Struggling in the night

Cold; so cold it cuts through the rags that were once clothes, straight to the bone.

There was a time this cold so occupied your very being, you could concentrate on nothing else. But that was long ago.

Darkness; so dark it sometimes seems more than the mere absence of light; it seems almost tangible. You vaguely recall a time when you were obsessed with determining exactly where you were, pacing in the darkness to examine your environs. You figured out you were in some sort of a concrete cell, perhaps six feet square, but not much more than that. You used to wonder what color the walls were, never having been allowed to see them, but that curiosity has long ago been replaced with more basic needs.

Something scurries across the stone floor, running across your bare foot. There was a time your screams would then echo into the darkness, but you no longer have the energy to even react.

You don’t know what time it is, you don’t know what day it is; you’re not even sure what year it is. You used to try to figure out what season it was, and whether the cold damp on the walls and in the air was an indication of winter, but it seems to be cold here year round. And even if you could figure out what season it was, or even what year; what difference would that make?

Does anyone know you are here? Does anyone still care? Could today be your birthday? Is anyone still thinking of you? Do they remember you?

A sudden noise, the sound of metal on concrete, as a tray with some undistinguishable food substance slides through a slot in the cell door. You never figured out how they do that without making a sound, or letting in any light. You used to call out, screaming into the darkness, hoping for any response, any human voice…

Sudden panic; what if you are blind? What if they blinded you only it was so long ago, you just don’t remember? What if you are mad? The panic begins to rise, threatening to overwhelm you, and not for the first or even the thousandth time, you manage to get a grip, and hang on. But for how long? And to what end?

If your name was Zack Baumel, Tzvi Feldman, or Yehuda Katz, this could well be your daily routine; a routine you might still be living with, since the battle of Sultan Yaakov, in 1982.

These men, Israel’s MIAs, (along with Ron Arad and Guy Chever) represent the challenge of being alone. There is little in this world that is more challenging, more painful, and more overwhelming, than the feeling of being alone.

Indeed, the only thing ever described in the Torah as being ‘not good,’ is being alone.

“Lo Tov heyot Ha’Adam levado” (Genesis 2:18)

“It is not good for man to be alone.”

All of which makes Yaakov’s experience in this week’s portion all the more challenging.

“Va’Yivater Ya’akov Levado, Va’yeavek Ish imo ad alot Hashachar”

“And Yaakov remained all alone, and wrestled or struggled with a man until dawn.” (Genesis 32:25)

Who was this man? And what was this struggle? And most of all, how came Yaakov to be left all alone in the middle of the night?

Yaakov, finally returning home to Israel after 22 long years of exile, is confronted with the imminent encounter with his brother Esav. The same Esav who, 22 years earlier, upon discovering Yaakov’s usurping of the birthright blessings, swore he would one day gloat over Yaakov’s corpse.

And Esav isn’t just ‘out there somewhere’ to be considered; he’s heading Yaakov’s way with four hundred fighting men. And it appears they mean business.

So Yaakov is terrified:

“Vayira Yaakov me’od, vayetzer lo.”

“And Yaakov was very afraid, and a panic seized him.” (Genesis 32:8)

Recognizing the need for action, Yaakov splits his camp in two, reasoning that if Esav and his men mean harm, they will confront one of the camps, and the other will be able to escape, ensuring that the Jewish people will survive this night.

So how and why is Yaakov then left all alone? Why is he not with at least one of the two camps, taking responsibility for the struggle and delegating the other camp to one of his sons?

And what is Yaakov so afraid of? How can Yaakov, having been promised by G-d that all will be well, and that he will father the Jewish people, be afraid? The same Yaakov promised by G-d “I will be with you” (“VeE’heyeh Imach”; Genesis 28:15) is ‘filled with fear’? And who is he afraid of? Esav?

Rav Soleveitchik, z”l, suggests a fascinating answer. The identity of the ‘man’ Yaakov struggles with is so unclear, because that man is none other than Yaakov himself. Yaakov’s struggle here is with himself. When all is said and done, Yaakov realizes that he is alone.

After 22 years in the house of Lavan, perhaps Yaakov is struggling to figure out who he really is. Yaakov goes down to the house of Lavan dreaming of ladders with angels, but he leaves 22 years later dreaming of sheep and money. Has Yaakov the dweller of tents (which tradition teaches us refers to Yaakov’s spiritual nature) become Yaakov the ‘man of the field’?

This question is one Yaakov has been struggling with all his life.

Yaakov is described in the Torah as “a pure soul, a dweller of tents,” nearly the antithesis of his brother Esav, (the “hunter, and man of the field”; Genesis 25:27) And when Yitzchak their father wants to give the blessings to Esav, Yaakov’s mother, Rivkah, convinces Yaakov that he needs to ‘become’ Esav, to receive the blessings. One wonders how much of ‘Esav’ Yaakov has become; And how Yaakov must feel, knowing that his own mother wants him to ‘become’ his brother.

And then Yaakov, having found his true love Rachel, is forced by her father Lavan to marry her sister Leah instead. So for seven years Yaakov ends up being the husband he doesn’t want to be instead of the lover he wishes he were.

In fact, Yaakov is born trying to be someone he isn’t. The Torah tells us he is called Yaakov because he is born clutching the heel (‘Akev’ in Hebrew) of the first-born Esav (Genesis 25:26). Yaakov, even in birth, wants to be the first-born, the Bechor, but is relegated to being the younger. So who really is Yaakov? Perhaps Yaakov is struggling with who he is meant to be.

Maybe Yaakov is wondering: am I still that same Yaakov? Or have I become the Esav I ran from? Has Lavan, whose name means deception, ended up influencing me far more than I had imagined?

Sometimes we look back at whom we thought we wanted to be, the model of who we dreamed we could become, and we wonder where that person got lost.

Maybe the reason being alone is the only thing the Torah describes as ‘no good’ is because if I think I am alone, then I just don’t get it.

When Hashem created the world he saw it ‘was good.’ Which is strange, because almost immediately, we started doing all sorts of things that weren’t so good. We ate from the wrong tree, Cain killed Abel, and pretty soon there is a flood that destroys the world. G-d created an obviously imperfect world; He didn’t finish the job. So what was so good?

If everything was created perfect, if it was all already as good as it could get, then what purpose would we have in this world? That existence would have been terribly lonely. And to be lonely is ‘no good.’

Very often, people think that they can do it all alone. Prior to World War Two, America pursued a policy of isolationism, believing each nation should be responsible for its own affairs. Imagine how different the world would be if America had realized the fallacy of this approach a mere three years earlier, standing up to Hitler in 1939, instead of 1942. Quite possibly, we would be 20 million lives richer.

Isolationism wasn’t invalid just because it was wrong; it was invalid because it just isn’t true. We are not and cannot be isolated nations.

We are really one world, all a part of, and affected by, everyone else. And the more we learn to discover who we are, and how we can help and give to each other, the more we create the type of world we are meant to build. And that was both the struggle and the dream of Yaakov.

These past weeks, once again, as missiles fall on the cities of Israel, and children huddle in bomb shelters, Israel has had to remember once again, that we alone must take a stand and determine our destiny. And yet, we are not alone; both because G-d is always with us, as well as because there are many in the world who stand with us and that is a good thing. We dream of peace, and yet, we must once again be prepared for war. We long to live the life of Yaakov, dwelling in our tents, and yet we must be willing to take up the hands of Esav….

Twenty two years after Yaakov dreamed of ladders and angels, after a long bitter journey of deceit and exile, the man who has learned how to live in the field, gets back in touch with the dweller of tents he had once been. Struggling in the night, in the darkness of lonely introspection, Yaakov demonstrates that it is never too late to get back in touch with the ‘me’ we all once dreamed we could be.

May Hashem bless us all with the peace we so long for, soon….

Shabbat Shalom

Binny Freedman

Rav Binny Freedman, Rosh Yeshivat Orayta in Jerusalem’s Old City is a Company Commander in the IDF reserves, and lives in Efrat with his wife Doreet and their four children. His  weekly Internet ‘Parsha Bytes’ can be found at www.orayta.org