Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

This past Sunday, shortly after my 3:30am alarm went off, I groggily laced up my running shoes and got ready to head down to Miami. It would be the sixth time I’d be running a full marathon.

In these past six years, I’ve changed a lot. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to understand who I was before this journey.

Of course, it’s not difficult to remember the late nights of mindless snacking. If I’m honest, there are nights when that still happens. It’s not hard to remember the urge to try every hors d'oeuvre at a simcha. Those Yetzer Haras are still very much a part of who I am. Perhaps one day I wont feel them, but for now, I’m learning to live with them.

The difference now is that I no longer live with the guilt and despair that comes with failure. Now, I can fail without the concern that it’s a permanent set back.

Every week, I have a schedule of runs and workouts. I don’t always still to it. But more often then not, I’ll push myself to lace up, and the moment I begin to jog slowly down the block, I know I can bounce back from any lapses in judgement.

That’s the part thats hard to remember: The me who spent weeks, months and years feeling powerless to change. The guy that was convinced I’d be slow and overweight forever.

The greatest lesson that I have a learned from training, running, competing is simply that I can. This thing that was so far beyond my capacity to dream of, is now a thing that I can do.

So it was with feelings of immense gratitude to Hashem, my family, friends and kehillah that I toed the start line on Sunday morning with hopes of setting a new personal record.

Less than five minutes later, I knew it was going to be a much tougher run than any of us expected. With the humidity at almost 100%, the air was hot, thick and wet. I looked around me to see everyone readjusting their expectations.

This didn’t bother me too much; I’d been here before. As my playlist of Jewish pump-up music rung through my headphones, I found my new pacing, dug in and prepared to conquer the challenging morning ahead.

All was going well, until something unexpected threw me off completely. The music in my ears suddenly dimmed out, and my trusty Apple Watch warned me: “low battery.”

This was not part of the plan. I knew I had fully charged everything. Why would this moment be the time my devices should fail?!

Suddenly, everything changed. With a blank screen on my wrist, I had no idea what my pace was. I had no idea how many miles I had covered or how far I had still to go. I couldn’t check my heart rate; and the music stopped.

The only sound I could hear was the crunch of shoes against the road, and my own labored breaths joining the cacophony of wheezes and groans from my fellow runners.

In an instant, all my feelings of success and gratitude gave way to deep frustration. I felt lost and annoyed... with no-one to whom I could direct my annoyance. This was no-one’s fault. Sometimes, devices fail.

Slowly, however, my frustrations turned inwards as I began to get angry with myself for being so annoyed. I was embarrassed to be so thrown off by a little square on my wrist; embarrassed at my own weakness that I felt like I couldn’t continue without a device to play music and measure my pace and distance. It was shocking to feel such dependency.

Quitting the race was out of the question. I don’t think I could actually bring myself to admit that “I dropped out of the race because my watch died.” But for a few seconds, I really wanted to.

By the end of those few seconds, I had reached a new understanding of my own vulnerability. It dawned on me that even our greatest personal achievements are propped up, and held together by countless little details; none of which we can honestly take credit for achieving.

Any success I have in running (or life) is not just dependent on my effort and perseverance. It requires tools, not limited to a watch and headphones. Success requires shoes, clothes, friends, nutrition, hydration, physical health, flexible time, and wife who’s supportive enough to take care of our kids when I’m running and recovering (just to name a few.) When any of those things don’t quite work out perfectly, everything falls apart.

That moment was a crash course in humility.

My thoughts turned to the hostages, to their families, and to the Chayalim who have endured so much and still continue to persevere. I felt my own smallness when compared to their colossal strength.

But, most of all, in a strange way, I felt grateful that I was finally understanding all of this in a way that I had never comprehended before.

Chazal (רש”י שמות טו:ב) describe that Klal Yisrael experienced a similar epiphany as they crossed Yam Suf:

רָאֲתָה שִׁפְחָה עַל הַיָּם מַה שֶּׁלֹּא רָאוּ נְבִיאִים A maid servant beheld at the Red Sea what even the prophets never saw.

We are left questioning, however, what exactly did the maid-servants see that not even the greatest of prophets could perceive?

The Sfas Emes (מימים אחרונים של פסח תרל”ח) explains: At Yam Suf, the maid-servants finally understood that they were no longer maid-servants. For the first time, they knew that they were children of Almighty God. (Indeed, whenever we recall the crossing of Yam Suf, we do so as children of Hashem: המעביר בניו בין גזרי ים סוף כו' וראו בניו גבורתו כו' מלכותך ראו בניך בוקע ים...)

In the vulnerability of walking precariously between the miraculous walls of water, every Jew felt the absurd improbability of their own existence, and thus, their total dependance on Hashem. But as weakness transcended into wonder, each and every Jew felt like they were being lovingly carried by the Master of the Universe.

But it wasn’t just that event.

Their minds flashed back to the darkness and confusion of Egypt, and they finally realized that Hashem was there too: וַיַּרְא יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת־הַיָּד הַגְּדֹלָה אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה ה’ בְּמִצְרַיִם – And Israel saw the wondrous power which Hashem had wielded in Egypt.

For a brief moment, everyone knew that the only explanation for our existence, abilities, capabilities and opportunities is that Hashem loves us, and has orchestrated the whole of Creation for us to run our race.

When they crossed Yam Suf, no one needed music playing in their ears. The song came from deep inside of the hearts and souls every Jew; and that song is still within each of us. Chazal teach us that one day we will sing again. After all, אז ישיר is written in the future tense: Then we will sing...

Perhaps when that day comes, we might all finally understand that everything that seemed to go wrong in our lives was only a window to seeing how Hashem was still holding our hands, even on the days when the batteries died; when the screens went blank and when the music faded.

That was the thought that carried me over the finish line on Sunday; and I’m hoping to hold onto it. Hashem should help us all to feel Him holding our hands, carrying us over all the thresholds ahead.

From the moment that Emily, Doron and Romi arrived home we have been overwhelmed with elation, joy, tears and fear; all of them mixed together.

But lurking behind these powerful emotions there is a deeply disturbing question. A question that our enemies are desperately hoping we will ask: How is it that after 15 months of relentless battle, Hamas has emerged to throngs of supporters and cheers of victory?

The world is looking on and challenging Israel. “How was any of this worth it? You’ve achieved nothing. For all your talk of destroying Hamas, you seem no closer to that goal than when the war began.”

It’s tempting to be drawn into these questions and doubts. We all saw the pictures. Once again, we find ourselves waiting at the mercy of a merciless enemy. Perhaps they will honor their ‘promise’ to release the men, women and children whom they have kidnapped and tortured.

But make no mistake, this is all a show. A very painful show, but it is all an illusion in every sense of the word. I know this, not from some insider military source, but from the wisdom of our Sages, and the history of our people. Right now, our enemies are following the same play-book written by Pharaoh, and practiced by anti-semites throughout the ages.

As the second plague ended, and Pharaoh had promised to release his Jewish prisoners, the Torah tells us:

וַיַּרְא פַּרְעֹה כִּי הָיְתָה הָרְוָחָה וְהַכְבֵּד אֶת־לִבּוֹ וְלֹא שָׁמַע אֲלֵהֶם

But when Pharaoh saw that there was relief, he became stubborn and would not heed them.

The moment that our enemies have room to breath, they revert back to their obstinance, torture and narcissism. This pattern continues throughout the ten plagues. Each time Pharaoh relents, and each time he renegs on his promises.

Of course, we know the end of the story. We know that there will be ten plagues, and a crossing of Yam Suf. But suspend that knowledge for a moment, and imagine that you’re a Jew living in Mitzraim.

You are witnessing first hand how Hashem is systematically dismantling the Egyptian society, theology and economy. But you still wake up from every noise in the night; terrified that the miracles will soon end, and you will still be a slave.

To the Jews of ancient Egypt, they simply did not know how far their story would go. Despite everything that Hashem, Moshe and Aharon have thrown at Pharaoh, he still appears to be in control. It is Pharaoh who hold the keys to Jewish freedom, and you are still at his mercy.

Chazal tell us that many Jews lost hope and lost faith in those trying months. They saw Pharoah’s will, strength and cries of victory; and they concluded that not even God Almighty could defeat him. These were the Jew who perished in the darkness of Egypt.

Behind the scenes, however, much is was changing. Unbeknownst to the Mitzrim, Pharaoh is slowly falling apart. His soothsayers have conceded defeat, physically unable to stand before Moshe during the plague of boils. By the time Moshe threatens to bring the plague of hail, the Torah tells us that even some of Pharoah’s servants had become believers: הַיָּרֵא אֶת־דְּבַר ה’ מֵעַבְדֵי פַּרְעֹה – those who feared God took their cattle indoors.

All of this, however, raises a troubling question. Why doesn’t Pharaoh relent himself? Of course, we know that Hashem is hardening his heart. But what does that mean? Doesn’t Hashem want Pharaoh to free His nation?

The Seforno explains: Hashem did not remove Pharoah’s freedom to choose, indeed, the opposite is true. “Hardening his heart” means “strengthening his resolve.” Pharaoh was gifted a supernatural capacity to maintain his position despite the pain and destruction. Hashem ensured that if/when Pharaoh freed his slaves, it would be a total surrender; voluntary, without any Divine coercion.

But this also ensured that if Pharaoh did not choose to surrender, there would be no half measures in his eventual defeat.

When Egypt is finally destroyed, there was no “cease-fire”: וַיַּרְא יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת־מִצְרַיִם מֵת עַל־שְׂפַת הַיָּם – And the Jewish people saw Egypt; dead on the shores of the sea. The Egypt that has enslaved them and murdered their children was gone. Never again would those Jews be subjected to such pain and torture.

What emerges from this understanding, is that in the absence of true strength, the nature of evil is to project the illusion of power. All this is a last ditch attempt to break our spirits.

The Shem Mishmuel (סוכות תרפ”א) explain that this national phenomenon exists in our personal lives as well. At the point when we are closest to conquering a bad habit, overcoming a negative middah, or correcting a failure in our Avodas Hashem, the Yetzer Hara will make its last stand.

It will temp, challenge and distract us in order to stay alive; that moment is all it has left. In those painful minutes, we feel as if we still have so far to go. “How could I still feel this way after working so hard, after sacrificing so much..” But it is that self doubt which is the real test.

The job of every Jew is to stare down their Yetzer Hara and declare “I have already beaten you; and I’ll do it again.” Or, as Rebbe Nachman said ניצחתי ואנצח!

This is confidence and conviction that Hashem is asking from us in these frightening days.

Shlomo Hamelech tells us בנפול אויבך אל תשמח – When your enemy falls, do not rejoice. Perhaps it is time for us to add the corollary: בשמח אויבך אל תפול – When your enemy rejoices, do not fall. As the illusions are ending, Hashem should help us to hold on just a little tighter.

It goes without saying that every one of us is feeling acutely conflicted. Of course we want to see every one of the hostages home after these 467 days of hell and torture. And of course we are terrified of the possibility of freeing terrorists whose only goal is to murder more Israelis. Both of these are true.

But how do we navigate this contradiction?

I am neither a politician, nor a military strategist. I do not know how this potential deal affects the morale of the country or the soldiers. I do not know what the future will bring. All I know is that Klal Yisrael is collectively feeling all of these emotions. And for us here in Chutz La’aretz, it is far more important to keep on feeling, rather than pontificating about politics.

To a certain extent, simply empathizing with the pain of our people is as Godly as we can be, as Hashem promises: עִמּוֹ־אָנֹכִי בְצָרָה – I will be with him in distress. Sometimes, Hashem's presence in tragedy and pain comes in the guise of the loving family of the Jewish people, looking out for each other.

But in addition to this interpersonal Avoda – בין אדם לחברו, there is also an Avoda בין אדם למקום – between us and Hashem. Somehow, in the midst of this confusion, we need to discover deeper perspectives and greater wellsprings of Emunah.

This is certainly not the first time since October 7th that Hashem is inviting us to explore such emotional and moral paradoxes. Indeed, Rashi (בראשית א:ד) comments that at the beginning of Creation, Light and Darkness were fundamentally entangled until Hashem separated them – וַיַּבְדֵּל אֱלֹקים בֵּין הָאוֹר וּבֵין הַחֹשֶׁךְ.

The Ramban (הקדמה לספר שמות) notes that while Sefer Bereishis details the Creation of the World and of the Jewish People, the rest of Jewish History grows from those seeds planted in Bereishis. Sefer Shemos, thus begins with the same confusion.

The Sefer opens with with descriptions the physical and psychological enslavement of our ancestors. We learn of the sinister anti-semitism of Pharaoh, and the willing complicitness of his nation. We learn of Pharaoh’s plot to utilize Jewish midwives to commit mass infanticide. And when that fails, he commands the mass drowning of Jewish baby boys.

Aside from the sheer evil of murdering Jewish babies, Pharoah’s decree also induces enormous emotional trauma. Suddenly, having a baby boy is no longer a moment of elation and celebration, but a moment of overwhelming anxiety; of paralyzing fear that he will be kidnapped and murdered.

It is at this point that the Torah describes the birth of one particular baby in this world of brokenness, pain and confusion: וַתַּהַר הָאִשָּׁה וַתֵּלֶד בֵּן וַתֵּרֶא אֹתוֹ כִּי־טוֹב – The woman conceived and bore a son; and she saw he was good.

The commentaries grapple with this description. Obviously a mother would see her baby as good, and wish to hide him. But given the circumstances of his birth, Torah is telling us something more: That Moshe’s birth revealed a little of the Hidden Hand of Hashem in Mitzraim.

Here was a baby boy, born three months premature to an elderly mother in nation of slaves. It would be a fantastic statistical anomaly that such a child would be healthy. And yet, here he was; healthy and well.

In the words of the Netziv (שמות ב:ב): והיתה בטוחה על השגחה פרטית – She was certain of Hashem’s Divine supervision.

Chazal (סוטה יב א) draw a parallel between this declaration of “Good” and the Hashem’s declaration at the beginning of Creation:

בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁנּוֹלַד מֹשֶׁה, נִתְמַלֵּא הַבַּיִת כּוּלּוֹ אוֹר. כְּתִיב הָכָא: ״וַתֵּרֶא אוֹתוֹ כִּי טוֹב הוּא״, וּכְתִיב הָתָם: ״וַיַּרְא אֱלקים אֶת הָאוֹר כִּי טוֹב״.

At the time when Moses was born, the entire house was filled with light, as it is written here: “And when she saw him that he was good [tov],” and it is written there: “And God saw the light, that it was good [tov]”

The light that Yocheved experienced at that moment was the same light, mixed with darkness, that existed at the beginning of the universe. In time, the light of Moshe Rabbeinu would grow to fill the entirety of the world. He would go on to become the greatest of the Nevi’im, speaking to Hashem “face-to-face”. But as of his birth, there was only a serendipitous whisper of this future greatness. The light of that moment had not yet been separated from the darkness.

But for Yocheved, that was enough. It was enough to know that Hashem was still there, peeking out from behind the veils of pain and persecution.

This faith would still be tested over and over again. Yocheved would soon hide her baby in the river, only to have him abducted by Pharaoh’s daughter. He would be returned to her to nurse, only to be taken to be raised as an Egyptian. When Moshe eventually joins his people and defends a Jew against his Egyptian overlord, Moshe is tried for murder and forced to flee.

It would take 80 years for the light of Moshe Rabbeinu to finally emerge.

This is our Avoda now as well: To seek out and find the light in our situation, personally as well as nationally. To know that somehow, Hashem is planting the seeds for our ultimate redemption. In the words of the Siddur:

כִּי הוּא לְבַדּוֹ פּוֹעֵל גְּבוּרוֹת. עוֹשֶׂה חֲדָשׁוֹת. בַּעַל מִלְחָמוֹת. זוֹרֵעַ צְדָקוֹת. מַצְמִיחַ יְשׁוּעוֹת. בּוֹרֵא רְפוּאוֹת. נוֹרָא תְהִלּוֹת. אֲדוֹן הַנִּפְלָאוֹת: הַמְחַדֵּשׁ בְּטוּבוֹ בְּכָל־יוֹם תָּמִיד מַעֲשֵׂה בְרֵאשִׁית

For He alone performs mighty deeds, the Maker of new things; the Master of battles, the One who Sows acts of righteousness, the One who Causes salvation to sprout forth. He is the Creator of cures. Awesome in praise, Master of wonders, He renews, in His goodness, each day, continuously, the work of Creation.

That’s our Tefillah: Hashem, we know that you are planning something amazing here. We’re looking for you; we’re looking for your light. אוֹר חָדָשׁ עַל־צִיּוֹן תָּאִיר וְנִזְכֶּה כֻלָּנוּ מְהֵרָה לְאוֹרוֹ – Shine that great light on Yerushalayim for all the hostages to come home. For the safety of your Holy Soldiers. For the safety, security and sovereignty of your nation.

Making our way through Sefer Bereishis, it is notable that the Torah spends more time discussing the live of Yaakov Avinu than any other character in the book. Yet, despite the overwhelming detail given to his life, it is mostly filled with pain.

Yaakov Avinu himself, when speaking to Paroah relates:

יְמֵי שְׁנֵי מְגוּרַי שְׁלֹשִׁים וּמְאַת שָׁנָה מְעַט וְרָעִים הָיוּ יְמֵי שְׁנֵי חַיַּי וְלֹא הִשִּׂיגוּ אֶת־יְמֵי שְׁנֵי חַיֵּי אֲבֹתַי בִּימֵי מְגוּרֵיהֶם׃

And Yaakov said to Pharaoh: 'The days of the years of my life are a hundred and thirty years; few and evil have been the days of the years of my life, and they have not reached the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their life.'

Indeed, Yaakov faces challenges even before he is born as he and Esav wrestle in the womb. These conflicts accelerate as Yaakov buys his brother’s birthright, steals the Bracha, and flees to avoid being murdered by his twin.

In his years away, he is cheated by his father in law Lavan, who switches his beloved Rachel for Leah, as well as his wages over and over again.

Upon retuning to Israel, his children begin to fight, and Yosef is sold into slavery. Yaakov falls into a deep depression – which is only heightened by the famine which drives his children down to Egypt to face the ruthless despot that is only later revealed to be Yosef.

But despite all the challenges of his life, arguably, the greatest pain is the sudden death of his beloved wife Rachel (Bereishis 35:17-20).

Strikingly, Yaakov speaks nothing of this event. There is no recorded mourning. No eulogy, no grief. It appears that life moves on unceremoniously. Rachel's death is never mentioned again... until Yaakov's last day; in our Parsha.

Remembering Rachel

For seventeen years, Yaakov has lived in Mitzrayim. There he sees his family expand, the vision of Avraham and Yiztchak of a nation committed to the ideals and ideas of Godliness is finally coming to fruition. But the ancient eyes of Yaakov Avinu see into the darkness that Egypt will bring to his children. In his last moments, he wants to give his children the tools to continue through the terrible times ahead.

Aas his end comes near, he calls for Yosef; his long lost son, leader of Egypt and savior of the family. But before blessing him, Yaakov summarizes his life’s journey: (Bereishis 48:3-7):

וַיֹּאמֶר יַעֲקֹב אֶל יוֹסֵף אֵל שַׁדַּי נִרְאָה אֵלַי בְּלוּז בְּאֶרֶץ כְּנָעַן וַיְבָרֶךְ אֹתִי. וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלַי הִנְנִי מַפְרְךָ וְהִרְבִּיתִךָ וּנְתַתִּיךָ לִקְהַל עַמִּים וְנָתַתִּי אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת לְזַרְעֲךָ אַחֲרֶיךָ אֲחֻזַּת עוֹלָם. וְעַתָּה שְׁנֵי בָנֶיךָ הַנּוֹלָדִים לְךָ בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם עַד בֹּאִי אֵלֶיךָ מִצְרַיְמָה לִי הֵם אֶפְרַיִם וּמְנַשֶּׁה כִּרְאוּבֵן וְשִׁמְעוֹן יִהְיוּ לִי. וּמוֹלַדְתְּךָ אֲשֶׁר הוֹלַדְתָּ אַחֲרֵיהֶם לְךָ יִהְיוּ עַל שֵׁם אֲחֵיהֶם יִקָּרְאוּ בְּנַחֲלָתָם. וַאֲנִי בְּבֹאִי מִפַּדָּן מֵתָה עָלַי רָחֵל בְּאֶרֶץ כְּנַעַן בַּדֶּרֶךְ בְּעוֹד כִּבְרַת אֶרֶץ לָבֹא אֶפְרָתָה וָאֶקְבְּרֶהָ שָּׁם בְּדֶרֶךְ אֶפְרָת הִוא בֵּית לָחֶם.

And Yaakov said to Yosef: 'God Almighty appeared to me at Luz in the land of Canaan, and blessed me, and said to me: I will make you fruitful, and multiply you, and I will make you into a nation. I will give this land to your children after you as an everlasting inheritance.

At this point, Yaakov turns to his grandsons:

And now your two sons, who were born in Egypt before I came here, Ephraim and Manasseh. They will be to me like Reuven and Shimon...

And then, finally, for the first time in over four decades, Yaakov breaks his silence about Rachel’s death.

And as for me, when I came from Paddan, Rachel died... and I buried her there in the way to Efrat — which is Beit-Lechem.

It is important to note the order of Yaakov's speech. First, he relates how Hashem appeared to him as he reentered Eretz Yisrael and promised that he would make him into a great nation. Then, he relates that now Efraim and Menasheh will be considered tribes in their own right. Lastly, Yaakov looks to the past to relate how Rachel died and that Yaakov buried her on the way to Efrat.

Many of the classical commentaries are perplexed by this memory, and Yaakov’s mention of it at this point. Amost all answer like Rashi, explaining that this is an apology to Yosef.

Since Yaakov has just asked Yosef to bury him in Chevron, he wishes to apologize for not doing the same for Yosef's mother.

ואני בבאי מפדן וגומ׳ – ואף על פי שאני מטריח עליך להוליכני ליקבר בארץ כנען, לא כן עשיתי לאמך, שהרי מתה סמוך לבית לחם.

And although I trouble you to take me for burial into the land of Canaan and I did not do this for your mother (i.e., I did not take the trouble to bury her in a place other than that in which she died, which was by the road-side) which I might easily have done since she died quite close to Bethlehem”.

Losing Faith... And Finding it Again

But the Ibn Ezra (מד:ד) and Rabbi Avraham ben HaRambam, however, quote from Rav Saadya Gaon that what Yaakov is relating here is much deeper and much more personal:

על דעת הגאון: שאמר לי השם הנני מפרך ובן לא נולד לי, רק מתה רחל. ועתה ידעתי, כי בעבור בניך הנולדים לך

The opinion of Rav Saadya Gaon: “Hashem promised I would have more children, and I had no more children, but instead Rachel died... But now I understand that the promise was that I would have more children through you.”

Upon his reentry into the land of Israel, Hashem did indeed appear to Yaakov and promised that he would yet grow into a great nation.

We can imagine Yaakov then turning to Rachel, the love of his life, pregnant with their second child, smiling with the assurance that she too would give birth to many children. In that moment, they were convinced that together they would build the Jewish people, that finally the vision of Avraham, and Yitzchak would come to fruition through them.

The day arrives for Binyanim to be born, but that great simcha is mired with the tragedy of Rachel’s death. Yaakov gains a son, and loses his beloved, badrech, all along the way.

In many ways, for Yaakov, Rachel's death baderech is the end of his Derech. Never again does Yaakov display any initiative, he retreats and becomes a shell of his former self. As Chazal tell us: ביקש יעקב לישב שלוה – All Yaakov wants is to sit in peace.

But then Yosef is taken, then Shimon is imprisoned in Egypt, and Binyamin is forced to go down to Egypt as well. What was once a beautiful and promising future, is now a life of pain and loneliness.

And what of Hashem's Bracha that Yaakov would have more children and become a great nation? Those dreams are steadily stripped from him, as he finally declares to Yehuda, וַאֲנִי כַּאֲשֶׁר שָׁכֹלְתִּי שָׁכָלְתִּי – If I am to be left without my children, so be it.

But apparently Hashem had different plans for him. For on that final day, as Yosef stood before him, with Efraim and Menashe, his two wonderful Jewish grandchildren raised in Egypt, Yaakov understands how Hashem's promise did indeed come true.

He turns to Yosef and says to him: “Your sons, are mine. This is the fulfillment of the promise Hashem made to me and to Rachel. And when she died, baderech, I thought it was all over. Only now, can I see that the Derech was much longer than I could ever imagine.”

The End in Sight

The Beis Yaakov of Izbitz (ויחי נ”ו) explains that this is why Yaakov Avinu begins his Brachos to his sons with:

הֵאָסְפוּ וְאַגִּידָה לָכֶם אֵת אֲשֶׁר־יִקְרָא אֶתְכֶם בְּאַחֲרִית הַיָּמִים׃

Gather yourselves together, that I may tell you that which shall befall you in the end of days.

Why does Yaakov need to preface his brachos with a view of the end of time? Because in the end, it'll make sense. In the end we'll understand how nothing is ever lost.

The Izbitzer continues to explain that this is the reason we invoke Techias HaMesim in every Shmoneh Esrei:

בעבור שלעתיד יתברר הכל לטוב, ואז ישפיע לנו הש”י כל מיני טובות, לכן אנו מזכירין זאת עתה, כדי שיתן לנו השי”ת גם עכשיו הארה מזה

Since in the end everything will be clarified as good, and then Hashem will grant us every goodness, for this reason we mention it already, so that Hashem will give us an inkling of this clarity and goodness now.

When we ask Hashem for health and parnassa, for wisdom and teshuva, it’s all a request to give us a little bit of the clarity of Acharis HaYamim now.

As Sefer Bereishis comes to a close, we will end with a cry of Chazak Chazak V’Nischazek – A plea for strength to continue learning and growing. But also, the strength to endure the Galus of Egypt, of our own exile. But perhaps it’s a tefillah for the ability to raise our heads and our eyes just a little higher, to see what we will yet become, what we still achieve. It’s a tefillah to hold on a little longer to see the goodness Hashem has in store for his children.

The story of Yosef’s revelation to his brothers is amongst the most dramatic in all of Tanach. As the Medrash records (תנחומא ויגש ה), it is our closest description of the emotions we will all feel at the time of Geulah.

With a single statement – I Am Yosef – all the questions and paradoxes of the brothers’ lives were instantaneously resolved. In a fraction of a moment, everything made sense.

But before reaching that clarity, our Parsha opens with the heroic attempt of Yehuda to secure Binyanim’s safety. His speech, as it is recorded in the pesukim is a straightforward summary of the events that had lead up to the confrontation taking place in the moment.

Reading between the lines, however, our sages revealed a rich and vast tradition of the fight between Yosef and his brothers.

Consider the moment that Yosef imprisoned Shimon in last weeks parsha. The Medrash Tanchuma (ויגש ד) relates that Shimon turns to Yosef defiantly crying: “Do whatever you wish, but I challenge anyone to imprison me.”

Yosef then orders seventy of Pharaoh’s strongest men to arrest Shimon. The Medrash conintues:

As they were approaching him, Simeon let forth a roar, and when they heard the sound, they fell to the ground, and their teeth were shattered: The lion roareth, and the fierce lion howleth—yet the teeth of the young lions are broken (Job 4:10).

With no local options left, Yosef turns to his son Menashe to complete what the Egyptians could not:

Menashe arose at once, struck a single blow, dragged Simeon into prison, and put him in chains. Whereupon Simeon called out to his brothers: “Would you say this was the blow of an Egyptian? It is none other than the blow of one from our father’s house.” When Joseph’s brothers saw that Menashe was able to drag Simeon into prison and bind him with chains, they became terrified.

These incredible feats of strength are limited to Shimon and Menashe. If anything, they are dwarfed by the prowess on display in Yehuda’s arguments. At the moment it appeared that Binyanim would be taken as a slave, Yehuda threatens that the sons of Yaakov would lay waste to the entirety of Egypt. It begins with addressing Naftali (תמחומא ויגש ה):

“Go and count the number of central markets in Egypt.” He hurried away, and on his return informed Judah that there were twelve markets in Egypt. Judah told his brothers: “I will destroy three of them, and each of you will destroy another. Do not permit a single soul to survive.” His brothers retorted: “Judah, Egypt is not Shechem. If you were able to devastate Egypt, you would destroy the entire world by doing that.”

While it is certain that the details of these Medrashim are replete with secrets, there is one thing we can see throughout: Chazal knew of some hidden reservoir of unimaginable strength that the Shevatim possessed. Perhaps this strength is as literal and physical as it is described; or perhaps it is all allegorical. Either way, in revealing these stories to us, Chazal are trying to teach us something important about our ancestors, and inviting us to understand something about ourselves.

I would like to suggest that these Medrashim are not simply descriptive; they are instructive. Our Sages are painting a picture as well as the road map to rediscover our national power. To understand this, however, we need to consider the story of the ten lost tribes.

Where are they? What happened to them? Will we ever reunite with them? These questions have been explored and analyzed throughout the ages; from the time of the Mishna until today.

Notably, the Maharal, who lived during the age of exploration deals with the question of whether or not it is plausible to assume that ten tribes of the Jewish people are somehow living on earth in an undiscovered location.

While he is unwilling to rule out that possibility, he offers the following explanation as well (נצח ישראל לד) :

That which is lost from the ten tribes is not the people themselves (since they have already been reabsorbed into the Jewish people.) Nevertheless, the power and potential of these tribes is completely hidden, as if they are simply swallowed up into the tribe of Yehuda. But there will be a time in the future where this potential will be realized, and the Jewish people will be one, with one King over us.

This is to say that everything that we have achieved throughout the past two millennia has been the strength of Yehuda. The miraculous survival of our nation against the countless attempts to destroy us is all Yehuda. Our immeasurable achievements in Talmud Torah? Yehuda. Our disproportionately massive contribution to the arts and sciences? All Shevet Yehuda. We have yet to rediscover the immense power of the other tribes, they are still lying dormant within us, until the time when we will reawaken our ancient potential.

Or perhaps we have already begun to see it. After all, it has been many centuries since we saw Chayalim on the front lines of battle in Eretz Yisrael carrying a weapon in one hand, and a copy of Yerushalmi Yomi in the other.

Perhaps we have begun to see the ancient power of the Shevatim – destroying enemies far more numerous and formidable with cutting edge intelligence and superhuman precision. Indeed, the last time in Jewish history when we witnessed the power of one of our Shevatim was the story of Channukah – על ידי כהניך הקדושים – a miraclulous vicory wrought by the Kohanim.

Our eternal celebration of Channukah is not simply a commemoration of Jewish survival. It’s a reminder of what we, the Jewish people, are capable of when we living up to our mandate to be Hashem’s Light unto the Nations.

To this end, the lessons of the Medrash are most instructive. Chazal chose to describe the potential of the brothers only in the context of the encounters in which they arose to defend each other. That’s the road map.

As the last embers of Channukah flicker out, and the Jewish people descend into Egypt, Chazal are reminding us of the latent power that we have yet to rediscover inside of ourselves and each other. The key to unlocking it is as simple as it is elusive: We will only find it when we are willing to give up everything to save each other.

It’s the secret of the Shevatim, the Chashmonaim and our brave Chayalim today. Hashem should help us all to follow in their footsteps until all the of our brothers and sisters are freed from captivity, and all parents are reunited with their children – וַתְּחִי רוּחַ יַעֲקֹב אֲבִיהֶם.

Reb Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezritch was once walking with a group of chassidim, when he heard the unmistakable sounds a child crying. Looking for the source of the tears, he saw a large tree stump, with a little girl sitting behind it, crying.

“Little girl” said the Rebbe, “Why are you crying? What happened”? Said the little girl back to the Rebbe: “My friends and I are playing hide and seek. And it was my turn to hide, so I hid here, behind the tree stump. I've been hiding and hiding, and no one has found me. I fear that they might have given up. The Rebbe sat on the floor with her, and he too began to cry.

The Tears of Being Alone

These are the tears of the Hostages. The tears of 446 days in captivity in Gaza. They are the tears of Yosef HaTzadik in prison, the tears of Yaakov Avinu missing his son.The tears of parents who are waiting, worried about their children, tears of children crying for their parents. They are the tears of the families of Chayalim who never came came home, and those who came home injured and scarred, and might never be the same again.

But there are other tears as well. The tears of husbands and wives who still remember standing under the Chupah, when they couldn't take their eyes off each other, and now struggle to make eye contact at all. Brother and sisters who are still upset about things that happened years ago, and no-one remembers exactly what it was. Friends who fell out of touch, and don't know how to reach out after so many years.

These are the tears of the Churban HaBayis, when the Jewish people were chained and marched out of Yerushalayim. These are the tears of when they came back and realized it would never be the same again.

It was these tears with which Ancient Greece challenged us: Maybe Hashem is not looking for you any longer. Maybe He never was. Maybe the dream of being Hashem’s people, elevating the world and educating humanity... Maybe none of it was ever real.

The Greek challenge of “Where is your God?!” is expressed by the Medrash (Bereishis Rabba 4) explaining the pasuk:

הָאָרֶץ הָיְתָה תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ וְחשֶׁךְ עַל פְּנֵי תְהוֹם ר”ש בן לקיש פתר קריא בגליות והארץ היתה תוהו – זה גלות בבל. ובהו – זה גלות מדי. תהום – זה גלות אדום. וחושך – זו גלות יון שהחשיכה עיניהם של ישראל בגזרותיהן שהיתה אומרת להם כתבו לכם על קרן השור שאין לכם חלק באלוקי ישראל”

...Darkness refers to Greece, who darkened the eyes of the Jewish people with their decrees, for they said to them: Inscribe on the horn of the ox: “We have no part in the God of the Jews.”

In the world of Yavan, the world of Galus, the question arose. Maybe it's time to give up. Maybe Yiddishkeit is a 'has been'. Maybe it's not relevant any more. If we wish to participate in the world of the future, the world of science, philosophy, arts and literature, we best give up on the ancient beliefs of our people.

Essentially, Yavan asks us for the last two thousand years: If we have to work so hard to find HaKadosh Baruch Hu, maybe he isn't there at all?

Questions on the Inside

The pressure that the modern world puts on our Emunah was also expressed in the attack on the Mikdash. When the Greeks entered the Beis HaMikdash they, so to speak, poisoned the well. They make the oil impure.

The ancient wisdom of Judaism came under fierce attack and it manifested in extinguishing the light of the Menora – The symbol of enlightenment and Chochma.

Essentially, Greece invaded not just our land, but our hearts and minds. They asked questions to poke holes in the relationship between Klal Yisrael and Hashem. They left us crying behind a tree stump, wondering if the Ribono Shel Olam was still looking for us at all.

Thawing the Frozen Winter

One winter day, the Baal Shem Tov’s students witnessed a group of peasants who had gathered on the surface of a frozen river, from which they carved a block of ice in the shape of a cross to use in a religious procession. They asked their master what lesson they could possibly derive from such an “un-Jewish” scene. The Baal Shem Tov replied, “In the Torah, water has spiritually cleansing properties; but when it is frozen, even the purest substance can be made into an icon of heresy.”

Yavan cooled us down, made us question ourselves and Hakadosh Baruch Hu. It was in this environment that Hashem gave us Chanukah – quite literally a light in the darkness. The light, the heat and the warmth of Chanukah serve to thaw the frozenness of Yavan.

Ultimately, it's Hashem telling us that the spark of what makes us Jewish can never be extinguished. All He needs is for us to kindle the lights. Like any relationship, when questions, doubts and discomfort arise, they can only be dispelled by engaging in the relationship; getting together with אלקים חיים – Our Living God.

The Gemara in Shabbos quotes an opinion of R' Zeira:

א”ר זירא אמר רב מתנה ואמרי לה א”ר זירא אמר רב פתילות ושמנים שאמרו חכמים אין מדליקין בהן בשבת מדליקין בהן בחנוכה בין בחול בין בשבת

Rabbi Zeira said that Rav Mattana said, and others say that Rabbi Zeira said that Rav said: The wicks and oils with which the Sages said one may not light on Shabbat, one may, nevertheless, light with them on Hanukkah, both during the week and on Shabbat.

The Tiferes Shlomo of Radomsker would explain this Gemara as referring to distant Jews. He explained that even a Jew, whose body and soul, the candle and the flame, are not connected to Shabbos at all, is connected to Chanukah.

This is the flame of Chanukah. It's the kodesh kodashim – that inner space inside each and every Jew that we question might be irreparably corrupted, that we worry might have frozen over. The miracle is that it's never over. Far beyond the natural order, transcending the confines of reason and logic, is the relationship between Kneses Yisrael and HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

The Chanukah candle is the נר השם that is in every Jew. It's אורו של משיח that dispels all the darkness of Galus within us. It's the fuel that has powered us through two thousand years of Galus, that will B'ezras Hashem burn until we are all back home.

Last week as Shabbos ended, I mentioned to some of the Chevra in shul that I wasn’t going to be at minyan on Sunday morning. Instead, four of us were going to be davening on the other side of the Palm Beach Half Marathon finish line.

One of the guys turned to me with a mixture of frustration and defeat. “I guess running a half marathon is easy for you these days.” He was not entirely wrong, but far from correct.

The truth is that six years of running has made it possible for me to sign up for a race without the anxiety and trepidation that gripped me a few years back. But all measures, I am a better runner than I was when I started. But it doesn’t make the activity any easier for me or anyone else.

It’s a golden rule that I once learned from a coach: It never gets easier. You get better. When the fastest runners in the world run at their maximum effort, it will always feel like their maximum effort; it will never feel any easier.

This reality is not confined to exercise. It’s the deep truth of any human endeavor, from parenting and relationships, to building careers and learning skills.

Once, during my second year in Kerem B’Yavneh, I approached Rav Moshe Stav, and told him I wasn’t feeling up to learning that day. I was tired, unmotivated and thought maybe I needed a little time off. Rav Stav looked at me, empathized with the feeling; and then explained: “Sometimes, when I come to afternoon seder, I feel the same need to run from the Beis Medrash as I did when I was a teenager. It’s the same pull, the same lack of motivation. The only difference now, is that I can overcome it much quicker than when I was a Bachur. The challenge never disappears.”

But there is a dark side to our progress in life. The law of diminishing returns dictates that as time goes on, our maximum effort will yield smaller and smaller noticeable results. Sometimes, in some areas, we become content with our competence. We’re satisfied with our capacity, and no longer find ourselves pushing towards our maximum effort.

It’s at this point of satisfaction that we stop growing; “good enough” becomes the enemy of “great”.

Reading through Sefer Bereishis, we feel the pull towards the plateau of complacent tranquillity. Yaakov and his family have finally returned to Eretz Yisrael. The nascent Jewish nation has survived Yishmael, Lavan and Esav. From poverty and loneliness, Yaakov is returning home with a children, wealth and prominence, he is finally ready to settle.

Rashi (לז:א), quoting the Medrash, informs us that settling is never an option:

בִּקֵּשׁ יַעֲקֹב לֵישֵׁב בְּשַׁלְוָה, קָפַץ עָלָיו רָגְזוֹ שֶׁל יוֹסֵף – צַדִּיקִים מְבַקְּשִׁים לֵישֵׁב בְּשַׁלְוָה, אָמַר הַקָּבָּ”ה לֹא דַיָּן לַצַּדִּיקִים מַה שֶּׁמְּתֻקָּן לָהֶם לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא, אֶלָּא שֶׁמְּבַקְּשִׁים לֵישֵׁב בְּשַׁלְוָה בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה

Yaakov wished to live at ease, but this trouble in connection with Yosef suddenly came upon him. When the righteous wish to live at ease, Hashem says to them: “Are not the righteous satisfied with what is stored up for them in the world to come that they wish to live at ease in this world too!”

The depth of Rashi’s message here extends far beyond Yaakov’s circumstances. Our sages are teaching us that having a children is not the same as raising children.

Yes, of course Yaakov has much to be proud of. He had surpassed the familial achievements of his father Yitchak and grandfather Avraham. He is the very first father in all of Sefer Bereishis to create a family that will abandon idolatry. For the first time in human history, there is hope for a grassroots movement of spreading ethical monotheism. But the goal was never to simply “be Jewish”. There is always more to achieve, greater heights to ascend, and more to accomplish at the points of our maximum effort.

For Yaakov, as for us, there is always much more work to be done. It doesn’t get easier, we just get better at it.

“Rebbe, Why would Hashem do that?! Why would he send angel to attack Yaakov? Don’t angels work for Hashem?”

It was a great question; but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s review for a minute.

Yaakov is left alone, separated from him family. And in the trepidation and anticipation of his inevitable meeting with Esav, he is attacked by some mysterious assailant. We know nothing about the identity or motive of this attacker, only that he is trying to defeat Yaakov.

But Rashi, quoting from the Medrash Rabba explains:

וּפֵרְשׁוּ רַזִ”לִ שֶׁהוּא שָׂרוֹ שֶׁל עֵשָׂו – Our Rabbis of blessed memory explained that he was Esau's guardian angel (Genesis Rabbah .77:3)

But this begs the question why is the guardian angel of Esav attacking him? Moreover, whilst a human being has the freedom to choose their own path and actions, surely an angel does not have the capacity to attack Yaakov without Hashem’s command?

To this end, the Pirkei D’Rebbi Eliezer (פרק לז) makes the following astounding suggestion – indeed it is the only logical conclusion: Hashem sent this angel to attack Yaakov. But why?

It was a direct response to Yaakov’s Tefillah: הַצִּילֵנִי נָא מִיַּד אָחִי מִיַּד עֵשָׂו כִּי־יָרֵא אָנֹכִי אֹתוֹ – Save me from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esav, for I am afraid of him. Hashem could certainly save Yaakov from the hands of Esav, but that salvation would not cure Yaakov of him fear. To that end, Hashem sends an angel:

מָה עָשָׂה הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא? שָׁלַח לוֹ מַלְאָךְ לְהוֹשִׁיעוֹ, לְהַצִּילוֹ מִיַּד עֵשָׂו, וְנִרְאָה לוֹ כְּאִישׁ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״וַיֵּאָבֵק אִישׁ עִמּוֹ עַד עֲלוֹת הַשָּׁחַר״.

What did the Holy One, blessed be He, do? He sent an angel to him to deliver him, and to save him from the hand of Esau; and he appeared unto him like a man, as it is said, “And there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.”

The goal of the angelic encounter was to prepare Yaakov psychologically for the meeting with his brother the next day. Somehow, in this nighttime battle, Yaakov gains the strength to overcome his fear of Esav.

To understand this, we must consider that this is not the first night that Yaakov had seen this particular Malach. He had seen him once before, although last time, the Malach was still ascending the ladder to Shamayaim, as the Medrash (פרקי דרבי אליעזר ל״ה) explains:

וְהֶרְאָהוּ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא אַרְבַּע מַלְכֻיּוֹת מוֹשְׁלָן וְאוֹבְדָן, וְהֶרְאָהוּ שַׂר מַלְכוּת בָּבֶל עוֹלֶה שִׁבְעִים עוּקִים וְיוֹרֵד, וְהֶרְאָהוּ שַׂר מַלְכוּת מָדַי עוֹלֶה חֲמִשִּׁים וּשְׁנַיִם עוּקִים וְיוֹרֵד. וְהֶרְאָהוּ שַׂר מַלְכוּת יָוָן עוֹלֶה מֵאָה וּשְׁמוֹנִים עוּקִים וְיוֹרֵד. וְהֶרְאָהוּ שַׂר מַלְכוּת אֱדוֹם עוֹלֶה וְאֵינוֹ יוֹרֵד וְאוֹמֵר: ״אֶעֱלֶה עַל בָּמֳתֵי עָב אֶדַּמֶּה לְעֶלְיוֹן״.

Hashem showed him the four kingdoms, their rule and their destruction, and He showed him the prince of the kingdom of Babylon ascending [seventy rungs, and descending; and He showed him the prince of the kingdom of] Persia ascending fifty-two rungs and descending; [and He showed him the prince of the kingdom of Greece ascending 180 ascents and descending;] and He showed him the prince of the kingdom of Edom ascending, and he was not descending, but was saying, “I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the Most High” (Isa. 14:14).

More than two decades had passed since Yaakov’s dream of that ladder; and in all that time, in the heart and mind of Yaakov Avinu, the Malach of Esav/Edom was still ascending the ladder. Until the night when they met, face-to-face. At that moment, Yaakov understands that he no longer needs to fear his brother. The angel of Esav is not pulling strings in Shamayim. He is down here. Formidable, but ultimately conquerable.

It is clear that these events, as Yaakov is leaving his exile and returning to Eretz Yisrael, is the map for our generation.

As Klal Yisrael slowly makes it’s way back to the Land of our Ancestors, we are faced with two types of enemies. One which is physically powerful; the threatening, menacing army of Esav and his four hundred men.

But there is another type of enemy, a far more subversive and challenging foe to subdue; the angel of Esav. This enemy lives in our hearts and minds. He attacks us at night; he comes for us when we are tired and alone. He tells us “Look at me! I’m at the top of the ladder.”

Between these Midrashim, our sages are revealing a deep secret. Both nationally as well as personally, when we feel insecure and inadequate to the tasks ahead of us, when we are afraid to take the next steps in our growth, when we reach out to Hashem in fear, Hashem’s answer is not always as we expect.

To cure us of our fear, Hashem sends us mysterious spiritual assailants for us to conquer. And in those victories, we establish for ourselves that we more capable than we ever imagined before.

In the past year we have merited to see how the armies of Hamas, Hezbollah, Syria and Iran have all been defeated. In the deepest way, we have learned that our enemies are more frightening than they are powerful. When we conquer our fear, we conquer our enemies themselves.

The same is true for our personal challenges as well. Hashem should help us to overcome the fears that holding us back, that we too should overcome the adversaries that stand in our way.

I got a call this week from a wonderful friend who is struggling with a crisis of irrelevance. As he explained it:

We’re in a strange point in the year. The Chagim are behind us, Chanukah is still a few weeks away. And the war is still raging. The world is changing at such a rapid pace, it’s hard to keep up with the news, let alone have time to think about it.

And amidst all of this, we are trying to live meaningful, productive, elevated lives. We’re trying to make a difference in our own lives, in our families and in our community. But personal progress is slow, and sometimes it feels like there is nothing we can actually do.

For all our talk about “every little bit counts”, it doesn’t always feel that way. Our struggles and challenges seem petty in the grand scheme of things. And our inability to make progress even in these areas makes us feel even less relevant.

This crisis of irrelevance is not unique to my friend. We’ve all felt it at some point; perhaps more often and more acutely since the start of the war. The question, then, is what to do about it?

Even for the greatest of people, there are moments of doubt, weakness and despair. Of course, in the stories of our heroes, these moments are the fuel that propels them to greatness; the gauntlet through which they must pass on the way to becoming who they need to be.

But, then again, stories are seldom told about the people who faded into obscurity. For those who fizzle into irrelevance, there are no books that are written, no films produced. It’s simply not a good story if there is no movement beyond the crisis.

The problem, however, is that we don’t ever know what lies beyond this particular challenge. If I succeed here, will this success final grant me the meaning I am looking for? Or perhaps, this challenge is simply a distraction. Maybe I’m crawling down the wrong rabbit hole; and who’s to say that there isn’t just some other challenge ahead – and that’s when I’ll fail, or give up?

At the level of our deepest insecurities, we ask ourselves: Is the friction I’m feeling because I’m supposed to overcome this issue? Or is this friction an indication that I’m focusing on the wrong things completely?

We are plagued by questions, doubts and fears. Is this dream, this pursuit even reasonable? Should I be pouring all my efforts into it? We teeter precariously between childish naivety and existential regret.

And just beyond the horizon of these thoughts and doubts, lies the great temptation of distraction. Of all the vices that pull at us, none are as powerful today as the infinity pools of distraction. All too often, when our minds consider the uncomfortable questions that really matter, we resolve them by turning our attention elsewhere. The news, the weather, politics, stocks – all of which are quick and excusable enough, but somehow they drag us into reels, and shorts, and scrolling for hours.

Ultimately, none of this is helpful. None of it is fulfilling. None of it gives us any clarity.

What we need then, is a better strategy; a road map for the moments of doubt and confusion. And that is precisely what Yaakov Avinu offers us in the moment of his greatest crisis of irrelevance.

A short recap: Yaakov has spent his life engrossed in the study of Torah, living with and learning from his grandfather Avraham and his father Yitzchak. As a young man, he had successfully purchased the birthright from his brother Esav; knowing that the he alone was destined to lead the next generation. With his mother’s instruction, he has impersonated Esav, deluded Yitzchak into blessing him.

But now the crisis arrives. Rather than continuing his steady rise to greatness, Yaakov finds himself on the run; alone, penniless and exhausted.

I can imagine the spiraling thoughts he might’ve entertained. How did I get here? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be... Maybe I should’ve had the courage to tell my father that I bought the birthright years ago. Maybe I should’ve denied my mother’s instructions. Am I really ready to become the next of the Avos? Avraham rediscovered monotheism, Yitzchak was willingly bound to the alter, ready to die for Hashem. And me? I’ve enjoyed a life of serenity and privilege. I’m nothing like the giants who came before me. And now, I’m fleeing from my brother, running from the Land that Hashem promised my family. Have I even achieved anything? Is any of this worthwhile?

The Beis Aharon of Karlin (ד”ה וילן שם) offers an insight as to how Yaakov dealt with these concerns; and indeed, a rare window into his own struggles:

The pasuk tells us that Yaakov lay down on that lonely mountain top – וילן שם. He lay down in defeat;

For sometimes a person feels as if the task is too difficult, and that they are getting no enjoyment from continuing; to the point that doing anything is painful. And then they are seized with disappointment, upset with themselves. In these moments, it’s easy to become depressed.

When I feel this way, I remind myself that there have been other times when I have felt incredible. Indeed, when I feel amazing, I also remind myself that there have been times when I feel discouraged and defeated.

And this is what Yaakov does: ויקח מאבני המקום – He took the stones of that place, the heaviness, the cold and hard reality of his situation; וישם מראשותיו. He placed it by his head. He thought about the cycles of ups and downs, and reminded himself that these feelings would soon pass.

The brilliance of this insight is in recognizing how the feelings we have about our challenges are a fundamentally inaccurate gauge of the correctness of our path. Feelings come and go, they change and fade.

Ultimately, the crisis of irrelevance is simply another Yetzer Hara that needs to be conquered. And if we do as Yaakov did, perhaps we too will merit to see that great ladder that extends from where we are now all the way up to Shamayim.

Yitzchak has two sons: Yaakov and Esav. And the Torah is not shy in telling us that Yitzchak had a favorite – Esav!

This has bothered parsha teaches throughout the generations, and I remember the first time I learned this story as a child.

“How could you have even thought of choosing Esav?” Esav, whose decedents were later to destroy the Beis Hakidash, exile the Jewish people, and bring about the Crusades, the Inquisition and shed the blood of millions. Yizchak Avinu, what were you thinking?

And we are left with two choices: Perhaps we are to write off the entire episode as a lapse in judgement of a blind old man; that perhaps was swayed by Esav’s smooth words and flattering respect.

Alternatively, we need to try in some way to understand that indeed, Esav was the one who Yitzchak always intended to bless. Indeed, the Sforno (25:28) comments on the passuk: “And Yitzchak loved Esav”:

גם את עשו אע”פ שידע בלי ספק שלא היה שלם כיעקב

He loved also Esav, not only Yaakov, even though he must have been aware that Esav was far less perfect than Yaakov.

To understand this enigmatic decision, we need to reconsider the twins that are Yaakov and Esav. Yaakov is the mild mannered Yeshiva bochur. Sweet, uncomplicated, courteous and studious. Esav, on the other hand is an entrepreneur, street smart, enterprising, savvy and shrewd, if a little rough around the edges.

Now you need to make a decision, who should be the leader of the Jewish nation? Who will be able to bring the legacy of Avraham to fruition. Who will be able to take the reins and father a Jewish nation? In this light things become clearer. Esav is the natural leader, he is engaged in the world, and in his very nature, a king.

When the Torah (36:31) lists the kings of Edom/Esav, it tells us:

וְאֵלֶּה הַמְּלָכִים אֲשֶׁר מָלְכוּ בְּאֶרֶץ אֱדוֹם לִפְנֵי מְלָךְ־מֶלֶךְ לִבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל

These are the kings who reigned in the land of Edom before any king reigned over the Israelites.

Long before the Jewish people developed kingship, Esav was ruling, leading and commanding.

But Esav is missing a serious piece. He has talent and drive, but no purpose. He has ambition, but he is deficient in moral fibre. It is Yitzchak’s dream that Esav will learn to channel his wit and desire to the vision of Avraham and Yizchak. Esav has the Yadayim – the capacity and ability. Yaakov has the Kol, the voice of reason and transcendence.

Towards the end of Yitzchak’s life, when a son presents himself in front of his father, bearing both the Kol of Yaakov and the Yadayim of Esav, Yitzchak, finally at peace, can bestow the bracha, the legacy of the Jewish people.

Ultimately the Bracha of Avraham and Yitzchak is given to neither son, but rather to the one who possesses both the drive and the vision of a Godly world. The Kol of Yaakov as well as the Yadayim of Esav.

The goal is integration. The ability to hold both values in their entirety, and this is the challenge of our generation, the challenge of the Modern State of Israel, and this moment in Jewish History.

But for us, in our lives, how do we live with Kedusha while immersed in the Modern World without compromising on either? Or perhaps we could ask, how did Yaakov Avinu transform himself from an introverted yeshiva bachur to the next of the Avos?

To answer this, we should turn to the bracha that Yitzchak gives Yaakov; or rather this man who personifies both voice and action.

The bracha begins:

וְיִתֶּן־לְךָ הָאֱלֹקים מִטַּל הַשָּׁמַיִם וּמִשְׁמַנֵּי הָאָרֶץ May God give you of the dew of heaven and the fat of the earth...

Strangely, this is quite similar to the Bracha that Yitzchak finally agrees to give Esav:

הִנֵּה מִשְׁמַנֵּי הָאָרֶץ יִהְיֶה מוֹשָׁבֶךָ וּמִטַּל הַשָּׁמַיִם מֵעָל See, your abode shall enjoy the fat of the earth, And the dew of heaven above

But there is a subtlety to note, the thing that’s missing from the bracha of Esav is “Elokim”.

The Sfas Emes (תולדות תרנ”ה) explains that the bracha of וְיִתֶּן לְךָ הָאֱלהִים means that Hashem will give you himself.

הגם כי הפסוק מסיים מטל השמים ומשמני הארץ. אך הכוונה שצריך איש ישראל לקבל אלקותו ית”ש מכל נמצא שבעולם

The intention of the Pasuk is to instruct that a Jew should find Godiness in everything in the world.

Inherent in the land, the rain and the dew will be opportunities for Godliness and connection. It’s the desire that our hands and voice make a complete person, not two sides of a broken one.

So here is Yaakov’s mission – peel back the layers of the world and recognize the opportunities for Godliness. A beautiful home is an opportunity for hospitality. Shalom Bayis and healthy children are an invitation for generosity, chinuch and growth in our middos. Free time is for far more than relaxation – it should be filled with learning, volunteering, building, growing and doing.

The challenge of being and becoming the Jewish nation ultimately comes down to one question: If Hashem gives us everything we want and need, what will we do with it?

May He give us the courage to use it for Him.