Yaakov said to Shimon and Levi, “You have brought trouble on me, making me odious among the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites and the Perizzites; my men are few in number, so that if they unite against me and attack me, I and my house will be destroyed.” But they answered, “Should our sister be treated like a whore?” (Genesis/ Bereshit 34:30-31)

Copyright 2013 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

That same night he arose and. . . he crossed the ford of the Yavok.  Yaakov was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn.  .  . (Bereshit/ Genesis 32: 23-24)

Good afternoon!

My colleague Rabbi Baruch Halevi had an excellent Torah insight that I’d never really considered: as in the verse above, our ancestor Yaakov seems to have his most intense spiritual experiences at night. (See also Bereshit 28 and 46.) You should check out Rabbi Halevi’s interpretation (here) about facing the inner darkness but what intrigued me was how the Torah stresses that Yaakov was alone that night by the river. This is also explicit the first time he had visions of the night on his flight from Beer-sheva.  (see the link to chapter 28, above.)  Sometimes we gain great insight in solitude, in quiet hours and withdrawal from noise and business; the image of Yaakov alone at night certainly suggests a moment of crisis but also simply those times when looking inward is the only possible way forward.

On the other hand, contrast those two experiences of  Yaakov with the famous scene of his father praying together with his mother:

And Yitzhak prayed to the Lord opposite his wife because she was barren, and the Holy One accepted his prayer, and Rivka his wife conceived. (Bereshit 25:21)

Rashi says that Yitzhak and Rivka prayed in opposite corners of the same room; other commentators suggest that Yitzhak knew that their problem was not only hers but was fully shared by both spouses, thus requiring shared prayer and introspection. There are times for the quiet of solitude, and also times to reveal our struggle and journey with others.

We might say that in the aloneness of the night, Yaakov is confronted with the most basic questions a human can ask: who am I and where am I going? Yitzhak, at his moment of seeking, asks an equally fundamental question: how are we going to move forward together? Perhaps the difference is this: the question is  not only who am I? but how can I be me except in relationship to others?

This is, of course, no conundrum at all. The full spiritual life is a balance of solitude and connection, introspection and dialogue, learning one’s inner truth and also a deep vulnerability to others. Sometimes we need to be Yaakov, alone in the night, and sometimes we need to be Yitzhak, seeking God together with his partner.  Both ways are holy!

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2012 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

Yaakov was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn. When he saw that he had not prevailed against him, he wrenched Yaakov’s hip at its socket, so that the socket of his hip was strained as he wrestled with him. . . . . (Bereshit 32:25-26)

Good afternoon!

Boy it’s been one of those days. . . but not as eventful as the night before our ancestor Yaakov re-encountered his brother Esav, whom he had run away from 20 years earlier after stealing the blessing of the first born. In the famous prelude to their meeting, Yaakov sends gifts ahead to his brother, who is travelling with a small army, and remains alone by a river after dividing his household into two camps for protection. Yaakov meets a mysterious man- perhaps an angel? a dream? a representation of his conscience?- and they wrestle till dawn, eventually leaving Yaakov with a limp in his hip.

The story concludes with one of the few mitzvot, or commandments, of the book of Genesis:

That is why the children of Israel to this day do not eat the thigh muscle that is on the socket of the hip, since Jacob’s hip socket was wrenched at the thigh muscle . . .(ibid, v 33.)

The part of an animal that is not eaten is called gid hanasheh, and is generally understood to be the sciatic nerve and the area around it, which can be removed when an animal is slaughtered according to the Jewish dietary laws.

OK, I can hear you asking, so not eating a certain part of an animal’s leg is connected to Yaakov’s injury during his wrestling. That’s fine, but what, exactly, are we being asked to remember, and why is this connected to a dietary practice?

Well, it turns out that many Torah commentators ask the same questions, and don’t, of course, all agree on the answers. Some say that it is a reminder to keep “wrestling” even if we feel injured or imperfect, and some say that is is a sign that despite the ways in which we might be limping along, there is a promise of Divine aid at the end of our struggles. One particularly poignant interpretation of this mitzvah comes from the medieval commentator Hizzekuni, who asks an obvious question: why did Yaakov’s family and servants leave him alone by the river that night? Surely they should have insisted that he come along with the rest of the camp lest he be found alone by his brother’s men!

Hizzekuni turns his question into his answer: we refrain from eating the gid hanesheh precisely to remind us that Yaakov should not have been left alone and potentially in danger. Granted, perhaps he needed to be alone to wrestle with the angel (or whatever that was) but Hizzekuni is interested in a teaching for the rest of us: do not leave another to feel abandoned, alone or afraid. Perhaps it was Yaakov’s destiny was solitude that night, but that hardly excuses the rest of us from walking away when others may need us most. Seen this way, an obscure mitzvah, that hardly fits with its narrative origins, becomes a powerful reminder of the most basic Jewish principle: you are, indeed, your brother’s (and father’s and sister’s and neighbor’s) keeper.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2010 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

“Said he, ‘Your name shall no longer be Yaakov, but Yisrael, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed.’ “ (Bereshit/ Genesis 32:29)

“God said to him,’You whose name is Yaakov, You shall be called Yaakov no more,but Yisrael shall be your name.’ “ (35:10)

Good afternoon!

This week our ancestor Yaakov goes back home with many wives, children, servants and animals- a whole camp, which is divided in two before they meet up with Yaakov’s brother Esav, whom they fear has aggressive intent. Yaakov himself spends the night alone before this fateful meeting, and wrestles with the angel who changes his name from Yaakov– the deceiver- to Yisrael, the God-wrestler. (As Arthur Waskow puts it.) This name change is then confirmed in a theophany (revelation of the Presence) a few chapters later, as above.

The symbolism is clear: Yaakov, who deceived his brother and ran away, is finally mature enough to humble himself and confront the legacy of his actions; this inner change is marked by the outer change of his name. Yet the Torah continues to use both names – in fact, just a few verses later (35:14) the text says that it was “Yaakov” who set up the pillar to mark the spot where God changed his name!

So what’s the deal here? Is he Yaakov, or Yisrael? From a historical perspective, we might hypothesize that texts which use the different names reflect older traditions woven together- that’s called source criticism, related to the documentary hypothesis. On other hand, some traditional commentaries saw no contradiction, merely noting that “Yisrael” would be considered the primary name and “Yaakov” the secondary name from now on. (Cf. Torah Temimah on 35:10)

If the change of names is indeed symbolic of his growth and spiritual evolution, then we might even posit that it makes sense to carry both names as Yisrael/ Yaakov goes forward on his journey- because spiritual growth is not a linear process of sudden and permanent change. It’s two steps forward, one step back, and a life-long commitment to taking one’s personal inventory of strengths and weaknesses, passions and values, shortcomings and inner challenges. Yaakov can indeed become Yisrael- the God-wrestler- but he carries that part of him which is Yaakov, just as we all grow but carry our earlier selves along the way.

Perhaps the text is even hinting that Yisrael knows that part of himself is still Yaakov- and that this self-awareness is an outcome of his wrestling with conscience and memory. To me, this is a tremendously realistic and yet hopeful view of human nature: spiritual growth consists of knowing and accepting one’s flaws and yet refusing to be bound by them. Yaakov becomes Yisrael and is still Yaakov- not a paradox, but a reflection of the upward spiral of the journeying heart.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Shalom and salutations to one and all. I hope everybody reading this has a measure of serenity as North America goes into the month-long frenzy known as December- as for me, it’s a month will little commercial radio but other than that life goes on in the world of weekly Torah commentaries.

A few weeks ago , we explored the connection between Avraham’s blessing and birkat hamazon, or the blessing after a meal. The key phrase for the portion Chayei Sarah was bakol, that just as Avraham was blessed “in everything,” so should we be blessed. Fast forward in the Torah to this week’s portion, Vayishlach, and once again, we find that our patriarch, in this case Yaakov, is blessed with kol:

“But Yaakov said, ‘No, I pray you; if you would do me this favor, accept from me this gift; for to see your face is like seeing the face of God, and you have received me favorably.  Please accept my present which has been brought to you, for God has favored me and I have plenty.’ ” (Bereshit/Genesis 33:10-11)

What JPS translates as “plenty” is our word kol, literally “all things” or “everything.” The context of the passage above is the reconciliation between Yaakov and his brother Esav; Yaakov, guilty of stealing his brother’s blessing from their father many years earlier, urges his brother to accept gifts of animals as a token of Yaakov’s humility and contrition. Esav is initially reluctant:

“Esav said, ‘I have enough, my brother; let what you have remain yours.’ ” (Ibid, verse 9)

Notice that Esav says he has “enough.” The actual word is rav, which means “a lot” or “plenty,” and in fact, our friend Rashi understands it this way, unlike the JPS translation above. Following Rashi, Esav’s demurral of Yaakov’s gifts is because he has “plenty,” which may be a boastful way of saying “I don’t need what you have to offer,” whereupon Yaakov urges him to accept, saying (again according to Rashi) “I have everything [that I need].” Yaakov, in this reading, knows he has “everything,” in the sense of the necessities, and therefore has enough to share in order to make amends to his brother.

Let’s return to our passage in birkat hamazon, the blessing after the meal:

“Just as God blessed our ancestors Avraham Yitzhak and Yaakov, ‘in all things,’ ‘by all things,’ with ‘all things,’ so may we all be blessed together with a complete blessing.”

Now we see that one way to understand Yaakov’s blessing of kol, or “all things,” is not so much about quantity but attitude. In Rashi’s reading, Esav may have had more wealth than Yaakov, but Yaakov felt that he had “everything” that he needed, and was thus able to part with riches in the service of his moral and spiritual goals. So in asking to be blessed like Yaakov, “with all things,” we’re not asking for more stuff, we’re asking for the capacity to know we have enough. We’re not asking for a material blessing, but for perspective on our material blessings- and that in itself is both priceless and sacred.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

P.S.- see the links in the previous drasha on this topic for comparison, and go to Hebcal for the text of the Torah portion and haftarah.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

This week’s Torah portion is Vayishlach, concerning the reconciliation
but eventual parting of the brothers Ya’akov and Esav. The haftarah,
however, is a bit harder to pin down, because there are, as last week,
different traditions as to which text is read, and in fact, one of the
traditions is that Ashkenazim read this week what Sephardim read last
week, from Hosea.

However, we’re going to follow the Etz Hayim Torah commentary, which
follows the practice of reading the book of Ovadiah, in its entirety
(only 21 verses), as the haftarah for Vayishlach.

OK, now that we’re all together on what we’re learning, what’s in the
learning?

The book of Ovadiah (probably a pseudonym, since Ovadiah means
“servant of God.”) is mostly a prophecy against the nation of Edom,
one of Israel’s neighbors that apparently took advantage of Israel
being in conflict with another nation and either plundered Israel or
at the very least didn’t help. (Cf. verses 1`2-14.) The connection to
the Torah portion is that Edom is understood to be descended from
Esav, brother of our ancestor Ya’akov (AKA Yisrael) – thus linking the
conflict between the brothers to later conflict between Israel and its
neighbor.

The ancient rabbis saw this conflict continue, and identified Edom
with the Roman empire- and thus the book of Ovadiah, who prophesied
Edom’s downfall, was seen not as the past, but as the future, a future
in which the hated Roman domination would be ended and the military
empire overthrown. The cruelty of Edom/ Rome is brought out in a
poignant verse:

“If thieves were to come to you,
marauders by night,
They would steal no more than they needed.
If grape-gatherers came to you,
they would surely leave some gleanings.” (Ovadiah, verse 5)

The basic idea is that even thieves have some honor- they would not
take everything out of a home, but only what they could sell or use,
and even those who raided a vineyard would surely leave <something>
behind, not out of compassion, but because a thief has at least some
rational self-interest, and doesn’t wantonly destroy. Yet I also hear
in these verses a rage against arrogance- because Edom/ Rome has not
been humbled, never experienced a sense of communal violation or
shame, they have no compassion, no understanding of justice and fairness.

There is a real anger in the book of Ovadiah, a sense of outrage at
the perceived lack of basic humanity: “how could you gaze with glee on
your brother that day, on his day of calamity?” (Verse 12) The prophet
is no dispassionate philosopher, but one who is offended at injustice;
not a magician or seer, but a deeply engaged voice of moral clarity.
Seen this way, the prophecy against Edom is not so much about a
particular nation at a particular time, but a symbol of a recurring
theme of history: those who that believe might makes right, and who
crush others because they can, will not stand forever. To believe this
requires both faith and courage- faith to keep struggling for justice
in a world which is often cruel, and the courage to ask hard
questions. That’s a prophetic faith, one which sustained our people
through periods of darkness, and which is no less needed today.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

This week’s portion, Vayishlach, begins with the story of Yaakov
wrestling with a mysterious being the night before he meets up with
his estranged brother Esav; after he and Esav appear to reconcile,
they go their separate ways and Yaakov camps near Shechem.
Unfortunately, he must leave that area after his sons, led by Shimon
and Levi, take a terrible and bloody vengeance on the men of the town
in retribution for an apparent sexual assault upon their sister,
Dinah. In the view of the brothers, the prince of the town had treated
Dinah like a prostitute; in revenge, they deceived all the men of the
town, setting them up for death and despoilment. (Cf. Bereshit/Genesis 34)

The story of the “rape of Dinah” (as it is usually known) raises
complex issues of gender, justice and morality; for today, we will
note only that Shimon and Levi’s actions seem to violate a later Torah
prohibition against “taking revenge,” as expressed in
Vayikra/Leviticus 19:18: “You shall not take vengeance or bear a
grudge against your countrymen.”

A clear explanation of this mitzvah is found in Abraham Chill’s book
on the mitzvot (which I recommend), where he brings the classic
rabbinic explanation of the difference between “revenge” and “grudges:”

1) Revenge, or “nekamah,” is when John comes to Hillary and asks to
borrow a tool, and Hillary refuses. The next day, Hillary comes to
John and asks to borrow a different tool, and John says: “you didn’t
lend to me, I’m not going to lend to you.”

2) Bearing a grudge is remembering past slights, as when Rudy comes to
Mitt to borrow a tool, and Mitt says: “OK, I’m lending you the hammer,
even though yesterday you refused to lend me a wrench.”

Please note: the mitzvah of not taking revenge does not mean we should
permit injustice or not hold people accountable for genuine misdeeds.
It means that the accountability should be proportionate to the wrong,
and limited to the actual problem. To put it another way, I might
explain this mitzvah as the spiritual discipline of attempting to stay
emotionally “centered” even when one feels hurt, insulted or harmed in
some way, and to respond from a place of thoughtfulness, not lashing
out. The mitzvah does not preclude protecting ourselves, or speaking
out when we feel hurt- it means that even if we were hurt, the Torah
challenges us to carefully distinguish between justice and vengeance.

There’s nothing easy about this mitzvah- in fact, it might be one of
the hardest in the Torah. Furthermore, it’s easy to say that Shimon
and Levi’s response to Shechem was totally disproportionate to the
offense, but it’s harder to say just how they might have acted in a
way which held the prince accountable and deterred further violence
against their family. While Yaakov himself condemns what the brothers
did, he does so on practical grounds- that they will be considered
outlaws in the region.

Finally, one should note that the verse from Vayikra specifies that we
are not to take revenge against “bnai amecha,” literally, the
“children of your people.” Thus, some commentators have limited this
prohibition to a behavioral norm only within the Jewish community (see
Chill’s quotation from Kli Yakar, for example), but I reject that
view. The rest of the verse tells us to love “our fellow” [re’eacha]
as ourselves- and our fellow humans are all peoples.

The word “vengeance” evokes images of bloody blades like Shimon and
Levi’s, but the examples given above are much closer to ordinary life.
Who among us has never made a cutting and unnecessary remark, or taken
some small action for the purpose of confounding another? The mitzvah
of refraining from revenge is about cultivating an ethical
consciousness even during rage or pain- that is, precisely when it’s
hardest and most necessary. Not bearing a grudge is really about not
letting other people’s actions determine your own- it is the path of
becoming our best selves.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

Well, it’s a rare week in which a matter of Jewish law decided by a
committee of 25 Conservative rabbis gets major play on television
news, not to mention the New York Times and Time magazine. (Links
below.) In case you haven’t heard, the Committee on Jewish Law and
Standards ( a.k.a. the “Law Committee”), which is the central halachic
[Jewish law and practice] advisory body of the Conservative Movement,
this week accepted a scholarly paper [t’shuvah, or responsum] which
allows for (but does not mandate) the possibility of Conservative
rabbis and congregations adopting a more affirmative stance towards
same-sex relationships.

There is no doubt in my mind that there will be heated conversations
at rabbinic gatherings and in congregational boardrooms for many
months to come, but the one question I’m sure is on the minds of many
faithful readers of Rabbineal-list is : OK, there’s a big controversy,
but what does this have to do with this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach?

Well, I’m glad you asked, because as my teacher Rabbi Artson taught
me, and I’ve taught to many in his name, one of the greatest things
about being Jewish is that whatever the issue at hand is, there is
something to be learned from the weekly Torah portion- it always works
that way! First, let’s catch up from last week: Our ancestor Yaakov is
on his way back to the land of Canaan after years away, and he is
bringing a large camp of women, children and animals with him. He
spends the night alone before meeting his estranged brother Esav, and
then, in a dramatic scene the next day, apparently reconciles with
him. Yaakov presents Esav with many animals as a gift, and humbles
himself before the older brother he has not seen in many years. At
first, Esav refuses to accept these gifts, saying he “has enough,” but
Yaakov persists:

“But Yaakov said, ‘No, I pray you; if you would do me this favor,
accept from me this gift; for to see your face is like seeing the face
of God, and you have received me favorably.’ ” (Bereshit/Genesis 33:10)

Commentators disagree about Yaakov’s meaning here- did he mean that he
is humbled before Esav as one would be before God, or did he mean to
imply obliquely that he, Yaakov, has seen the face of God in a vision
(thus suggesting he is under Divine protection) which might cause Esav
to think twice about any plan of revenge? A simpler explanation is
that Yaakov is saying that just as one does not enter a sacred space
to meet God empty-handed, he does not wish to meet his brother
empty-handed.

All of these are plausible readings, but our Conservative Etz Hayim
commentary suggests another way to understand Yaakov’s reference to
“seeing the the face of God.” Etz Hayim suggests that Yaakov is not
trying to tell his brother to back off, but rather informing his Esav
that because he, Yaakov, has seen the face of God, he is no longer the
same Yaakov who stole Esav’s blessing so many years, but one who has
learned that even his estranged brother is made in the Image of God
and is thus worthy of respect and the opportunity for reconciliation.

It’s important to note that the Torah portrays Yaakov and Esav as
struggling with each other even in the womb- they are almost
paradigmatic rivals. While it’s certainly possible that Yaakov was
merely trying to flatter Esav by saying “to see your face is like
seeing the face of God,” I feel a real humility in Yaakov’s words, a
sense that the long struggle has reached a turning point. Even though
Yaakov and Esav do not ultimately live together, they do achieve a
certain detente- which is a great improvement over plans to deceive or
kill one another!

Returning to the news of the day, I see the Conservative movement
turning from a place of struggle between competing factions (liberal
vs. conservative, progressive vs. traditional, etc.) to a new phase in
our journey together. The challenge now is to see, as Yaakov did, the
face of God even in those from whom we are estranged. There are those
in our organizations and synagogues who are outraged that the Law
Committee endorsed a perspective they understand as contrary to Torah,
and there are those who are furious that the Committee didn’t go far
enough in enacting policies of inclusion and progressive change.

Not only that, but as gay men and women become more visible in our
communities, some will struggle to see the face of God in them- may
they be blessed to do so. On the other hand, those of us who see this
week’s decision as a long-awaited step in the right direction must be
reminded that those who disagree are also our brothers and sisters,
equally passionate about Jewish ethics, community, and values, equally
endowed with the Divine Image.

“To see your face is like seeing the face of God”- to know the sacred
humanity of others is to be unable to hate, and may be even the first
step along the journey towards loving one’s neighbor as oneself- which
is, after all, one of the great principles of the Torah, no matter the
issue that may temporarily divide us.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

PS- before we get to our usual Torah portion links, here’s a
smattering of news and opinion on this week’s Law Committee decision.
The first link is to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, which has a
special section of news and op-eds in the top right corner:

http://jta.org/

The Jewish Forward:

http://www.forward.com/articles/conservative-panel-votes-to-permit-gay-rabbis/

New York Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/07/us/07jews.html?em&ex=1165640400&en=ff825115d4e\
83c4a&ei=5087%0A

Time Magazine:

http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1567109,00.html

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

Oh my goodness, there are only ten more shopping days till Hanukkah!

Well, that’s too stressful to think about, so let’s study Torah instead. This week’s parsha, Vayishlach, is the story of Yaakov’s return to Caanan/Israel after 20 years with his uncle Lavan in Haran. Upon returning to the Land of Israel, Yaakov sends messengers ahead to
his brother Esav, with gifts and messages of reconciliation. Still, he fears his brother will attack him, so he divides his camp for protection. He stays alone on the night before meeting his brother, and has a mystical wrestling which results in a name change: Yaakov,
the deceiver, is now Yisrael, the “God-wrestler.”

Yaakov and Esav do meet, but part ways. Yaakov travels to Shechem, where his daughter Dinah is raped by the local prince; Shimon and Levi, her brothers, wreak a
terrible vengeance on the town. Rakhel, Yaakov’s beloved wife, and the mother of Yosef, dies in childbirth, and is buried near Bethlehem. The parsha concludes with a detailed genealogy of Esav’s family.

At the beginning of the parsha, when Yaakov is heading into the land of Caanan/Israel with a large troop of family, servants, and animals, he sends messengers ahead to his brother, hoping to soften the grudge of the deception that happened twenty years ago. The messengers return with the report that Esav is heading towards him with four hundred men, and Yaakov thinks his plea didn’t work. What’s interesting here is that Rashi insists on reading this part of the story in a way that makes things a bit mystical, when the words
are very clear, and don’t seem to cry out for a creative interpretation.

The word at issue is “malach,” which can mean “messenger,” or “angel,” but that’s really
the same meaning, since in classic Jewish sources, an “angel” is a messenger or message-bearing manifestation from God. The first verse of the parsha says simply:

“Yaakov sent messengers [malachim] ahead of him to his brother Esav. . . ” (Bereshit/ Genesis 32:4)

Well, as I said, that’s not complicated- if you want to send someone a message, you send a messenger, at least in the days before email and fax.

Rashi insists that these “malachim” are “actual angels.” Many of the classic Torah commentators don’t agree with him, but perhaps there’s a way to understand
Rashi’s comment while preserving the plain meaning of the words. I believe (not all commentators do) that Yaakov was truly trying to reconcile with his brother Esav- the brother whom he had cheated and deceived so many years earlier. I think that Yaakov had grown
and matured, and wanted to do t’shuvah, repentance, by fixing the relationship with his brother that he himself had broken.

Perhaps he thought that Esav would not believe that Yaakov wanted to make peace, and thus he (Esav) needed some time to think about it, or perhaps he wanted to go out of his way to show Esav that he meant these overtures- but in either case, the messengers that
Yaakov sent were on a mission of peacemaking between brothers. They were sent ahead so that the sacred purposes of reconciliation and forgiveness might be better achieved. In other words, perhaps what made the messengers into “angels” was not the metaphysics of
their existence, but the holiness of their mission. Yaakov sent the messengers, but they were agents of Divine Purpose- just as any of us would be if we were trying our best to help somebody fix broken brotherhood and reconcile with alienated friends or family.

The angels that Yaakov sent might have been men, but their task was from God, Who desires that we live in peace. Seen this way, Rashi’s comment speaks a spiritual truth: when we carry forth to do the work of peacemaking, we become angels, bearers of sacred
truth and a Divine task, “messengers of God” in human form.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

PS- here’s the link to the text of the parsha and additional commentary:

http://www.jtsa.edu/community/parashah/index.shtml

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Vayishlach

In the Torah portion Vayishlach, Ya’akov prepares to meet his estranged
brother Esav; he divides his camp and ends up all alone in the night, during
which he wrestles with the angel who changes his name to Yisrael. Ya’akov
and Esav meet, and seem to reconcile after their long time apart, but
eventually go their separate ways. Ya’akov and his large family end up in
Shechem, where the prince of the city takes Ya’akov’s daughter Dinah and
rapes her. This provokes a violent response from her brothers Shimon and
Levi, who kill many of the town’s inhabitants in an act of premeditated
deception and revenge.

Yet although Dinah’s brothers claim to act in defense of their sister and her
honor, her father, Ya’akov, is not altogether pleased by Shimon and Levi’s
capacity for warfare. After the killing is finished, Ya’akov confronts his sons
with the claim that their violence has brought him trouble and danger:

“Thereupon, Jacob said to Shimon and to Levi, ‘You have troubled me, to
discredit me among the inhabitants of the land, among the Canaanites and
among the Perizzites, and I am few in number, and they will gather against
me, and I and my household will be destroyed.’

And they said, ‘Shall he make our sister like a harlot?’ ”
(Genesis 34:30-31)

Rashi, the preeminent explainer of nuances in the Torah, says that the word
translated here as “troubled” has a meaning similar to that of murky water,
implying that Ya’akov is not just anxious, he’s confused and agitated by his
son’s warlike actions, and the probable consequences. Rashi quotes an
earlier midrash which goes even further, in which Ya’akov claims that he and
his family could have found a way to live in peace with the neighboring tribes-
presumably, even after the rape of Dinah- but Shimon and Levi have now
closed off that possibility, since (the midrash leads us to conclude) their act
of
vengeance will itself lead to the desire for revenge, continuing a “cycle of
violence,” as we now call it.

Rashi’s explication of Ya’akov’s “troubles”- that he has a “murky” or confused
mind- speaks to the essential paradox of violent responses: violence,
especially when it arises out of a desire to achieve revenge or reclaim honor-
tends to beget further violence.

Shimon and Levi ask a rhetorical question: “should our sister be treated like a
harlot?” Well, no, of course not, but their question is hardly a thoughtful
response to Ya’akov’s anguished fretting over the future, a future in which his
family is implicated in terrible acts. Please note: neither the Torah, nor
Judaism as a whole, advocates pacifism; in a typical Jewish view, sometimes
violence is necessary, so that justice can be served, or security achieved. Yet
saying violence is sometimes necessary begs a larger discussion about when
it is not necessary, let alone moral or wise.

This larger discussion- about the imperative of seeking nonviolent solutions
whenever possible, about the necessity of distinguishing between justice and
vengeance, about the wisdom of setting in motion a deadly cycle which may
take generations to conclude, about the humanity of those perceived as foes-
is hard work, with few easy answers. Note that Shimon and Levi, in asking
their simple question, hardly seem “murky” about the answer- but Ya’akov,
who has greater responsibilities, is quite properly troubled when violence is
the first resort, rather than the last. Ya’akov’s “murkiness” thus stands as a
rebuke to those in our society who claim to revere Biblical texts, yet seem
untroubled when lives are at stake.