December 2nd: Vayetze
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
In the intra-family drama of this week’s Torah portion, most of us focus our attention on poor Leah and poor Jacob who are involuntarily married to each other. Jacob is in love with Leah’s sister, Rachel, and has worked for their father, Laban, for seven years to “earn” Rachel’s hand. At the last minute, Laban has Leah dressed in the (face-covering) wedding clothing, and Jacob does not find out he has married the wrong sister until it is too late. The situation is “resolved” when Laban agrees that, for an additional seven years of labor, Jacob can also marry Rachel.
I say “resolved” because, while the Jacob and Rachel love story continues, there is never any real resolution for Leah. She is a perpetual victim who never has the full love of her husband. This is an example of “the sins of the father” inflicting themselves on future generations. One hopes that our Mother Leah found fulfillment in the love of her children—and perhaps in her place in the tribe. We just know that her romantic life was sabotaged from the very beginning.
Focusing on Leah, Rachel, and Jacob, I find myself skipping over Laban—a Biblical character known for his dishonesty. In one Midrash, even his hospitality is treated as suspect. When we read in Genesis 29.13, “…Laban ran to meet Jacob, and embraced him and kissed him…,” the Rabbis explain that Laban was actually frisking Jacob to see if he had any valuables—and that the “kiss” was Laban sticking his tongue into Jacob’s mouth to see if he had any hidden jewels! He is known as bad actor but generally tossed aside to pay attention to the drama of Jacob, Leah, and Rachel’s household.
However, there is something especially insidious about the way Laban “explains” his deception.
“It came to pass, that in the morning, behold, it was Leah (that Jacob had married!); and he said to Laban, what is this that you have done to me? Did I not serve with you for Rachel? Why then have you deceived me? And Laban said, It is not the practice in our place to marry off the younger before the older.” (Genesis 2.25-26) He acts as though his dishonesty is just a local custom that the “outsider” does not know. So focused is Jacob on his love for Rachel—and the mistaken wedding to Leah—that he does not call out Laban. He grasps for whatever “solution” is available. However, this claim of “local custom” is highly suspect.
Note firstly that Jacob is not really a foreigner. He is a Laban’s nephew, the daughter of Laban’s sister, Rebekah. She raised him and presumably educated him in the various customs and mores of Western Mesopotamia. Does not Laban speak of their common bonds? “You are truly my bone and flesh… my kinsman.” (Genesis 29.15-16) Add to this the fact that Jacob has lived in Laban’s house and worked for him for seven years—all in anticipation of marrying Rachel. One would think that local mores would have had a chance to reveal themselves.
Wherever one goes, there are, of course, local ways of doing things. The Rabbis accord them with profound respect and often consider the minhag hamakom—local mores and customs—as authoritative as Halachah. However, it is possible to use local uniqueness as a kind of weapon—marginalizing newcomers or mislabeling personal preference as established precedent.
The role of telling a newcomer local history gives the teller great power. Individuals or groups can be identified as important or tangential, as heroes or villains. Tellers of history should be careful, however, as the perceptions they shape can help or harm both individuals and community. Additionally, a misrepresentation revealed can do great damage to the tellers’ reputation. Since local stories are told by many people, a newcomer who finds that he/she has been misinformed cannot help but re-evaluate their previous sources.
It is also quite possible to overstate the uniqueness of a place or group. Every place is unique, but we share much of the human situation with others. Take my experience among the Reform Jews of the South. I was raised among French/German/Alsatian Jews who immigrated to the United States in the mid-late 1800’s, and this same demographic populated the congregations I served in Mississippi, Arkansas, Alabama, Georgia, and Florida. Though each person in each congregation is unique, I found remarkable similarities in terms of Jewish backgrounds, attitudes, sensitivities, experiences, and customs. Indeed, these kinds of similarities lead to the bonds of sympathy and empathy which allow and enhance human relationships. The commonality of our human and Jewish experiences is striking. There are uniquely local mores and stories, but there are some things essentially human and essentially Jewish that bind us all together.
Let me conclude with a slightly amusing anecdote about “local” ways. Shortly after I arrived in State College, our congregation suffered the loss of a long-time and beloved member, Peter Lang. I never had the pleasure of knowing Peter, but I was at his funeral and his shivah. When I arrived for the Saturday night shivah, there were lots of people present, but they were not yet ready for the service. Penn State was playing Michigan, and everyone was glued to the televisions. The game was fierce and going into overtime—and the mourners wanted to defer their prayers until after the game. A few people were concerned that I would not understand—that, as a newcomer, I would not understand the local devotion to Penn State football, and they tried to soothe my anticipated disapproval. Little did they understand that, though a “foreigner,” I was not ignorant of football frenzy. Football was big in my hometown, and I married into a rabid LSU family from Baton Rouge. More than that, in my very first congregational experience—in Greenwood, Mississippi, my home-hospitality host got so excited watching his beloved Mississippi State Bulldogs beat Notre Dame that he had to spend four days in the hospital, hooked up to heart monitors but incredibly happy. So, did I understand delaying Peter’s shiva minyan? Of course I did. The mourners clearly loved Peter, and they clearly loved their football team. Delaying the service was a ubiquitous experience.
Back to the Torah: Laban’s attempt to disarm Jacob from his very legitimate objection is both dishonest and absurd. Marrying off Leah is not the local custom, but rather one more example of Laban’s dishonest and destructive ways. He is, among many other sins, committing the transgression later forbidden twice in Exodus (22.20 and 23.9): “Do not oppress the stranger.” Yes, things vary from place to place, but human decency, honesty, kindness, and compassion should be practiced and respected in every place. In every place.