November 27th: Vayetze
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
When it comes to Biblical heroes, there are two approaches. One is that they are heroic 100% of the time—from the moment they are born and forever. Whatever they do is good and right—even if it appears otherwise. A case in point is our ancestor Jacob who seems selfish in refusing lentil stew to his famished brother Esau and dishonest in stealing the blessing their father intends for Esau. The Rabbis feel compelled to reconfigure his seemingly ignoble behavior into piety and holy leadership: he is trying to save Judaism from the impulsive, foolish, and brutal leadership of the unfit Esau. To this end, they embark on a kind of character assassination on Esau, finding fault in everything about him. They could be right, but the most important thing is to establish Jacob’s righteousness at every moment of his existence.
This is not just a Jewish way of thinking. In Christianity, there is a debate about when Jesus achieves his Divine abilities. I remember seeing a Renaissance painting showing the Baby (infant!) Jesus standing, holding his hand up in a gesture of blessing, and presumably speaking wisdom. The point of the artist seems to be that, even as a six month old, Jesus can already speak with Divine profundity.
The second view is that Biblical heroes’ heroism or wisdom comes as part of a developmental process. They may not start off perfect; indeed, they may make many missteps. What makes them heroic is that they learn and grow and rise to the occasion. This is certainly a view we can take of Jacob—and of his son Joseph. They are guilty of a variety of less than ideal behaviors in their youth, but they grow out of selfishness or vanity and learn righteousness and wisdom.
Following this line of thinking, we can read Jacob’s early actions—against his brother and his father—not as righteous but as sinful. It can also explain a curious passage in this week’s Torah portion. After finagling his brother and father and escaping from Esau’s wrath, Jacob camps out along the way to Syria and has his famous dream about the ladder between heaven and earth. In that dream, God promises him an amazing destiny, but Jacob tries a little hard-dealing with God. He accepts the blessing but only with conditions: “IF God remains with me, IF He protects me on this journey that I am making, and IF He gives me bread to eat and clothing to wear, and IF I return safe to my father’s house, THEN the Lord shall be my God.” (Genesis 28.20-21)
Jacob finagles his brother. He finagles his father. He tries to finagle God. And then he meets a Master of the Finagle, Uncle Laban. They work on each other and, while Jacob wins some of the battles, he also loses many—and the sad life of Leah, the many family betrayals, and even the death of his beloved Rachel are all the results of his continuing attempts to get one over on Laban. As it turns out, these defeats lead him to a kind of wisdom—bringing him face to face with the struggles of life. This process is symbolized with his wrestling match with an angel, and what emerges is the Patriarch Israel. His spiritual status is hard won, and he carries a limp as a reminder of the costs of unholiness, but God’s way is righteous—as Jacob eventually learns.
For an interesting alternative view on the view of Baby Jesus presented in that Renaissance portrait, consider a fascinating book by a local author. In The First Resurrection of Christ: Becoming Christ, Reverend Dr. Sarah Quinter Malone describes Jesus starting out as a child and following the normal course of human development as he grows into his wisdom and spiritual mission.
By the way, this notion of Biblical figures growing into wisdom can also shed light on those times when heroes backslide or revert to sin. King David is perhaps the best example. Here is a man who has moments of greatness and moments of terrible depravity. He, many modern commentators observe, is an example of how we must all work hard to stay on the straight and narrow—to resist temptation and, when we do not, to repent with all our hearts.
In any event, even those who see total righteousness in the Bible’s heroes believe that learning and growth is necessary in life, and the story of Jacob is one of many used to teach this lesson. I have written before about the story of the ancient academy of Jewish learning, led by Shem and Eber (Noah’s son and great-great-grandson) and located at Mount Moriah (Salem / Jerusalem). Further corroboration for this tradition is found in the saga of Jacob. Though his mother suggests traveling from Hebron to Syria (Paddan-aram) “for a while, until your brother’s fury subsides—until your brother’s anger against you subsides—and he forgets what you have done to him” (Genesis 27.44-45), Jacob ends up being away from home for twenty-one years. However, the events described in the Torah only add up to fourteen years. What is he doing for those seven missing years? The Midrash’s answer is that he was studying, of course—studying at the Yeshiva of Shem and Eber. Patriarchs have to study—and so do regular people, like me and you.
I conclude with another interfaith insight. The Tibetan Buddhists have an interesting belief about their main three leaders, Lamas, being reincarnated and continuing to lead them continually. When one dies, the body of his rebirth must be ascertained—and the child’s parents must agree to releasing their child to the monks for training. Though he is the spiritual leader and the possessor of a higher soul, he is nonetheless a child and must be taught all the skills and wisdom of their religion—growing into the spiritual leader he is destined to be.
Wisdom and skills require learning and study. It is the way.