November 28th: Vayetze
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
While the larger story arc involves Jacob leaving home, dreaming about the stairway to heaven, falling in love, getting married, and raising a large family, one minor detail strikes me every time I read this Torah portion:
“Jacob left Beer-sheba, and set out for Haran. He came upon a certain place and stopped there for the night. Taking one of the stones of that place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. He had a dream: a stairway was set on the ground and its top reached to the sky, and angels of God were going up and down on it. And the Lord was standing beside him…” (Genesis 28.10-13)
Why use a rock as a pillow?!
One explanation is that the rock upon which he dreams provides him with a permanent reminder of the vision. “Early in the morning, Jacob took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. He named that place Beth El/House of God.” (Genesis 28.18-19) Not only is the stone a reminder; it is in a sense a witness.
Another answer has to do with danger. Jacob is alone and out in the wilderness. Unlike his twin Esau, he is not an outdoorsman. “When the boys grew up, Esau became a skillful hunter, a man of the outdoors; but Jacob was a mild man who stayed in camp.” (Genesis 25.27) This may be the first time he is away from home on his own, and he could be frightened. Sleeping on a hard stone could be his strategy of sleeping but not too deeply—so that he could respond to danger. Or the stone could be much larger than we imagine: sleeping on top of a boulder may be his way of protecting himself against dangerous ground animals.
I sense, however, a deeper possibility. Perhaps Jacob is feeling alienated, estranged, and lost. Remember how quickly his life is disrupted. Living comfortably in the family’s tent compound, reconciled to his Dad’s intention of letting his stronger and more vigorous twin take over family leadership (and maybe even a little relieved), he is suddenly dragged into a palace coup. His mother Rebekah makes him dress in animal skins, pretend to be his hairy brother, lie to his beloved father, and steal Esau’s blessing. The plan works, but, when Esau finds out, he explodes with anger: “Let but the mourning period of my father come, and I will kill my brother Jacob.” Rebekah sends him away for his own safety: “Your brother Esau is consoling himself by planning to kill you. Now my son, listen to me. Flee at once to Haran, to my brother Laban. Stay with him a while, until your brother’s fury subsides…” (Genesis 27.41-45)
He may be safe from Esau, but he is alone and in unknown parts, separated from his family and everything he knows. He does not feel safe. Manipulated, hated, and frightened, his confidence is very low, and he could be feeling very bad about himself. Some people with deep feelings of alienation or marginalization express themselves by self-harm. Some cut. Some stop eating. Some drink themselves into oblivion. Others try to overwhelm their sadness and anger with extreme and self-destructive behaviors. Archeologists report that some ancients ritualized self-harm and prescribed a mourning ritual in which close relatives ripped out their hair to show grief—a pagan custom that may have inspired Leviticus 19.27’s prohibition of “cutting the corners of one’s hair and beard.” The point is that choosing a stone for a pillow could be Jacob’s way of expressing inner angst with outer pain. Bereft and lost, Jacob is hurting badly and to his very soul.
The irony—the blessed irony—is that this is the moment when God comes to visit. In the midst of this terrible crisis, God comes to Jacob and offers hope and purpose.
“I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac: the ground on which you are lying I will assign to you and to your offspring. Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants. Remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land...” (Genesis 28.13-15)
When we are immersed in a crisis, we may or may not receive such a vision or promise, but we certainly yearn for clarity and perspective—and purpose and love. Tradition reminds us to consider what we represent—how we are part of an ancient and continuing project, a project established by God, intended by God, and accompanied by God. Though they call us Israel because we wrestle with God, we are also called Israel because we wrestle with ourselves and with others, all for the purpose of Tikkun Olam, bringing Heaven’s blessings to the world. Jacob will one day be called Israel, but now he is at an impasse—a moment of doubt and pain. God is there to remind him that blessed potential awaits—and to comfort him, inspire him, and remind him that the Divine is always present. Always.
I believe that we too sleep and stand at the portal between Heaven and Earth. We too can see the angels “going up and going down on the heavenly stairway,” but there is more. We are invited to join them—to be among God’s M’lachim/angels and to find holy purpose in God’s work.
There are many texts that speak to us of our purpose—some traditional and other modern. Here is one of my favorites:
“Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why. And yet, sometimes we seem to divine a purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, we know this: people are here for the sake of other people. Above all, we are here for those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness depends, and for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the labors of my fellow humans, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received and am still receiving.” (Albert Einstein)