VaYeishev
Gen. 37:1 – 40:23 

Rabbi Gary Pokras 

Last month our synagogue had the opportunity to participate in Yom Rabin, which is the anniversary of the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. What does one do on this day? Argue with each other. Yitzhak Rabin, who was seeking a real peace with Palestinians, was murdered by an Israeli extremist opposed to peace. Yom Rabin organizers assert that his assassination was not a result of disagreement, but a result of our inability or unwillingness to communicate with and hear each other – especially when we disagree.  

This week’s Torah portion, VaYeishev, contains an oddly phrased verse which directly speaks to Yom Rabin and much of the societal dysfunction so many have come to accept as the new normal. The story’s plot is simple: young Joseph is favored by Jacob over all his brothers, and he sends reports to their father of their misdeeds. His brothers are filled with a jealousy so intense that they plot to kill him and throw him into a pit to die. In the midst of this story, we read:  

“When his brothers saw that their father loved him more than any of them, they hated him, velo yachlu dabro l’shalom.” (Gen. 37:4) 

Translators have struggled to translate these last few words. Common variations include: 

They could not speak a friendly word to him. 

They could not speak a kind word to him. 

They could not speak peaceably to him. 

However, none of these translations accurately reflect the unusual grammar and syntax of the words “velo yachlu dabro l’shalom.” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches in the name of Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz that the correct translation should be: “they could not speak him to peace.”1 To explain this odd turn of phrase, Rabbi Eybeschutz references the Holiness Code in Leviticus 19:  

“You shall not hate your brother in your heart. You shall surely reprimand your neighbor and not bear sin because of him.” (Lev. 19:17) 

Maimonides explains this commandment as a guide for interpersonal relationships: 

When a person sins against another, the injured party should not hate the offender and keep silent … it is their duty to inform the offender and say to them, why did you do this to me? Why did you sin against me in this matter? … If the offender repents and pleads for forgiveness, they should be forgiven. (Hilchot Deot 6:6) 

From this Rabbi Eybeschutz teaches the importance of communicating our disagreements with each other. What would have happened if the brothers had spoken to Joseph about their feelings, their anger at his talebearing, jealousy of his special coat, and their pain about how Jacob Joseph’s mother over theirs? Things might have gone differently, Joseph might have heard them and acted differently, but velo yachlu dabro l’shalom, they could not speak him to peace. Rabbi Sacks expands on this and writes: 

We have here an instance of one of the Torah’s greatest insights, that conversation is a form of conflict resolution, whereas the breakdown of speech is often a prelude to violent revenge.2 

So, we argue on Yom Rabin. We argue about controversial issues, without the intention to change anyone’s mind, or to reach a consensus, but to learn from each other, to expand our perspectives, and to avoid slipping closer to violence as an expression of our feelings, deeply held beliefs, and political positions.  

Writes Rabbi Sacks: 

Words create; words reveal; words command; words redeem. Judaism is a religion of holy words. For words are the narrow bridge across the abyss between soul and soul, between two human beings, and between humanity and God.3 

How ironic it is then, that with the proliferation of technologies to help us communicate better, and with the massive volume of words that exists online, that we hear each other less and less. The world has become smaller, but it feels like people have never lived father apart.  

We may not be able to always “speak each other to peace,” but if we do not try, our silence will surely lead to more violence. Open conversation does not guarantee the resolution of conflict, but it can help us to recognize and understand each other on a more human level. In this way conversation, and even arguments, can lead the way to peace. 

VaYishlach
Gen. 32:4 – 36:43 

By Rabbi Gary Pokras 

This week’s parasha contains one of the most enigmatic moments in Torah. Jacob, having finally escaped with his family from the manipulation and oppression of his uncle Laban discovers that his twin brother Esau is on his way with four hundred armed men, presumably to extract vengeance for all the harms that Jacob caused him twenty-one years earlier. Given their history, Jacob has reasonable cause to fear for his life. So, he divides his family into separate camps, with the idea that if Esau attacks one, the others could escape. Then night falls, and the real mystery begins: 

“And Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn.” (Gen. 32:25) 

Who is this strange man? And why do they wrestle through the night? 

The sages argue about the answers, which is to say, we cannot know for sure. It could be that a random stranger just showed up and that they wrestled for no good reason. This answer is discounted by the majority, especially since Jacob refuses to stop until his opponent blesses him. I mean, why would he do that? Another possibility is that Jacob wrestles with God, hence the request for the blessing, and the blessing itself: 

“Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with beings divine and human and prevailed.” (Gen. 32:29) 

A third possibility is that Jacob wrestled with an angel, a messenger from God. According to Rashi, the angel was Esau’s guardian angel, which suggests that this was a spiritual battle between the two, before they would face each other physically in the morning.  

Finally, a fourth possibility is Jacob wrestled with himself, or rather, with his conscience.  

There is a fascinating Talmudic midrash which shares two opposing views about how Jacob saw this strange man. (Hulin 91a) According to one view, he looked like an idolator; according to the other, like a Torah scholar. Most of the Hassidic masters interpreted this in connection with the idea that Jacob wrestled with Esau’s angel, which they understood as representative of our enemies both physical and spiritual. For example, Rabbi Y.I. Herzog taught: “In our struggles with us, our enemies always use two means, whose aim and goal is the same. The one is brutal force, physical pressure (he appeared to him as an idolator). The other means is … spiritual annihilation,” by example of which he cites the required disputations forced upon us by the church and their scholars at various times in our history. These scholarly disputations were an attempt to prove their superiority over us through the lens of Torah.1 Similarly, Rabbi Avraham of Sochachew suggested these two manifestations describe the two ways that the Evil Inclination seeks to control us, saying: “The first is by openly enticing the person to sin, while the second is by camouflaging the sin and explaining that in reality it is not even a sin at all.”2 These Hassidic teachings feel especially relevant in a moment when we face ever rising antisemitism and uncertainty and they help us to understand (and defend ourselves against) the very real kinds of threats we face: physical, intellectual, emotional, and even spiritual. 

Yet, there is another point of view worth our consideration. Rabbi Amy Scheinerman wonders if, instead of being a manifestation of Esau’s angel, both the idolator and the Torah scholar represent a division within Jacob himself.3 What if we each contain within us the idolator and the Torah scholar, the urge to ignore or break from God and the urge to embrace our spiritual heritage? I think most of us have faced this struggle one time or another, and for many of us, it is ongoing. 

In VaYishlach Jacob overcomes his urge to idolatry and unethical behavior and as a result is transformed from Jacob to Israel. We are his direct descendants. This parasha reminds us that like Jacob, we face struggles both external and internal, and as the children of Israel, we have inherited the strength to prevail.