. Why did it have to be this way? Who needs this idea that one people is chosen? It seems unenlightened. To suggest that as Jews we are somehow closer to G-d than all other nation smacks of arrogance, elitism, and prejudice.

It’s because we don’t understand what “chosen” means. &nbsp;

The Rebbe’s 1798 Letter

This story takes us back some two centuries ago. In 1798, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), founder of Chabad, known as the Alter Rebbe, was arrested and charged with treason, on the basis of petitions to the Czar by opponents of Chassidism. It was a devastating moment in Jewish history. He could have been given capital punishment, heaven forbid—and that would have been the end not only of Chabad, but of much of the Chassidic movement, as he was its chief defender, intellectual advocate, and most influential figure. After 53 days of imprisonment, he was exonerated of all charges and freed. The event—celebrated to this day on the 19th day of Kislev, this Shabbos December 2 —marked the decisive victory of the Chassidic movement and the onset of a new, expanded phase in the exploration and dissemination of the infinite spiritual depth of Judaism, embodied in Chassidism.&nbsp;

Upon his release, Rabbi Schneur Zalman dispatched a short but powerful letter to all his followers. It is one of the most extraordinary letters one can read. (It is published in Tanya, Igeres Hakodesh, chapter 2). The Rebbe suffered so much as a result of his opponents; they persecuted him and his followers even before the arrest; then came the arrest and his terrifying trial. Yet in this letter, he warns his disciples against any display of haughtiness&nbsp;as a result of their victory. He instructs them not to denigrate,&nbsp;tease, and show disdain to those who craved their downfall.

The letter opens with the verse stated by Jacob in Genesis: “I have become small by all the kindnesses and by all the truth that You have done Your servant.” (This verse appears in the beginning of the Torah section of Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4-36:43), which was the Torah reading for the Shabbat preceding the day of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s release, Tuesday, 19 Kislev, 5759-1798). The Alter Rebbe is perturbed by the obvious question. Why was Jacob humbled by all the kindness he was shown? Why did it not bolster his pride? If G-d gave this all to me, I probably deserve it!&nbsp;

תניא אגרת הקודש סימן ב: פי' שבכל חסד וחסד שהקדוש ב"ה עושה לאדם צריך להיות שפל רוח במאד, כי חסד דרועא ימינא. וימינו תחבקני. שהיא בחי' קרבת אלהים ממש ביתר שאת מלפנים. וכל הקרוב אל ה' ביתר שאת והגבה למעלה מעלה, צריך להיות יותר שפל רוח למטה מטה כמ"ש מרחוק ה' נראה לי. וכנודע דכולא קמי' דווקא כלא חשיב. וא"כ כל שהוא קמי' יותר הוא יותר כלא ואין ואפס וזו בחי' ימין שבקדושה וחסד לאברהם שאמר אנכי עפר ואפר. וזו היא ג"כ מדתו של יעקב... משא"כ בזלע"ז הוא ישמעאל חסד דקליפה. כל שהחסד גדול הוא הולך וגדל בגובה וגסות הרוח ורוחב לבו.

The Alter Rebbe conveys a profound idea.&nbsp;

Who Chose You?

In the Jewish understanding, chosenness leads not to arrogance, but rather to humility. If it were some human king who chose us to be his special people, then your assumption would be correct — we would become elitists. When a mortal power shows favoritism towards a subject, that subject will become more arrogant as a result — the closer you are to the king, the more significant you are, and the more significant you are the higher respect you feel you deserve.

But we were chosen by G-d. And the closer you are to G‑d, the more you sense your insignificance. While being buddy-buddy with a human leader inflates your ego, a relationship with G‑d bursts your selfish bubble. Because G‑d is an infinite being, and all delusions of petty self-importance fall away when you stand before infinity. Being close with G‑d demands introspection and self-improvement, not smugness.

In Judaism, G-d is the core of reality—the entire reality of existence. We are all part of reality, we are all in reality; we are all part of G-d, in G-d, in reality. There is an organic oneness that unites all of existence, all of humanity, all of the cosmos—and that organic unity is what we call G-d. “Hashem Echad,” G-d is one, does not only mean there is one G-d and not twenty gods; it means that G-d is synonymous with oneness. The word G-d is another way of saying that “there is only one.” There is oneness that pervades all of existence. We are all reflections of One reality; One core. We are all manifestations—diverse expressions—of a singular reality.

To be conscious of G-d means to never allow your ego to wrap you in its superficial imagination. “Ego” stands for Easing G-d Out. When I do not realize my true greatness and value, as a reflection of G-d’s infinite oneness, I must resort to my ego to feel good about myself and to put you down. Becoming G-d conscious means that at every moment I need not protect my ego, as I become completely comfortable with my true reality, as an expression of Divine light. The more G-d conscious I am, the smaller I become and the greater I become: On one level I become nothing, as there is nothing but the organic oneness, the absolute infinity of G-d, which pervades all. At the same time—I become the greatest, as my life becomes a full and seamless expression of the higher, unifying, integrating, eternal consciousness of the eternal core of all reality.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;

Being close to G-d summons you to respect others more, not less. The more G-d conscious, the more loving and charitable you become, as you are aware that G-d’s light pervades every person and every creature.&nbsp;When in the name of chosenness a person becomes bigoted, disrespectful, elitist and arrogant—they missed the boat. When you become aware of G-d choosing you, it eliminates the judgementalism we resort to in order to protect our egos and feel better about ourselves and our place in the world. Your success never equals my failure. I reflect one aspect of G-d, as you reflect another one.

This is the idea of the Chosen People — a nation of individuals who have been given the opportunity to sense G‑d's closeness, hear His truth and relay His message to the world. All agree that it was the Jews that introduced the world to monotheism and a system of ethics and morals that has shaped the modern view of life and its purpose. And it is the survival of Judaism to this day that attests to the eternal value of this system.

Anyone from any ethnic background can convert to Judaism and become chosen. Jewish chosenness is not a gene, it is a state of the soul. Anyone wishing to take it upon themselves is welcome -- as long as they are ready to have their bubble burst. Anyone can join this group of “chosen people” as long as they are ready to experience themselves as nothing…

And that is a Jew.

And that is why so many people loathe the Jewish people.

We have been chosen to teach each and every person alive that each of them has been chosen—to serve G-d and become an ambassador of love, light, and goodness to His world.

What Did Chosen-ness Do To Us?

When I look at our people, I ask myself one question: Has our belief that we are the chosen people turned us into murderous people who feel they have the right to abuse, persecute, target, and annihilate other cultures and peoples who are different? Or has it made us feel responsible to share, give, contribute, and help others? Has the idea of Chosen People turned us into people who are never introspective, or perhaps into the most self-critical and introspective nation on earth? (Often, the worst critics of Israel are Jews!)

The true test of chosenness is how humble you are. Most Jews today have passed this test with flying colors. Their humility is so deep, it doesn't allow them to accept that they are chosen. While most other religious groups are quite comfortable claiming that they are the best, we Jews will do anything to say that we are nothing special. Now that's what we call a Chosen People!

Katonti!

This, explained Rabbi Schneur Zalman, was the hallmark of Jacob. To the self-absorbed person, a kindness from G-d is proof of his own significance and worth.&nbsp;To the spiritually mature person, however, a kindness from G-d is, first and foremost, an act of divine love: G-d is drawing the person closer to Him. And the closer one comes to G-d, the more one realizes one’s own insignificance in the face of the divine infinity.

This is what it means to think as a Jew. When you were blessed with a gift, when you were showered with a blessing—the first instinct of the Jew is: Katonti! I am humbled.&nbsp;

This, the Alter Rebbe taught, must be the response of his followers to the grace they have seen: to become far more humble, authentic, and Divine. To suspend their egos and become channels for Divine oneness.

When we realize we have been chosen, we cultivate a healthy confidence that comes not from ego but from humility. It is about respecting our role as Divine ambassadors for goodness and truth. Then we never duck to the pressure of those who want us to compromise our eternal mission to eliminate evil and cultivate goodness.&nbsp;

(<a href="https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/160993/jewish/Are-the-Jews-the-Chosen-People.htm">My thanks to Rabbi Aron Moss for his article on the topic</a>).

The Meaning of &ldquo;Chosen People&rdquo;

Why the Obsession with Israel and Jews?

Essay Parshas Vayishlach/Yud-Tes Kislev

Are Jews the Chosen People?

Brother’s Keeper

One day the zookeeper noticed that the orangutan was reading two books, the Bible and Darwin's Origin of Species.

Surprised, he asked the ape, "Why are you reading both those books?"

"Well," said the orangutan, "I just wanted to know if I was my brother's keeper, or my keeper's brother."

The Contrast

Sometimes, the contrast is too conspicuous to ignore. In both stories, the Torah employs the same term: “Ish,” which means, a man. (The term is already used in Bereishis, to describe the first man, Adam.) In two consecutive portions, Vayishlach and Vayeishev, the same term is used. Yet Rashi, based on the tradition of our sages, changes his commentary from one extreme to the other.&nbsp;

In the portion of Vayishlach, we find the term “ish,” a man.

And Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn.

Rashi explains that this “man” was the spiritual angel of Esau. In other words, this battle in the middle of the night between Jacob and this mysterious “man,” was part of the ongoing struggle between Jacob and his brother Esau.

Yet, in Vayeishev, we have the same exact term used. But there everything changes.

Joseph was sent by his father Jacob, to go visit his brothers and seek their welfare. Despite his brothers loathing him, Joseph embarked on the journey and he got lost on the way. The Torah tells us:

Then a man found him, and behold, he was straying in the field, and the man asked him, "What are you looking for?"

And he said, "I am looking for my brothers. Tell me now, where are they pasturing?"

Who was this mysterious man, “ish,” who encountered Joseph at that vulnerable moment?

Rashi says it was angel Gabriel, who we see is defined elsewhere in Scriptures as Ish.

Strange. In Vayishlach it says that Jacob remained alone, and a man wrestled with him. In Vayeishev, Joseph is alone, lost in the field, and, again, a man encounters him and asks him what he is searching for. The same exact word is used in both cases to describe this person: Ish. Yet in Vayeishev, Rashi sees him as the angel Gabriel, and in Vayishlach as Esau’s angel?

A Tale of Two Men

The Satmar Rebbe, Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum (1887-1979), shared the following explanation in the name of Rabbi Chaim Halberstam, the Divrei Chaim of Tzanz (1793-1876).<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" name="_ftnref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>

Context is always the key. The word may be the same, “ish,” but the question is what does this “ish,” this man, do?

In both stories, there is a person who is vulnerable. In Vayishlach, “Jacob remains alone,” in the middle of the night. He has been away from home for 34 years, and has been dealing with a world-class crook. In Vayeishev, Joseph, a young 17-year-old lad, is also lost and vulnerable. He has left his father, he was an orphan from his mother, and how he was on the way to brothers who despised him. He does not know it, but this journey would take him to slavery, prison, and complete alienation from his family.

In both stories, two people are deeply vulnerable. Father and son. Jacob and Joseph. Both of them meet a stranger. A man who appears out of the blue.

The question is what does this “ish,” this man, do?

Here is the difference. In Jacob’s case, the man sees a lonely man in the middle of the night and pounces on him. There is lonely Jacob in the middle of the night? Let me attack him.

What about in the second story? Here too Joseph is alone. And a man encounters him. But what does the man say and do?

“Then a man found him, and behold, he was straying in the field, and the man asked him, saying, "What are you looking for?"

Do you see the difference? He does not pounce on Joseph. He does not exploit his vulnerability, manipulate his moment of weakness toward his own goals. Instead, he sees it as an opportunity to help. He asks the young lad: What are you looking for? You are a dreamer. I see you are searching for something. What is it that you seek? How can I help you?

And Joseph tells him: “I am searching for my brothers!”

I want a relationship. I am searching for love. For belonging. For understanding. For comradery. &nbsp;For attachment.

So Rashi is simply mirroring the context of the narrative. When a man, encountering a vulnerable person, seizes the opportunity to attack him, that man, Rashi says, is an angel of Esau. But when a man, encountering a vulnerable person, seizes the opportunity to offer a loving hand, a guiding heart, to see how he can be here for you in your search for love and family, this person, Rashi says, must be the angel Gabriel!

The Lesson

We all encounter a person, a child, a teen, an adult, who is “alone,” vulnerable, lonely, lost, confused, bewildered, pained.

We see them in their vulnerability. And we make a choice.

Some of us seize the opportunity to use exploit them. Some people even utilize the opportunity to use them in immoral ways, to abuse them, to pounce on them, to attack them, to hurt them, willingly or unwillingly. Even just to judge them.

But some of us encounter the same vulnerable people. And our response is: My dear boy, my dear girl, my dear friend, tell me what are you looking for? Let me find out what you are searching for, what you yearn for.

We each have to make a choice about what type of “man” we will be. I can either become a force of Esau, or I can become the angel Gabriel.

When the Rebbe Went to Warm Up Soup 

It was the night of Yom Kippur, the holiest night of the year.

The Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, also known as the Alter Rebbe (1745-1812), was praying. Wrapped in his talis and his kitel, he was immersed in his davening, in intimacy with G-d.

Suddenly, he removed his talis and left the shul. It was shocking.

The Rebbe went to the home of a mother who had just given birth. The rest of the family went to the synagogue to pray, so nobody was present. The Rebbe kindled a flame, warmed up a soup on the stove, and fed it to the young mother who desperately needed the food.

I once heard the Lubavitcher Rebbe share this story.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" name="_ftnref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a> And he added: The greatness in the story is not that the Alter Rebbe went on Yom Kippur to save this mother. After all, saving a life override Yom Kippur. The uniqueness of the story is the Rebbe, in the midst of his Yom Kippur prayers, experiencing oneness with the Divine, felt the pain and anguish of the young mother.

Many spiritual people, when they are immersed in transcendence, they become deaf to the cry of a mother and a baby. In contrast, the Alter Rebbe, as he spoke to G-d on the holiest night of the year, his soul could not calm down till he went to comfort a young mother who yearned for help.

______________________________________

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" name="_ftn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Moshian Shel Yisroel. vol. 2, p. 210

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" name="_ftn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> 19 Kislev 5744 (1983), at a farbrengen celebrating the liberation day of the Alter Rebbe, on 19 Kislev, 1798.

Sometimes, the contrast is too conspicuous to ignore. In both stories, the Torah employs the same term: &ldquo;Ish,&rdquo; which means, a man. In two consecutive portions, Vayishlach and Vayeishev, the same term is used. Yet Rashi, based on the tradition of our sages, changes his commentary from one extreme to the other.&nbsp; 

In Vayishlach, Jacob remains alone, in middle of the night, a man encounters him. Rashi says this man was the guardian angel of Esau. In Vayeishev, Joseph is alone, lost in the field. A man encounters him. Rashi says, it was the angel Gabriel.

But wait! In Vayishlach it says that Jacob remained alone and a man wrestled with him. In Vayeishev, Joseph is alone, lost in the field, and, again, a man encounters him and asks him what he is looking for. The same exact word is used in both cases to describe this person: Eish. Yet in Vayeishes, Rashi sees him as the angel Gabriel, and in Vayishlach as Esau&rsquo;s angel? That seems unfair.

But of course, context is always the key.

A Tale of Two Angels

Essay Vayishlach/Vayeishev

When You Encounter a Lost Soul, How Do You React?

The Final Moments

It is not unusual for a husband and wife to have an argument. But all would agree that for everything, including a dispute, there is a proper place and time.

Jacob and Rachel have enjoyed profound kinship. Jacob worked laboriously seven years for her father, Laban, to obtain Rachel’s hand in marriage. After being cheated and receiving Leah as his wife, he reluctantly agreed to give Laban another seven years of labor so he could marry Rachel. The Torah attests that Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" name="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>

For years Rachel was childless. When she finally mothered a child, she named him Yosef, proclaiming "May G-d add another son to me.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" name="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>

Her wish was granted. She conceived another child. But, as she was about to give birth, tragedy struck. The Torah relates:<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn3" name="_ednref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>

And they traveled from Beit-El, and there was a little way left to go before reaching Efrat, and Rachel gave birth, but had difficulty in the birth. When her labor was at its hardest, the midwife said to her, “Have no fear, for it is another boy for you.”

But as she breathed her last—for she was dying—she named him Ben-Oni; but his father called him Benjamin.

Rachel died. She was buried on the road to Ephrath—now Bethlehem.

Why, when Rachel was in such a condition, did Jacob argue with her over the name to be given to the newborn child? Was this the right time and place to argue over such a matter? Wouldn't Jacob at such a time wish to convey words of comfort?

What is more, we have never observed such an argument with any one of the other children. Each of Jacob’s twelve sons and his daughter were named by their mothers and Jacob never gave another name. Here, as Rachel is dying, Jacob intervenes and changes the baby’s fresh name?

Rashi’s Perspective

There are many interpretations suggested by the commentators over the generations. Rashi says that the name “Ben Oni,” the son of my sorrow, given by Rachel, refers to the grief and pain endured by her during this baby’s birth, while the name “Bin Yamin” given by Jacob means “son of the south,” and refers to the fact that Binyamin was the only child (“Ben”) born in the land of Israel, which is in the south (“yamin”) relative to the direction from which Jacob was traveling (Aram Naharaim, Harran, which is to the north of Iraq and Canaan). Jacob was attempting to highlight the uniqueness of this child—as the only one born in the Holy Land.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn4" name="_ednref4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>

Rashi adds another possible interpretation, that Ben Yamin means a child born after many days and years, signifying he was born as Jacob grew old.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn5" name="_ednref5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>&nbsp;

But why the argument?

I will present three interpretations.

The Silence

Let us recall the episode of Jacob’s hasty departure from Laban. Prior to fleeing with Jacob, Rachel had stolen her father’s “terafim” (idols).<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn6" name="_ednref6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a> Upon learning of their disappearance, Laban chased Jacob and accused him of stealing his gods. Jacob reacts angrily, and responds:

But anyone with whom you find your gods shall not remain alive! In the presence of our kinsmen, point out what I have of yours and take it.” Jacob, of course, did not know that Rachel had stolen them.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn7" name="_ednref7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref7')">[7]</a>

Rashi quotes the Midrash that this curse caused Rachel to die in childbirth.&nbsp;This is why the Torah emphasizes that “Jacob was unaware that Rachel had stolen the idols,” suggesting that he would not have uttered such a curse had he known that Rachel stole them.

Now, sometime later, Rachel is about to breathe her last. She and Jacob loved each other deeply, and it is time to bid farewell. Not a word is spoken between them.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn8" name="_ednref8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref8')">[8]</a>

This is strange. The death of Rachel is contained in five verses, containing fifty-eight words. The narrative is conveyed almost without any direct speech (other than the reassurance of the midwife, in verse 17). A great silence envelops this episode. The text refrains from describing Jacob's emotional response to the death of his beloved wife either indirectly (through a description of his actions) or directly (by quoting his words or prayers directly).

They do say one thing: they argue about a name. What was this about?

Husband and Wife Think of Each Other

Imagine what Jacob was feeling when he realized that he cursed his wife to die not knowing that she was the one who stole the gods of her father? How would any husband feel? Never mind Jacob who loved Rachel with every fiber of his being, and watched his last son being born as his mother was perishing?

How did Jacob feel about himself at that moment? How did Rachel feel?

Husband and wife must have endured a tremendous rush of emotions as they looked into each other's&nbsp;eyes knowing that Jacob’s curse was coming true. Imagine the tremendous guilt that Jacob must have felt, knowing that he condemned the most beloved of his wives to premature death due to a single curse. How tragic!

Rachel peered into his eyes, and knowing what her husband is going through, names the baby Ben Oni, which can be translated as “the son of my deception.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn9" name="_ednref9" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref9')">[9]</a> Rachel was saying: It was my fault. I was the one who acted inappropriately. I deceived my father—not you.

To which Jacob responded: Bin Yamin, which can be translated “the son of an oath.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn10" name="_ednref10" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref10')">[10]</a> (Yamin means an oath since traditionally we lift the right hand (yad yamin)&nbsp;during an oath). Jacob was saying: The critical condition caused by the birth of this son is the result of my oath to Laban that the one who stole his idols shall not live. It was my oath that led to this tragedy.

As they said goodbye to each other, Rachel was ensuring that Jacob does not live for the remainder of his life with guilt; Jacob was ensuring that Rachel does not blame herself for her death. It was his fault, not hers.

There is no outburst of emotion displayed in this story. Because even deeper than Jacob emoting as a result of his own pain, the Torah described his last words to his wife, trying to make her feel at ease. And the last words of Rachel, trying to make Jacob feel better.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn11" name="_ednref11" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref11')">[11]</a>

At those moments, each of them was thinking of the other.

The Fate of a Child

But there was perhaps more. The argument about the names represented a final exchange between Jacob and Rachel, not about themselves, but about this newborn child.

Rachel knew that her life in this world was ending, and she worried about what would happen to her child growing up without a mother. As Jacob was sitting at her bedside, she expressed her feelings: "I am very concerned about my child. Since he is growing up without a mother to take care of him. I pray that when I am gone from this world and in my heavenly abode, his behavior should not cause me grief." (Ben-Oni means the child of my grief).

Jacob, wanting to comfort his dying wife, told her not to worry. He promised her that he would take extra care of him and assured her that he would be a "Ben Yamin," "a right son," one who would conduct himself in a righteous and holy way, and be a source of delight and nachas to his mother in the world to come.

From Pain to Strength

Yet a third powerful insight comes from 12th-century Nachamanides, the Ramban. “Oni” he says has a dual meaning: “My grief,” and “my vigor.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn12" name="_ednref12" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref12')">[12]</a> Rachel called the infant, “the son of my grief;” Jacob chose to give the very same name a different interpretation.

In the words of the Ramban: "It seems to me that his mother called him 'Ben-Oni,' meaning to say, 'Son of my mourning'… but his father converted the 'Oni' to mean 'my strength,' as in the verse, 'My power and the beginning of my strength (oni).'<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn13" name="_ednref13" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref13')">[13]</a>... Therefore he calls him Binyamin, or 'Son of strength,' for the right side (yamin) is the seat of might... He wanted to call him by the name given to him by his mother, for so it was with all his sons: they were called by the names given to them by their mothers. So he converted it into goodness and strength."

Ramban has Jacob accepting the name selected by Rachel (“oni”), but changing it to something else that captures the positive connotation of “oni.”

Jacob was communicating to himself, to his wife, to his newborn baby, and to his children ever since one of the most important messages of Judaism. The same word&nbsp;in Hebrew used for grief and pain is the word used for strength and vigor. How? All sorrow and pain must bring forth a new birth of awareness, insight, and love.

Jacob ensured that his son will not see himself as a product of sorrow. Yes, he would grieve for the pain and the void, but he would never become a victim of it. Instead, he would transform his pain into a springboard for a new source of strength and empowerment.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn14" name="_ednref14" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref14')">[14]</a>

__________________

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" name="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Genesis 29:30.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" name="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> Ibid. 30:24.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref3" name="_edn3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Genesis chapter 35

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref4" name="_edn4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> See Ramban who differs at this point.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref5" name="_edn5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> Chizkunu says that Jacob was indicating that he was the child who would help him during his older years, since he would be home with him.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref6" name="_edn6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')">[6]</a> Genesis 31:19

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref7" name="_edn7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn7')">[7]</a> Genesis 31:32

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref8" name="_edn8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn8')">[8]</a> When Abraham lost his wife Sarah, in her old age, there is a detailed description at the beginning of Chayei Sarah of Abraham’s mourning and eulogy, and his involvement in burying his wife. Unlike Sarah's death, regarding Rachel there is no mention of her husband coming to eulogize her and mourn for her, nor are we told that he buried her. In verse 19 we read only that "she was buried" (only at the end of the description does the text reveal that Jacob placed a monument over her grave.)

Of the three forefathers, Jacob is the one who gives the greatest verbal expression to his emotions of grief. See, for example, the description of Jacob's reaction to what he believes is the sudden death of his beloved son Yosef (37:33-35). The description contains two extremely emotional utterances, expressing his profound mourning, as well as three different descriptions of prolonged acts of mourning that he performed. Against this background, Jacob's silence in our story, and the silence of the narrative itself, are all the starker. We hear neither a broken-hearted cry nor any description of an act of mourning.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref9" name="_edn9" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn9')">[9]</a> See Psalms 94:23. Isiah 10:1, and numerous times in the Tanach.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref10" name="_edn10" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn10')">[10]</a> See Psalms 144:8, and numerous times in the Tanach.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref11" name="_edn11" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn11')">[11]</a> I saw this interpretation here: <a href="http://www.daat.ac.il/daat/kitveyet/betmikra/veaviv.htm">http://www.daat.ac.il/daat/kitveyet/betmikra/veaviv.htm</a>

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref12" name="_edn12" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn12')">[12]</a> He cites Hoshea 9:4 and Devarim 26:14 where the term “oni” means mourning, as the term “onen” describing someone on the day of his loved one’s death. It also denotes vigor, see Genesis 49:3 and Isiah 40:29.”

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref13" name="_edn13" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn13')">[13]</a> Genesis 49:3

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref14" name="_edn14" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn14')">[14]</a> This may be the deeper meaning in Rashi as to why Jacob wished to highlight the fact that Benjamin was born in the Holy Land.

Why, when Rachel was in such a critical condition, did Jacob argue with her over the name to be given to their newborn child? Was this the right time and place to argue over such a seemingly trivial matter? Wouldn&#39;t Jacob want to say words of comfort?

This never occurred with any one of the other children. Each one of his twelve sons was named by his (or her) mother. Here, as Rachel is dying, Jacob intervenes and alters the baby&rsquo;s fresh name?

There are many interpretations. I will present three. One teaches us about love and dedication; the other teaches us about education. The third teaches us about confronting pain.

Why Argue About a Name Moments Before Her Death?

Essay Vayishlach

The Last Conversation between Rachel and Jacob

The Litman-Beigel Wedding

As these words are being written, I am watching a live webcast of the wedding of Techiya Litman with Ariel Beigel taking place tonight in Jerusalem. Like many in the audience, I shed a tear when the crowd under the chupah sung the melody “If I forget you Jerusalem…”

Their wedding was postponed after Arab terrorists murdered the bride’s father and brother less than two weeks ago. The bride’s father, Rabbi Yaakov Litman, and 18-year-old brother Netanel were shot dead in a November 13 terrorist attack while driving to a celebration in southern Israel to mark the imminent marriage. (Other family members in the car — the mother, a 16-year-old boy and three young girls aged 11, 9 and 5 — were lightly wounded, suffering mostly from bruises and shrapnel injuries.)

Sarah Techiya and Ariel were due to be married on November 16, just four days after the attack, but the celebration was postponed as the Litman family sat shiva (Jewish mourning period) for Ya’akov and Netanel. Now, the bride invited the “entire world” to her wedding. The public wedding invitation, which the couple posted on social media, begins with the biblical quote: “Do not rejoice over me, my enemy, for I have fallen but I have gotten up” (Micah 7:8).

And as I watched the wedding, I could not help but remember a story about another wedding, that took place some two millennia ago, in the same land.

The Sun Shone for Jacob

As many of you are enjoying your Thanksgiving dinner, I want to share with you an episode recorded in the Talmud which took place in a poultry and meat market, in preparation for a wedding.

In this week’s portion (Vayishlach) the Torah relates how after Jacob fought with that mysterious man in middle of the night, "The sun rose and was shining upon him as he passed Penuel [the location of the quarrel], and he was limping on his thigh.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>

וישלח לב, לב: וַיִּזְרַח-לוֹ הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ, כַּאֲשֶׁר עָבַר אֶת-פְּנוּאֵל; וְהוּא צֹלֵעַ, עַל-יְרֵכוֹ.

The Talmud<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>&nbsp;relates a story involving Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Yehoshua, and Rabbi Akiva, three of the greatest sages living in the second century CE, a few decades after the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in the year 70 CE.

חולין צא, ב: אמר ר' עקיבא שאלתי את רבן גמליאל ואת רבי יהושע באיטליז של אימאום שהלכו ליקח בהמה למשתה בנו של רבן גמליאל כתיב ויזרח לו השמש וכי שמש לו לבד זרחה והלא לכל העולם זרחה אמר ר' יצחק שמש הבאה בעבורו זרחה בעבורו...

These three sages, the Talmud relates, went to a meat market in a place called Emeum, to buy meat for the wedding feast of Rabban Gamliel's son. While in the meat market, Rabbi Akiva asked Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehosuah, about the meaning of the above verse in Genesis “The sun rose and was shining upon him”: "Did the sun just shine for Jacob? It shone for everyone!"

To which Rabbi Yitzchak responded: "The sun that set for him, rose for him." Twenty-two years earlier, when Jacob began his journey from the Holy Land to the city of Charan in Mesopotamia, the Torah states, “He encountered the place, and slept there, because the sun has set.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>&nbsp;That sun which set for him, now rose for him.

Four Questions

Four questions come to mind:

<ol>
	<li>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; What is the meaning of the Talmud's answer, that the sun which set for him, now rose for him? &nbsp;</li>
	<li>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; Why was it necessary for the Talmud to tell us the details regarding when and where this discussion took place—in a meat market?</li>
	<li>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; There are many conversations people can have in meat markets. Why did Rabbi Akiva decide to discuss there the sun shining for Jacob after his fight in the midst of night?&nbsp; &nbsp;</li>
	<li>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; What were the three greatest sages of the generation doing in a meat market purchasing a cow? These were the greatest scholars of leaders of the generation. Could they not ask one of their pupils or assistants to go and buy the meat for the wedding?</li>
</ol>

Dire Times

The three sages mentioned in the story, Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Yeshusah and Rabbi Akiva, lived during one of the most difficult periods of Jewish history, when Roman oppression reached its peak, with a clear ambition to destroy all of Jewish life in Palestine, the new name the Romans gave Judea. Millions were massacred, and hundreds of thousands sold into slavery. The Bar Kochva revolt would be crushed with the greatest barbarity, resulting in the apparent end of Jewish life, faith and culture. Rabbi Akiva himself, as well as Rabban Gamliel’s son Shimon, were tortured and executed by the Romans. Jews were downtrodden, desperate, and many of them, hopeless.

The situation was so terrible that the sages considered the idea of prohibiting marriage and procreation, so as not to bring children to a world which would destroy them. Why did they not issue forth the decree? Asks the Talmud. There are two versions for the Talmudic answer: 1. The Jews would not obey such a decree. 2. We ought not to meddle in the workings of history. We must do what G-d told us to do—bring children to the world, and G-d will have to take care of the rest.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>

The spirit of the times bordered on despair.

Laughter

Enters Rabbi Akiva into the scene of Jewish history.

There is another Talmudic story involving these very above mentioned sages—and Rabbi Akiva:

“Again it happened that Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria, Rabbi Joshua and Rabbi Akiva went up to Jerusalem. When they reached Mt. Scopus, they tore their garments. When they reached the Temple Mount, they saw a fox emerging from the place of the Holy of Holies. The others started weeping; Rabbi Akiva laughed.

Said they to him: "Why are you laughing?"

Said he to them: "Why are you weeping?"

Said they to him: "A place [so holy] that it is said of it, 'the stranger that approaches it shall die,' and now foxes traverse it, and we shouldn't weep?"

Said he to them: "That is why I laugh. For it is written, 'I shall have bear witness for Me faithful witnesses—Uriah the Priest and Zechariah the son of Jeberechiah.' Now what is the connection between Uriah and Zechariah? Uriah was [in the time of] the First Temple, and Zechariah was [in the time of] the Second Temple! But the Torah makes Zachariah's prophecy dependent upon Uriah's prophecy. With Uriah, it is written: 'Therefore, because of you, Zion shall be plowed as a field; [Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the Temple Mount like the high places of a forest.]' With Zachariah it is written, 'Old men and women shall yet sit in the streets of Jerusalem.'

"As long as Uriah's prophecy had not been fulfilled, I feared that Zechariah's prophecy may not be fulfilled either. But now that Uriah's prophecy has been fulfilled, it is certain that Zechariah's prophecy will be fulfilled."

With these words they replied to him: "Akiva, you have consoled us! Akiva, you have consoled us!"<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>

As the foxes came crawling out of the Holy of Holies, as Zion was plowed as a field, as grief and melancholy saturated the Jewish world, Rabbi Akiva—with his lenses of Jewish eternity conferred upon a few great giants in each generation—saw 'Old men and women who shall yet sit in the streets of Jerusalem.' Rabbi Akiva, in his vision for the future, could see Jewish boys and girls dancing in the thoroughfares of Jerusalem, he could see millions returning to their home land, he could see the coming of Moshiach, and the rebuilding of the Temple, the Divine presence returning to the world. Not because he was naive, but because he understood that G-d may be concealed but He is not dead; that evil may be powerful but it is not eternal; that the tyranny of Rome may be all-pervasive, but not everlasting. &nbsp;&nbsp;

Rabbi Akiva understood that even the darkest sunset was a prelude to sunrise.

Time to Dance

Now Rabbi Akiva went with his colleagues to buy meat for the wedding of Rabban Gamliel's son. Rabban Gamliel, perhaps, was thinking, "What am I doing—I am marrying off my son so that I should see grandchildren who will be murdered by the Romans?" We will dance at a wedding, celebrating life and love, when we know that on that very day the Romans murdered another Jewish community? How can we buy meat—representing the joy and passion of a wedding feast—when the Jewish world is weeping?

This would be the same question Holocaust survivors would ask themselves after the demise of their closest kin: How can we bring children into a world which stood silent as one and half million children were gassed?

There was something even more dramatic at stake. Rabban Gamliel was the “Nasie,” the leader of the Sanhedrin,<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a>&nbsp;the spiritual leader of the Jewish people. He was also the scion of King David, and it was his family which held the office of royalty within the Jewish nation. In fact, the sage Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai, convinced Vespasian, the Roman commander in charge on the destruction of Jerusalem (who later became the Emperor of Rome), to spare the “dynasty of Rabban Gamliel,” not to murder the royal family of Israel.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref7')">[7]</a>&nbsp;Why? Because Moshiach, as we know, is a descendant of King David and the sages did not want the seed of Moshiach to be destroyed.

Now Rabban Gamliel was marrying off his son. This was the child who carries &nbsp;within himself the promise of the future redemption; the child who would continue the chain of King David till Moshiach. The Rabbis got involved in preparing the meat for this great event, for it was not just another wedding; it was the wedding that would symbolize the eternity of Israel.

But Rabban Gamliel was broken. The sun has set on Jewish life.

Enters Rabbi Akiva yet once again, the man same who laughed when he saw a fox emerging from the Holy of Holies.

Rabbi Akiva, perhaps, saw that Rabban Gamliel was in a state of despair. He was not rejoicing over his son's wedding. Rabbi Akiva wanted to breathe life and spirit into his friends, and by extension, into the people. So he invoked the verse in this week’s portion, describing Jacob’s quarrel with a frightening adversary, causing him to limp. “And the sun rose and was shining upon him.” “Did the sun shine only for him and not for the rest of the world?” Rabbi Akiva asked. And the answer he gave (in the name of Reb Yitzchak) was this: “The sun which set for Jacob, now shone for Jacob.”

Here was Rabbi Akiva’s message: Look at what happened to Jacob 22 years earlier. The portion of Vayeitzei opens up with the lonely words: “And Jacob left Beer Sheba and he went to Haran. And he encountered the place and lodged there because the sun had set, and he took some of the stones of the place and placed [them] at his head, and he lay down in that place. And he had a dream…”

For the first time in his life—not the last—Jacob was alone. His parents have sent him away from home; his brother craved to kill him. He was still single, on a journey to the unknown, to his uncle Laban, where he would encounter some extraordinary new challenges. He did not have anything to call his own. He could not even afford to sleep in a motel. He used rocks as a pillow, as he rested in the open terrain. When he arises from his sleep, he asks of G-d to give him “bread to eat and a cloak to wear.” All he asks for is bread and clothes.

“The sun set…” says, the Torah, “and he lay down.” This is more than a physical description. It represents a mental state. Jacob encountered the darkness of night, the uncertainty of life, the fragility of his future. The sun has set for him, and he was unsure when dawn will break.

And yet, as he lay there on the bare terrain with a rock as his pillow, he dreamt of a ladder that may be etched on the ground but its top would reach heaven! Jacob did not give up. He went on to persevere and thrive. He married, got cheated, but went on to build a family that would become the foundation of the Jewish nation. Finally, after two decades, he thought he would return to his Homeland and suddenly an adversary rises in middle of the night and maims him. When he thought night was over, he realized, that “it’s not over till it’s over,” and the fight for survival still continues.

But Jacob fought. He was hurt, he was maimed, he was limping, but he did not stop the fight. Because he knew that dawn would break, that the sun which set would rise again.

And what happened? Says the Torah: “And the sun rose and shone for him.” The very same sun which once sent on him—now rose to shine on him. After a long exile, “Vayavo Yaakov Shalam,” Jacob arrived wholesome.

At the meat market, preparing for a wedding, Rabbi Akiva was telling his colleagues this: Our sun has set. But our sun will also rise. We will persevere—as long as we will not stop dreaming of the ladder that links earth to heaven. As long as we will not give up the fight, as long as we will not hesitate to stand up to our enemies with unwavering resolve and confidence and full strength, as long as we will remain connected to eternity, to our G-d and to our faith. We must dance and celebrate at the wedding of Rabban Gamliel’s son, because life, love, and hope will prevail. The sun that has set on us, will rise for us once again.

Rabbi Akiva, we know now, was on target. 1900 years after that conversation in the meat market, we are still here. And Moshiach will come!<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref8')">[8]</a>

Techiya Litman married tonight Ariel Beigel,<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn9" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref9')">[9]</a>&nbsp;as the blood of her father and brother had not dried. Two weeks ago, the sun has set in their lives; tonight it rose again. Mazal Tov, Techiya and Ariel.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Genesis 32:32

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> Chulin 91b

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Genesis 28:11

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> Bava Basra 60b and Meiri ibid

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> Talmud End of Tractate Makos

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')">[6]</a> Talmud Berachos 27b

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn7')">[7]</a> Talmud Gitim 57b

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn8')">[8]</a> Some ideas in this essay are based on a commentary by Sefer Meneachem Tzeyon. Cf. Emunas Etecha Parshas Vayeitzei. For the explanation of story at the end of Makos, see Sichas Yud Shevat 5725 (1965).&nbsp;For the connection of Rabban Gamliel to Moshiach, see Sichas Shabbos Shmos 5752 (1992.)

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref9" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn9')">[9]</a> Tonight, 14 Kislev 5776, is also the wedding anniversary of the Lubavitcher Rebbe who married Rebbezin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, the daughter of the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, in 1927.

The Talmud relates a story: Three sages, Rabbi Gamliel, Rabbi Yehusha, and Rabbi Akiva, went to a meat market to buy meat for the wedding feast of Rabban Gamliel&#39;s son. While in the meat market, Rabbi Akiva asked Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehosuah, about the meaning of the verse in Vayishlach that the sun rose for Jacob: &quot;Did the sun just shine for Jacob? It shone for everyone!&quot;

There are many conversations people can have in meat markets. Why did Rabbi Akiva decide to discuss the sun shining for Jacob after his fight in the midst of night? And what were the three greatest sages of the generation doing in a meat market purchasing a cow? These were the greatest scholars of leaders of the generation. Could they not ask one of their pupils or assistants to go and buy the meat for the wedding?

Perhaps it is in this story that we encounter one of the most empowering truths about our people and our history.

Hours before a Wedding, a Conversation on Despair and Hope

Essay Parshas Vayishlach

An Orphan’s Wedding in Jerusalem

Disaster

One afternoon a man came home from work to find total mayhem in his house. His three children were outside, still in their pajamas, playing in the mud with empty food boxes and wrappers strewn all around the front yard. The door of his wife's car was open, as was the front door to the house.

Proceeding into the entry, he found an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, and the throw rug was wadded against one wall. In the front room the TV was loudly blaring a cartoon channel, and the family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing.&nbsp; In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on the counter, nosh was all over the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of sand was spread by the back door. He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of clothes, looking for his wife.

He was worried she may be ill, or that something serious had happened. He found her lounging in the bedroom, reading a novel. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how his day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked, "What happened here today?"

She again smiled and answered, "You know everyday when you come home from work and ask me what in the world did I do today?"&nbsp; "Yes," was his incredulous reply.&nbsp; She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it."

Whole

"Jacob arrived whole to the city of Shechem<a id="_edn1" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>," the Torah states in this week's portion, Vayishlach.

What a gift it is—to be whole, complete. To be wholesome, unified, integrated, holistic. How many of us can claim to be whole?

How did this happen? What was the secret behind Jacob's "wholeness" at this moment? He had been married for years, he had many children, and was a successful man. He had garnered much wealth and had dealt successfully with many an adversary.

What transpired at this moment which conferred upon Jacob this condition of "wholeness"<a id="_edn2" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>?

In fact, nowhere does the Bible describe a human being in such a way—that he or she was "shalem," whole<a id="_edn3" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>. It is an extraordinary description for a human being, who from the genesis of time, is characterized by duality, fragmentation and conflict.

Apparently, something extraordinary occurred in the life in Jacob, which made him whole, precisely at this juncture of his life.

The Preceding Scene

There is no escaping the juxtaposition between this statement—“Jacob arrived whole”—and the preceding scene in the Torah. In the previous scene, Esau finally made peace with his brother Jacob. After decades of estrangement, hostility and ire, and the fear of outright war between the brothers, they had at last reconciled, even if they would not live together.

It is a profound development. Twenty-two years earlier Esau vowed to kill Jacob, “The days of mourning for my father are near; then I will kill my brother<a id="_edn4" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>.” Now, as they are about to meet again, we stand posed anticipating a harsh encounter. Upon hearing that Esau is approaching him with a force of four hundred men, Jacob is “very afraid and distressed<a id="_edn5" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>.” He devises an elaborate defense, including a strategy for war.

When Esau finally appears, something very different transpires. The Bible’s description of the meeting is unforgettable<a id="_edn6" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a>:

“Esau ran toward him, embraced him, fell upon his neck, and kissed him. And they wept.” There is no anger, animosity or threat of revenge.&nbsp;Peace has at last descended upon the Abrahamic family.<a id="_edn7" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref7')">[7]</a>&nbsp;The next scene in the Torah reads: "Jacob arrived whole…"

The message to us seems clear; You may be a wonderful, accomplished and successful individual, but as long as you are not on speaking terms with your own sibling, you will not be whole. As long as a family is torn by mistrust and conflict, none of its members can be whole. You may be right or wrong in your arguments, but as long as the conflict lingers, you will remain broken. We cannot make ourselves whole, nor can we mend the world, if we lack the courage and vulnerability to create peace within our own families.&nbsp;The family is the nucleus of civilization.

Sometimes we have no choice but to create music out of torn chords. If we have tried whatever we can to reconcile and it did not work, we must create wholeness within a fragmented state. We cannot change other people and each of us must learn to develop his or her own relationship with G-d. Yet, we must try and do whatever we can to create familial harmony. When we can’t achieve this, we must know that there will be moments in which we will have to grieve over a terrible loss.

George Burns once quipped that happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city. It is often easier to get along with the "whole world" than with your own family. But it is only through family harmony that we can achieve genuine wholeness in our lives.

<a id="_ednref1" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Genesis 33:18.

<a id="_ednref2" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> See Rashi and other commentators for their perspectives on this novel biblical expression about Jacob's condition.

<a id="_ednref3" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Chronicles 2, 15:17 does use this term, but in a different context.

<a id="_ednref4" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> Genesis 27:41.

<a id="_ednref5" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> Ibid. 32:8.

<a id="_ednref6" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')">[6]</a> Ibid. 33:4.

<a id="_ednref7" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn7')">[7]</a> See Toras Chaim Vayishlach p. 43 how profound is the unity between Jacob and Esau in their source and how this kinship was expressed during their encounter.

Is There Peace in Your Family? - Success is no Substitute for Familial Harmony

Success is no Substitute for Familial Harmony

Is There Peace in Your Family?

Two Perspectives&nbsp;

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson go camping together, they put up a tent and go inside to enjoy a tranquil rest near the fire. In middle of the night, Sherlock turns to Dr. Watson and says, "So what are you thinking about now"?&nbsp;

Watson responds: "Sherlock! This is awesome. I'm gazing at the celestial stars hovering above us, I'm overwhelmed by the romantic splendor of the night, and I'm engulfed by the picturesque view of the Double Decker.&nbsp;

"And what are you thinking about"?&nbsp;asks&nbsp;Watson.&nbsp;

"That someone stole our tent," Sherlock replies.&nbsp;

Tribute, Prayer, and War&nbsp;

Following thirty-four years of separation from his parents, Jacob sets out with his family to return from Mesopotamia to his home in the Land of Israel. On his way, he learns that his brother Esau is advancing toward him with an imposing army of 400 troops.&nbsp;&nbsp;

the Torah relates in the opening of the portion of&nbsp;Vayishlach how Jacob prepares&nbsp;for his onfrontation with Esau through a three-pronged strategy of "tribute, prayer, and war<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>." Jacob first sent lavish gifts to Esau to assuage&nbsp;his wrath. These gifts included goats, ewes, camels, cows, bulls, and donkeys. Next, Jacob engaged in a heartfelt prayer, surrendering himself and his fate to G-d's compassion. Finally, Jacob readied himself and his family for war with Esau.

The Daily Battle&nbsp;

The stories in the Torah are not just events that occurred at a certain point in history, involving particular characters. They are also reflections of spiritual and emotional episodes that occur continuously in every human heart.&nbsp;

Man is a duality: He is a mountain of dust and a vision of G-d. The twin brothers Jacob and Esau embody, respectively, these polar forces within the human&nbsp;person<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>. Esau embodies our self-centered, egotistical, and animalistic identity, while Jacob personifies our transcendent, spiritual and idealistic soul.&nbsp;

The enmity and rivalry between the siblings reflect the tension and struggle between the two forces in&nbsp;our&nbsp;lives: the struggle between our ego and our humbleness, between our selfish cravings and our noble aspirations, and between our impulsive lusts and our altruistic yearnings.&nbsp;

None of us is exempt from this daily confrontation with "Esau." We constantly are overwhelmed with materialistic burdens, selfish moods, and immoral appetites. The incessant demands of our selfish and beastly consciousness present a threat to kill the "Jacob" within us.&nbsp;&nbsp;

How does one deal with these potent forces, which, seemingly, are much more powerful than the holy forces within us? We must employ Jacob's three-step program of tribute, prayer, and war.&nbsp;

Honoring Your Animal&nbsp;

First of all, we must grant Esau some of our assets. We have to acknowledge the animal consciousness living within us and honor its presence by granting it its needs. We must eat, sleep, exercise, earn a living and engage in an ongoing relationship with the physical world around us. The animal soul deserves to receive a lavish daily tribute from us, which includes our time, energy, and resources.&nbsp;

Yet, how do we ensure that we don't overdo it? How do we guarantee that our daily tributes to the animal identity within us will not place it at the center of our lives, supplanting the spiritual soul as the true core of our identity?&nbsp;&nbsp;

For this, Jacob must engage in prayer. "Rescue me," Jacob prays as Esau approaches, "from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau. I am afraid of him, for he may come and smite me<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>." Why the redundancy "from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau"?&nbsp;

There would be no need to fear Esau's influence if we were detached from the Esau reality; if we were to live as spiritual ascetics. Yet Judaism demands that Esau become our "brother;" that we engage our bodily and animal needs, and that we deal with the physical world around us. Under these conditions, the only way we can ensure that Esau does not dominate and control our lives is through prayer.&nbsp;

The Gift of Prayer&nbsp;

What is prayer? Just as there is a time to engage the animal soul and pay tribute to its needs and desires, there is a time each day when we let go of our physical identity and enter into the transcendental oasis of our soul. It is the time when we put the ego to sleep and we discover our inner love and spirituality.&nbsp;

All day, we think about our tents; during prayer, we focus on the stars, on the splendor and meaning of life.&nbsp;

Have you ever experienced the power of prayer? Sadly, most synagogues are more like cemeteries or chicken markets rather than spiritual islands where one may return home to his soul. That's a pity, because lacking the daily experience of genuine prayer we inevitably become vulnerable to the onslaught from the Esau within<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>.&nbsp;

For example, when you don't pray, meditate and connect to your soul in the morning, you often lack the courage and vision to control the food addiction of the Esau-impulse and you engage in an unhealthy breakfast. When you go to the office, you may lack the fortitude to conduct your business affairs honestly. Prayer ensures that the tribute we present to our animal soul does not exhaust us completely till we have nothing left to call our own.&nbsp;

Under the Knife&nbsp;

Yet, all of the above does not suffice. Jacob must also prepare himself for war. Some of the urges and passions of our animal soul cannot be dealt with through prayer alone. We must declare war against them.&nbsp;&nbsp;

At times during the day or the night, we are overtaken by a powerful, animalistic Esau-like urge that is burning in our hearts like a baker's furnace. At such a moment there is only one thing to do: You must take your fist, punch the impulse in its face and get on with your life. War is a nasty thing, but at times it is our only hope to survive the onslaught of a demon that is determined to kill us<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>.&nbsp;

A story:&nbsp;

One of the great Chassidic masters,&nbsp;Reb&nbsp;Simcah&nbsp;Bunam&nbsp;of&nbsp;Pshescah, once remarked that the true definition of a spiritual man is he who always imagines his head lying in a guillotine, his&nbsp;Yatzer&nbsp;Harah&nbsp;(unhealthy inclination) hovering above it, ready to chop off his head at a moment's call.&nbsp;

"But&nbsp;Rebbe," asked one of the Chassidim, "what if one does not have that feeling?"&nbsp;&nbsp;

"In that case," the&nbsp;Rebbe&nbsp;responded, "his head has been chopped off already<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a>."&nbsp;

 
<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Rashi, Genesis 32:9, quoting Midrash Tanchumah.&nbsp;<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> This is discussed in many of the mystical writings.&nbsp;<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Genesis 32:12.&nbsp;<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> See Tanya chapters 12 and 28.&nbsp;<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> See Rashi to Talmud&nbsp;Berochos&nbsp;5a.&nbsp;Tanya chapters 12, 27, 29.&nbsp;<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')">[6]</a> This essay is based on the writings of Rabbi&nbsp;Schneur&nbsp;Zalman&nbsp;of&nbsp;Liadi, briefly transcribed in "LeTorah&nbsp;U'lmoadim" (by Rabbi Shlomo Yosef&nbsp;Zevin) p. 46.&nbsp;

Jacob's Three-Step Program toward Serenity - Tribute, Prayer and War

Tribute, Prayer and War

Jacob's Three-Step Program toward Serenity

<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">This past Sunday morning, I bid farewell to a lifelong friend, who died on Shabbat at the age of 34, after a three-year battle with lung and stomach cancer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Deitsch was Chabad&rsquo;s ambassador to Tyson&rsquo;s Corner, Virginia, where he and his wife Miriam built a remarkable Jewish center and led a vibrant community. Levi is survived by his wife, four children, his mother, siblings, and many grieving family members and friends.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">I had known Levi for many years. Among other things, we shared a passion for unhealthy, delicious kosher food. Levi loved people; he knew how to celebrate life to the fullest, and had a heart of gold. His passion was to help people, never allowing awkwardness or fear to stifle his insatiable zest for giving. His laugh was contagious, his wittiness charming, and his people&rsquo;s skills impressive. I have always appreciated these qualities in him, but&mdash;as I came to realize&mdash;I never recognized who he truly was.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">Then, three years ago, he was struck with a terrible illness. I traveled numerous times to Virginia to visit Levi. There I encountered a new dimension to him&mdash;an unwavering courage and faith. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">I took a trip to his hospital bed just a few days before his passing. He was physically drained, receiving oxygen, his body tormented from years of a ravaging illness. But he still had that glitter in his eye, that spark of life. He said these words to me: &ldquo;I will overcome!&rdquo; Never have I come closer to understanding that scene in Genesis 32, read in this week&rsquo;s portion, Vayishlach, in which Jacob wrestles with an unknown and unnamed adversary from night until the break of day. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">&ldquo;Bless Me&rdquo;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%">22 years earlier Jacob had left home, fearing that his brother Esau, whose blessing he had taken, would kill him. Now he is returning, when he hears that Esau in on his way to meet him with a force of 400 men. Jacob, says the Bible, was &ldquo;very afraid and distressed.&rdquo; It is then that the famous scene occurs: &ldquo;Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.&rdquo;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">The mysterious man tries to kill Jacob. Then, &ldquo;when he sees that he cannot defeat him,&rdquo; he maims Jacob, causing him to limp. And yet at the end of a long, struggling night, Jacob says to the stranger: &ldquo;I will not let you go until you bless me.&rdquo; His adversary blesses him.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">This is a strange episode. The mysterious man was attempting to kill Jacob. Unable to achieve that, he goes for &ldquo;second best:&rdquo; he wounds him. Why would Jacob ask him for a blessing, saying &ldquo;Bless me?&rdquo; Is this how you bid farewell to a gangster who attempted to destroy you? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">But Jacob was teaching us the secret of Jewish identity and resilience. To be a Jew is to posses that unique ability to say to every crisis: &ldquo;I will not let you go until you bless me.&rdquo; I know that deep down your objective is to elevate me, to bring me to a higher place, to climb the mountain leading to the truth. If G-d is truly everywhere, it means that somehow G-d is within every challenge and crisis too; somehow you will propel me to emerge stronger, wiser, more blessed.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; background: white">The Miracle</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">When that horrific illness came in the midst of night to wrestle Levi and kill him, he fought with tenaciousness and determination. He was determined to reach the break of dawn. The illness maimed him severely, yet he declared, time and time again, &ldquo;I will not let you go till you bless me.&rdquo; I will not only emerge triumphant, but I will grow from you. My life will prosper like never before. And wonder of wonders, days before his death, as the doctors shared their predictions, he still refused to blink. &ldquo;Nature and miracles are both a manifestation of Divine energy,&rdquo; he told me during those last days. &ldquo;The same Creator who gave me the illness can take it if He so desires.&rdquo; </div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">Doctors kept on saying he had a few days left. Each time, he surprised them. Yet at the end, G-d decided to take him. The miracle did not happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">And then I realized: Levi himself&mdash;he was the miracle. He did not let go, and in the process, all of us were blessed. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">Farewell my dear friend. With your life, we have all been enriched and blessed; with your passing, we are impoverished. I will miss you Levi.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">&nbsp;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">(To make a donation to the special family fund, please <a href="http://www.chabadtysons.com/templates/articlecco_cdo/aid/314852/jewish/Donate-to-Chabad.htm">click here</a>).</div>

Farewell to a Fighter - Jacob’s Secret Behind Jewish Resilience

Jacob’s Secret Behind Jewish Resilience

Farewell to a Fighter

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This women&#39;s class was presented on Tuesday Parshas Vayishlach, 12 Kislev, 5780, December 10, 2019 at the Ohr Chaim Shul, Monsey, NY

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Can I Look You in the Eyes? Can I Look Myself in the Eyes? Can I Look G-d in the Eyes?

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