Two Blessings for Jacob…

When we think of Jacob as a young man, we tend to recall the dramatic episode when he surreptitiously disguised himself as Esau to “steal” the blessing from his father Isaac. As we study our Torah reading, however, we learn that Jacob actually received two blessings from his father. The first blessing — given to a disguised Jacob — focused on material blessings: the “dew of heaven,” the “fatness of the earth,” “plenty of grain and wine,” political power and hegemony (Gen. 27:28-29), whereas the second blessing — given to an undisguised Jacob — focused on his role as God’s chosen patriarch of Israel (Gen. 28:3-4). The difference between these blessings turned on Isaac’s restored vision. His first blessing was tailored to the character of Esau as his “natural choice,” whereas his second blessing looked beyond mere appearances to behold the vision that was originally given to his father Abraham:

“May God Almighty bless you, and make you fruitful,
and multiply you so you become an assembly of peoples.
And may He grant the blessing of Abraham
to you and your offspring.”
(Gen. 28:3-4)

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Bartering with Vanity…

From our Torah portion (i.e., parashat Toldot) we read: “And Esau said to Jacob, ‘Let me eat some of that red stew, for I am exhausted!’ Therefore his name was called Edom (אֱדוֹם).” The Hebrew text more forcefully reports Esau’s words: ‘Let me gulp down (הַלְעִיטֵנִי) some of that “red-red stuff” (הָאָדם הָאָדם), picturing how eagerly he bartered away the blessing of heaven for a momentary and fleeting pleasure… The Maharal of Prague said that when Esau called the stew that “red-red stuff,” he was acting like an unthinking brute that relates to things without restraint, in the immediacy of the moment, and without regard to their “form,” that is, their higher purposes or end…

 

 

“See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled; and that no one is sexually immoral or profane (i.e., βέβηλος, worldly, ungodly) like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal” (Heb. 12:15-16). Surely this is the deeper meaning of “profanity” – to deny reality, to live in willful ignorance, and to miss the glory of God’s presence.

Rebekah’s Surrender…

When the twins fought within her womb, Rebekah asked, lamah zeh anochi (“Why do I exist?”), and then the LORD gave her the prophecy: ve’rav ya’avod tza’ir – “the older (or “stronger) shall serve the younger” (see Gen. 25:23). God had chosen one of her two children to become the heir of the covenantal promise, and she therefore may have thought it was her purpose or mission in life to help make that happen… However, Rebekah’s elaborate scheme to trick her husband by exchanging the twins for the blessing was doomed from the outset, since God needed to open the blind eyes of Isaac to truly bless Jacob as the family heir (Gen. 28:1-4). Rebekah’s mistake was that she thought it was her job to intervene, or to “help God” by resorting to human intervention – somewhat like her mother-in-law Sarah earlier had sought to “help God” by giving Hagar as a surrogate wife to Abraham to produce the heir. It is a difficult thing to let go and to trust that the Lord will take care of everything. Lamah zeh anochi – Why do I exist, except to bear witness to God’s providential plan and to trust in God’s power to work all things together for good?

Such a plaintive question, lamah zeh anochi – “Why do I exist?” When she was young, Rebekah seemed strong, secure, and courageous. For example, after meeting Eliezer she unhesitatingly declared her willingness to leave all that she knew to go to a strange land and to marry an unknown man — all for the promise of an unseen good. Nevertheless Rebekah was tested. First, she (like Sarah) was barren and for 20 years ached for a child with Isaac. Second, her pregnancy was difficult and the Lord foretold her that though she would have twins, there would be an ongoing conflict between them that would trouble their lives. Third, after bearing the children, Rebekah’s turmoil continued: her husband discounted her faith; her sons pathetically competed for the approval of their father; and she was torn to choose to stand with Jacob even if that jeopardized her relationship with both Esau and Isaac. And later, after the scheme to exchange Jacob for Esau was exposed, her worst fear was realized: she indeed lost both of her sons (Esau because of her betrayal, and Jacob after he fled to Mesopotamia). Struggle after struggle: lamah zeh anochi? Why is this happening to me? Why did I deserve such a fate? Why, but to partake of the truth – to suffer for the sake of the deliverance of God’s ultimate blessing for the world. Like Rebekah, we have an important part to play, though assuredly we will be tested and experience challenges along the way. Lameh zeh anochi? To learn to trust God for all that happens in life…

Note: This post is related to this week’s Torah reading, parashat Toldot.

The Oath of Blessing…

In our Torah portion this week (Toldot) we learn that the great oath of blessing that God gave to Abraham was extended (exclusively) to his beloved son Isaac (Gen 26:3-4; Rom. 9:7). Recall that it was only after the Akedah (the sacrifice of Isaac) that the LORD God swore the oath (שְׁבוּעָה) that through Abraham would all the families of the earth be blessed: “By myself I have sworn, declares the LORD, because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son (ben yachid), I will surely bless you… and in your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed, because you have obeyed my voice” (Gen. 22:16-18; cp. Gal. 3:9,16). The phrase, “by myself have I sworn” is the most solemn oath God could make and must be regarded as an inviolable vow (Heb. 6:13-18). It is nothing short of astounding to realize that the very existence of Israel and the Jewish people – and therefore the advent of the Messiah himself – derives from the Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his “only begotten son,” an act of faith that constituted the revelation of “deeper Torah” later enshrined in the laws of sacrifice given at Sinai.

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Keep the Flame Burning…

Keep the flame within your heart burning, friend… A sage once told a person struggling with his faith: “It is written that all creation was brought into being because of people like you. God saw there would be people who would cling to our holy faith, suffering greatly because confusion and doubt would plague them. God perceived that such would overcome these doubts and troubles of heart and remain strong in their belief. It was because of this that God brought forth all creation.” Indeed, it was because of this that Yeshua our LORD suffered and died for you… Amen. Therefore never yield to despair, since that leads to further darkness and fear. Press on and keep fighting the “good fight” of faith (1 Tim. 6:12). Remember that you infinitely matter to heaven; your life has great value; you are significant and you are truly loved by our Heavenly Father. There is a “future and a hope” for you; there is “a white stone, and on that stone will be written a new name that no one can understand except the one who receives it” (Rev. 2:17). May “the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perishes, though it be tested with fire, be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation to come” (1 Pet. 1:7).

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The Life-Giving Fear…

In the Torah we read: “And now, Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you, but to fear the LORD your God…” (Deut. 10:12). Notice that “fear of the LORD,” yirat Adonai (יִרְאַת יהוה), comes first and is what is required of you. The sages say that to fear the LORD means that your fear should be like God’s fear. But what could God possibly fear, you ask? Only this: that you will turn away from his love and destroy yourself. To fear God means abhorring that which breaks the relationship He desires with you. That is the wound of God’s heart, and that is what God “fears.”

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Faith and Resurrection…

More space is given to the negotiation between Abraham and the Hittites for the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron (Gen. 23:3-16) than many other matters in Torah, since it represented Abraham’s faith in the resurrection from the dead. Indeed it was the death of Sarah that moved Abraham to “see and greet from afar” the fulfillment of God’s promise, despite the appearances of this world (Heb. 11:13). Thus Abraham said to the sons of Chet: “I am a ‘stranger and sojourner’ (גֵּר־וְתוֹשָׁב) among you; sell me a burial site…” (Gen. 23:4). Abraham foresaw the City of God, the architecture of Zion to come, and by faith “he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:9-10). This the legacy of Abraham as the father of faith (Gal. 3:7). It is significant that after the great Exodus, the two faithful spies sent to scout the land (Joshua and Caleb) first visited the burial place of the patriarchs in Hebron to renew their conviction that the land could be taken (Num. 13:21-22). The heart of faith affirms the promise of God, even in the face of the dust of death itself; it affirms that underlying the surface appearance of life is a deeper reality that is ultimately real and abiding. It “sees what is invisible” (2 Cor. 4:18) and understands (i.e., accepts) that the “present form of this world is passing away” (1 Cor. 7:31). Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen (Heb. 11:1).

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Enduring Ourselves…

Spirituality is lived now, in this world… “I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one” (John 17:15). We are “in but not of” the world; we are part yet also not part of it… This is the tension of living in the realm of the “already-not-yet.” We are haunted by a sense of incompletion – a yearning for the fulfillment of our salvation, an inner ache that helps focus the heart’s affections…

A paradox of the spiritual life is that we must descend to ascend… We enter at the “straight gate” of humility and brokenness. We all sin; we all fall short. First we must accept our own “dark side” — our own sinful nature — before we can ever come to know the light… This is the path of confession – acknowledging the truth about who we really are, which is the only way we can learn to “endure ourselves” and eventually let go of our shame. We find ourselves when we give up our defenses and take hold of God’s compassion. We all have our sins; now we must find our courage in God’s love.

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Is Life Worth Living?

The Talmud states that even after the judgment of the great Flood (הַמַּבּוּל) humanity refused to truly turn back to God (as the present state of this world also attests). In light of the ongoing wickedness of mankind, the early sages Hillel and Shammai engaged in a protracted machlochet l’shamayim (“a debate for the sake of heaven”) regarding whether it would have been better for humans not to have been created at all… Hillel argued that it was better that humans had been created, whereas Shammai argued the other way. Finally a vote was called for and the decision rendered was this: It would have been better for humans not to have been created than to have been created. However, since we do in fact exist, we must search our past deeds and carefully examine what we are about to do (Eruvin 13b).

In his famous Gifford Lectures regarding the nature of religious belief, the American philosopher William James (1842-1910) described the consciousness of death as “the worm at the core” of all that we hope for in the attempt to find lasting happiness apart from God. He wrote: “Make the human being’s sensitiveness a little greater, carry him a little farther over the misery-threshold, and the good quality of the successful moments themselves when they occur is spoiled and vitiated. All natural goods perish. Riches take wings; fame is a breath; love is a cheat; youth and health and pleasure vanish. Can things whose end is always dust and disappointment be the real goods which our souls require? Back of everything is the great specter of universal death, the all-encompassing blackness” (Varieties of Religious Experience).

These are sobering and chilling words, and yet the truth is that death is inevitable for us and therefore it constitutes the central question of our existence in this world. Pleasures, wealth, and worldly ambition do not satisfy us but are like chasing after the wind — they are “havel havalim” (הֲבֵל הֲבָלִים), the utmost of vanities, as King Solomon said long before the French existentialists expressed the same idea (Eccl 1:2). We live in a world of constant flux wherein ha’kol oveir (הכל עובר), “everything passes” and nothing abides. Our lives are as a vapor; our days are troubled and our aspirations fail: “My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass” (Psalm 102:11); “I am fading away like a shadow at the end of the day; I am shaken off like a locust” (Psalm 109:23); “What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field” (Isa. 40:6). “For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away” (James 4:14).

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Emptiness and Hunger…

The disciples assumed Yeshua needed earthly bread to find strength, but he said to them, “I have food to eat that you do not know about” (John 4:32). This “hidden bread” (i.e., lechem ha-nistar: לֶחֶם הַנִסְתָּר) was the passion and joy He had doing the will of God… Notice how the Teacher often used metaphors to elevate the thinking of his students. Earthly bread is a shadow of a deeper reality. Just as physical bread is a means to physical life, so “man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that God speaks” (Deut. 8:4; Matt. 4:4). Therefore Yeshua is the true manna, the “Living Bread” (לֶחֶם חַיִּים) from heaven that sustains us in “the desert” of this world. He is the One who truly satisfies the heart by removing the inner pain of our emptiness and hunger.

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