Each of our patriarchs has an iconic moment which has become a key element of his personality and his spiritual legacy:  Avram responds with unquestioning alacrity to God's call to leave all that is familiar and embark on an uncharted spiritual and physical journey.  God renames him "Avraham" -- father of multitudes.

Isaac, never re-named, never journeyed beyond the borders of his homeland Canaan, married his "love at first sight" match Rebekkah, and faithfully received and transmitted the covenant to his son, Jacob.  God named Isaac before his birth:  Yitzhak -- he will laugh.
In this week's Torah reading, Jacob is also re-named, mid-life, like his grandfather Abraham.    

The event around Jacob's renaming is also centered around an iconic moment:  Jacob has packed up his extensive extended family of wives and concubines and children and servants and flocks and is on his way back to Canaan to re-settle in the land of his birth.  His reunion with his twin, Esau, looms large in his consciousness.  Jacob has prepared for this reunion carefully.  He does not know if Esau will meet him with aggression or affection.  So Jacob divides up his travelling estate into two camps so that, worst case scenario, Esau will only be able to attack half of Jacob's family and belongings.  

Perhaps out of anxiety, Jacob separates himself from all the rest of his convoy and sleeps isolated out in the wilderness.  The Torah relates:  And Jacob was left by himself.  And a man wrestled with him until the dawn's rising.  And he saw that he was not able against him, and he touched the inside of his thigh, and the inside of Jacob's thigh was dislocated during his wrestling with him.  And he said: "Let me go, because the dawn has risen."  And he said, "I won't let you go unless you bless me."  And he said to him, "What is your name?"  And he said, "Jacob."  And he said, "Your name won't be said 'Jacob' anymore but 'Israel,' because you've struggled with God and with people and were able." (Breishit/Genesis 32:25-29).  Jacob receives the new name "Yisrael" -- who struggled with God.

Each divinely-named patriarch adds another layer to the legacy of our tradition: the eternal generations of the progeny of Abraham; the laughter of Isaac who partnered with one woman in one place; and, most fascinating, Jacob's emergence whole and blessed from his struggle with God.  

How extraordinary:  one who struggles with God emerges blessed.  Our legacy from Jacob/Israel is encouragement to question God, explore God's strength and balance our own against it.  Our legacy from Jacob/Israel is not just permission, but a challenge to forgo passivity and find our own best grasp of God in our lives.  Like Jacob, who failed to elicit the name of his Adversary, we will never know God completely, but it is clear that we will emerge from struggle blessed.

Every three or four years, more or less, we read this week's parashah / Torah reading on the Shabbat preceding New Year's Eve . . . so we are watching the book of Breishit/Genesis come to a close along with the secular year.  

It's an evocative combination:  A calendar year comes to a close, the first book of Torah comes to a close, the life of a patriarch comes to a close . . . 

Like the time leading up to the beginning of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, this week or so in the secular calendar is a time for both looking back and looking forward.  Amidst the unrelenting hype of post-Christmas sales, we are meant to consider the events and actions and relationships of our lives and resolve to do better.  Despite the ads by Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers, I imagine that these new year's resolutions should go beyond the number of pounds we promise ourselves we'll lose in the next calendar year.

The end of the book of Breishit/Genesis marks the end of a foundational text of the Torah.  In Breishit we witness the creation of the world culminating in the creation of humanity and the establishment of the principle of Shabbat.  We watch the first bumpy steps in the relationship between God and the most uncontrollable element of creation:  curious, vindictive, disobedient, faithful, courageous, loyal, principled . . . people.  

At the end of his long and eventful life, Jacob lies on his deathbed surrounded by his family in the closing chapters of Breishit.  Jacob metes out judgment.  At the end of his life, he reviews not his own behavior and actions, but those of his progeny.  Son by son, Jacob evaluates past actions and comment's on that son's character:  Reuben is "unstable as water"; Shimon and Levi are "tools of lawlessness . . . cursed be their anger . . . I will scatter them in Israel"; Judah--"the scepter shall not depart from Judah...and the homage of peoples shall be his"; Asher's "bread shall be rich".  And like his father, Isaac, delivers a death-bed blessing to a younger son:  to Joseph he says "The blessings of your father surpass the blessings of my ancestors to the utmost bounds of the eternal hills . . . . "

In Israel, New Year's Eve is referred to as "Sylvester", a nod to the non-Jewish roots of the festival.  According to the Hebrew version of Wikipedia, the festival of the last night of the year called Sylvester in Israel and in some European countries is associated with Pope Sylvester I ( who served as Pope from 314 to 335) who died during the night of December 31st - January 1st.  The date is, thus, a sacred day of remembrance within the Catholic world, and has become an international day of festivity since the Gregorian calendar became the internationally accepted standard with no thematic connection to Pope Sylvester, of course.

A week like this, when we re-watch the death-bed scene of Jacob's and are encouraged to contemplate the consequences of our actions by virtue of the ticking over of another calendar year, we should consider, perhaps, what Jacob did not:  the aftermath of his own actions.

When Jacob died, surrounded by his twelve sons (and, one supposes, his daughter, Dina, although she is not mentioned) the Torah reports:  "Joseph flung himself upon his father's face and wept over him and kissed him." (50:1)  Reuben, Gad, Issachar, Asher, Dan, Shimon, Levi, Naphtali, Benjamin, Zevulun, Judah . . . nothing.  By this account, Jacob has left behind one bereaved and eleven disaffected sons.  Probably in shock at hearing their father's final words to them.

A few verses later, and we find those eleven brothers turning to Joseph contending that their father had left instructions that Joseph was to forgive his brothers their offense of selling him into slavery and then they offered themselves as slaves to Joseph.  Jacob has left behind a dysfunctional family whose only hope for healing is found in the favored son, Joseph.  Joseph does indeed, bless his brothers will healing words:  "Have no fear!  Am I a substitute for God?  Besides, although you intended me harm, God intended it for good, so as to bring about the present result--the survival of many people.  And so, fear not, I will sustain you and your children."  (50: 19-21)

It is not his father's love that has inspired Joseph to such maturity and perspective, but the opportunity provided to him by God to reach for, and attain, lofty goals . . . to feed those who might otherwise starve.  From such experience, the dysfunction of his own family must seem easily addressed: compassion comes easily to Joseph after all his life experience.

There is value in taking the time to stop and consider our actions and our behavior and our relationships from time to time.  If that contemplation is triggered by the ticking over of the Gregorian calendar year, great!  Any moment of self-reflection that draws us into an evaluation of that which motivates us, inspires us, shapes our actions and guides us in our relationships with those we care about is a good moment, whichever calendar we're looking at.

In this week's parashah, Torah portion, we are witness to a very human moment in the life of our patriarch, Jacob.  Convinced by his mother, Rebecca, that he had alienated his twin, Esau, Jacob had fled to the land of his mother's birth and settled there.  Years later, a husband and father, Jacob is on his way back home.
     As he draws closer to his homeland . . . and to his twin, Esau . . . Jacob begins to worry about the welcome he will receive from his disaffected brother:  will Esau wish him ill?  will Esau attempt to attack him physically?  will Esau turn him away?   Jacob prays:  "Deliver me, I pray, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; else, I fear, he may come and strike me down, mothers and children alike. (Breishit/Genesis 32: 12)
     The closer the brothers become, geographically, the more terrifying the figure of Esau becomes to his twin, Jacob.  Jacob has convinced himself that his and his family may be in mortal danger from the hand of Esau and in order to preserve at least part of his family, Jacob divides his camp into two.  At least one half of his family and his estate will survive Esau's attack.
     Now within sight of each other, Jacob prostrates himself seven times and he approaches Esau . . . who embraces his long lost twin with passion.  Not anger.  Not jealousy.  Just love.
     How often have you found the anticipation to be worse than the event?  How often has the voice inside your head convinced you that you are about to face the insurmountable . . . only to discover yourself in a situation that is easier, more manageable, less intimidating than you allowed yourself to imagine?
     The imaginings of Jacob, compared with the reality of Esau, provide us with the encouragement to resist talking ourselves into fear.  With some faith, some perspective, and some effort to truly understand the other, we can move through this world with a bit more confidence, a bit less of the fear that turns us into people we'd rather not be.

Parashat Vayishlah                      Torah Reading:  Genesis  32:4-36:43

In this week's parashah / Torah Reading, the patriarch Jacob is on his way home.  After decades in the land of his mother's birth, having acquired two wives, two concubines and thirteen children, Jacob is coming home.  Man of means though he may be, homecoming is a source of tremendous anxiety for Jacob: he left as a young man having stolen the blessings due to his older twin Esau and he is not sure of the reception he will receive from his long-estranged twin. 

With all this on his mind, in the middle of nowhere, Jacob is accosted in his sleep by a "being", an angel . . . if you are so inclined, you can read the story as a dramatic working out of Jacob's inner struggle.  Whether God's angels are representative of elements of our own personalities or whether they are beings external to us, Jacob encounters one and wrestles with one in the middle of the night.  The human and the angelic encounter and struggle with each other.

The Chasidic Koretzer Rebbe said:  Within us are all the worlds, and we can therefore be in contact with them all.  With us are all the qualities, good and evil, but they are unborn, and we have the power to beget them.  We can transform evil qualities into good, and good into evil.  By studying Torah and performing commandments we give birth to the angelic within us.

Why is Judaism such a holistic tradition?  Why do we need guidance from the Torah and from Jewish law (halachah) about our relationships with our parents?  our business dealings? our diets? our dress?  Does God think we're stupid and immoral?

God knows that there are moral and good atheists (God made them, too!). 

God, Torah, our tradition, the sages who have built layer upon layer of our rabbinic tradition all know that it's not easy being the best we can be.  The holistic, comprehensive scope of Jewish tradition is here for us not because we can't be trusted, but because we do struggle all the time.  The major figures in the Torah are not perfect human beings because there is no such thing as a perfect human being.  The Torah allows us to witness how their lives are enriched when they let God into their lives . . . .

The gift of this week's parashah?  We are encouraged to keep up the struggle,  to let the angelic impulse prevail, to embrace Judaism in all it's range instead of compartmentalizing it into something we do at 330 Park Avenue or with the family at a holiday or simchah.  Don't forget: Jacob was embraced by Esau when they met.  If we let God in, we win.

Parashat Toldot                      Torah Reading:  Genesis  25:19-28:9

The more I study Torah the more the divine source of the text proclaims itself.  There is one moment in this week's Torah reading in which the Torah's insight into the human soul offers us a key to one of life's most difficult challenges . . . moving past the hurt someone has done to us.

Towards the end of the parashah, we witness a key moment towards the end of Isaac's life:  the moment when he blesses his progeny and, in a sense, appoints the son who will carry the responsibility for sustaining the covenant with God.  Through a ruse (justifiable or not, pre-ordained or not), the younger twin, Jacob, secures the blessing that by birth order should have come to his brother Esau.  When Esau comes to his father's bedside to receive his blessing, he learns that his brother Jacob has maneuvered him out of his rightful blessing and Esau begs his father for a blessing for himself.

The words of Isaac's blessing are a bit cryptic.  He begins by declaring that Esau will prosper, that he will live by his sword and that he will serve his brother until he . . . and then there's a word that is open to interpretation . . . at which point he will throw off the yoke of his brother.

One interpretation of this word is "restive" . . . when you grow restive you will throw off the yoke of your brother.  Someone else interprets it as "humble".  Yet another interpretation seems to be "troubled."

What impresses me about Isaac's blessing to Esau is that the yoke of Jacob, the resentment and hurt that will chain Esau to his brother in a relationship of "servitude" will be broken when something in Esau changes.  When you hit bottom and are tired of carrying this weight around in your heart, Isaac seems to be saying, you'll finally be free of the yoke of your resentment. 

Because our narrative follows Jacob rather than Esau, we do not meet up with Esau again until many years later (in another week's Torah reading!) when Jacob is on his way home and is anxiously protecting his family and possessions in anticipation of a reunion with an angry Esau.  But when the brothers do come face to face again, we see that Esau steps forward to embrace his brother Jacob . . . Esau has achieved his father's blessing after all, has moved past the hurt Jacob saddled him with and embraces him free of the yoke of resentment.