Parashat Vayishlach

Parashat Vayishlach Sinai Synagogue

Esther Hugenholtz 

Each of Us Has a Name 

"Each of us has a name, given by God and given by our parents... Each of us has a name given by our enemies and given by our love." 

These words by the famous Israeli poetess Zelda appear to be custom-made for this week's parashah, parashat Vayishlach. This touches on the deepest core of who we are and what we think we are. And those two things are not always the same. 

This week, Jacob, the perennial trickster, can no longer run away from his own destiny. He has to face the proverbial music and dance, or rather, wrestle. 

He has left Laban's house as a rich man, in possession of two wives, two concubines, eleven sons, one daughter, servants and herds of cattle, sheep and donkeys. His, shall we say, "entrepreneurial endeavours" have not been fruitless. But Jacob's creativity is not enough. It won't save him this time. Jacob's creativity has allowed him to sail the currents of his life's flow and prosper in the process. He has a knack for turning the odds in his favour as he tricks his elder twin out of his birthright, acquires two wives in the face of Laban's scheming (they really did deserve each other!) and turns Laban's fortunes against him as he amasses livestock and wealth. 

Jacob has done well for himself. The currents of life could have swept him under but rather he managed to stay afloat. But what he did not do was rise above them. Rise above the intrige and manipulation, above his own impulses and needs. The Jacob we know so far has not been able to self-reflect and truly grow as a human being. Each of us has a name, the name given by our parents. Ya'acov's name is related to him grasping Esav's ankle when he was born. This is the man we know: always grasping, trying to tackle the other and hold on to what he deems his right. The Midrash relates Ya'acov to Akvah, deceit (ayin-kuf-bet is the shared root). Did Rivkah and Yitzchak in a manner condemn Jacob with his name just as they did Esav, naming him Edom, the red one, fallen to his shortsighted passions, signing away his fate for a bowl of lentil stew? 

The names that parents give are truly important. Naming a child is a blessing, a calling and perhaps a prophecy. Name your children, then, with tender care and thoughtful insight! But of course things are not that simple. Judaism doesn't adhere a determinist worldview where either nature or nurture condemns us to the mistakes of our ancestors. If that were the case, well, then there is scant hope for us! The narratives of Genesis tell us of the weight of parentage and upbringing, warts and all. But also offers us a redemptive vision to use the gifts of our parents while discarding toxic or at least difficult baggage. But this requires us to step outside of ourselves, and take the God's eye perspective, so to say. 

Each of us has a name, given by our parents and given by God. It is in Jacob's greatest hour of need, during his most vulnerable moment, that he grows. That he forces himself to grow. He finds himself on the banks of the river Jabbok, a tributary of the great Jordan river and the scene almost seems a repeat from his travelling experience in parashat Vayetzeh. Here too, he lodges and anxiously faces the confrontation with his estranged brother Esav. Jacob is distressed and afraid, and as Rashi comments, on account of the prospect of violence between him and Esav, whether as a victim or as a perpetrator. He prays, for the first time acknowledging his humility. Placing his family out of harm's way, he crosses the river. He is alone, in the dark, and encounters a stranger on the banks of the Jabbok with whom he wrestles. "Vayivater Ya'acov levado vaye'avek ish imo ad alot hashachar." "And Jacob was left alone and wrestled with him a man until the break of dawn." It seems poignant. Does the break of dawn symbolise enlightenment or insight gained through his struggle? The unknown man demands he let him go and Jacob demands in return to be blessed by him. The angel asks his name. Who are you? The underlying question is. And what do you think you are? Who do you hope to become? 

When somebody asks our name it is a chance for us to redefine or reaffirm who we are. This is where the moment of transcendence happens. The anger renames Jacob Yisrael, 'he who wrestles with God.' As an angel, a shaliach, an emissary of the Eternal, Zelda's poem rings truer still. It is God Himself Who renames Jacob, Who recognises his existential struggle rather than a self-interested contest of wills, and blesses him through it. 

Just as Jacob has swam the currents of the Jabbok and prevailed, he has finally touched a life of true meaning, of service and of hard-fought dignity. He has conquered his fears not through trickery but through honesty. And he has wrestled with God not because of an ulterior motive but to truly seek God's Name and challenge Him in the proud tradition of Abraham his grandfather. He no longer goes with the flow and is no longer shaped by circumstance and impulse but has become a riper person, a more noble person, a person ready to reconcile with Esav after twenty years and who honours the memories of his wives. Who himself breaks the toxic family patterns in the end, through reprimanding his conflictive sons and celebrating the peace and joy of his grandsons through Joseph, Manesseh and Ephraim. 

Each of us has a name, given to us by our parents. There is much beauty in that as well as challenge. But if Jacob's saga tells us anything is that being a Yisrael, a God-Wrestler, a Jew who stands firmly and lovingly in the tradition of his or her people, is about seeking the transcendence, both in God and in ourselves. 

We are meant to wrestle, to challenge and to grow. It may be painful and scary but it is our duty and the rewards are the gifts of a life of meaning and ethics bestowed on generations to come.

La alegría y la vulnerabilidad

Kehillat Beth Shalom, Barcelona 

La alegría y la vulnerabilidad 

¿Alguna vez has estado en un viaje por carretera o quería ir a uno? Deje la oficina, haz las maletas y marcharse hacia el atardecer, sin saber a dónde vas? Mi marido y yo hicimos algo como este para nuestras vacaciones el año pasado. Alquilamos un coche, hicimos nuestras maletas y nos cerró la puerta detrás de nosotros. Recuerdo que me sentí emoción - un zumbido real! - Cuando nos fuimos. ¿Dónde vamos a ir? He viajado mucho - así como yo he viajado a venir aquí - pero los mejores viajes son los viajes inesperados. Los recorridos que conducen a explorar y encontrar a su inseguridad. ¿En qué hotel vamos a dormir este noche? ¿Todavía hay un restaurante abierto a las 9 pm? (Ahora sé que en España esto no es un problema, pero en Holanda? Oy va voy!) ¿Y si nos perdemos en el camino? Pero es precisamente esta mezcla de felicidad y vulnerabilidad que hace que el viaje hermoso. No sé de dónde será el próximo y es todo una gran aventura. 

Para vosotros y para mí, este momento también es un tipo de viaje. No se conocen todavía y espero poder conocer a todos vosotros. Espero poder viajar junto con Beth Shalom durante este año. Todo es una experiencia nueva para mí, trabajar con una comunidad en Catalunya, escribir sermones (con un poco de ayuda de Google Translate!) y trabajar en español! Yo, también, puede perderse en el camino a veces. Yo podría tomar un giro equivocado. No bastante puede saber dónde voy. Pero también estoy muy ansioso por aprender y espero que tenga paciencia. Es un gran privilegio de compartir este "viaje por carretera" con vosotros. 

Nosotros, los Judios, somos buenos para viajar. A lo largo de nuestra historia, hemos viajado. Algunos de nosotros hemos descubierto o redescubierto el judaísmo como adultos. Otros de nosotros hemos crecido con él y han estado en este viaje desde hace mucho tiempo. Hemos estado viajando desde los días de Abraham y Moisés. Bueno, se perdió en el desierto durante cuarenta años, ¿no? Nosotros, los Judios no les gusta atajos ni soluciones simples. Los israelitas podrían haber llegado a la tierra prometida de Egipto sólo en unas pocas semanas. Pero eso no habría hecho el viaje valga la pena. Porque para nosotros, el viaje es el destino. Mientras que la ética y la idea de "yitzi'at Mitzrayim ', que sale de Egipto, está presente en todas nuestras chagim (incluso Rosh Hashaná y Iom Kipur!), Sucot es realmente la quintaesencia de' vacaciones 'de fiesta. Construimos nuestras chozas temporales, nuestra Sucot, y llueva o haga sol, nos sentamos en ellas. A veces cómodo (como aquí en Barcelona, supongo) ya veces no tan cómodo (en Holanda que estar bajo la lluvia). Nos hacemos vulnerables a propósito. Es 'camping religioso'! 

Es el momento en que nos liberamos de nuestro bienestar físico y dejar que la aventura, donde se llega a ver las estrellas a través de nuestros techos improvisados, donde contemplamos la eternidad a través del marco de la temporal. Y este es exactamente el punto. Hemos vuelto más feliz cuando somos vulnerables. Sukkot es "zman simjateinu ', la época de nuestro gozo. Y es también el momento en que leemos Koheleth, Eclestiastés, un libro sombrío existencial y en el momento que se trata de la duda y la fe, la alegría y la tristeza. Pero, sobre todo acerca de ser vulnerable y permitirse ser vulnerable. Incluso Koheleth, el rey sabio, reconoce los límites de su comprensión y la futilidad de todo. 

"Yo puse mi mente para estudiar y para investigar con sabiduría todo lo que sucede bajo el sol, un negocio infeliz, eso, que Dios dio a los hombres que ocupan. He observado todos los acontecimientos bajo el sol, y me pareció que todo es inútil y seguimiento de viento. "(Koheleth 1:13-14) 

A pesar de este panorama desolador, Koheleth todavía es capaz de disfrutar de la vida y tener una "actitud de gratitud" y tiene un buen consejo para nosotros sobre cómo vivir con alegría: "Anda, come tu pan con gozo, y bebe tu vino con alegría, por su acción fue hace mucho tiempo aprobado por Dios. Deje que su ropa siempre estar recién lavado, y su cabeza nunca carecen de pomada. Disfrute de la felicidad con una mujer que amas, todos los días fugaces de su vida ... "(Koheleth 9:7-9) 

Lo que une a la alegría y la vulnerabilidad en una nueva síntesis es la confianza sincera, el antídoto para el miedo existencial. Sucot nos manda a confiar. No es una confianza ingenua de que todo va a estar bien, pero una confianza madura que de alguna manera va a tener tanto la perspectiva y la fuerza para afrontar lo que venga.Entonces confiamos en Dios, en nosotros mismos, en nuestra comunidad e incluso en nuestra Sucot, que puede ser derribados por el viento o ahogado en la lluvia. Incluso cuando hace frío y estamos físicamente incómodo, debemos confiar en la razón y la experiencia de la vulnerabilidad. Y cuando podemos dejar que nuestra ansiedad y miedos - y también nuestras dependencias ir - que es cuando nos encontramos con la verdadera felicidad. Aun cuando sabemos que nuestros días son fugaces y fueron sólo son polvo. Porque nos damos cuenta de lo afortunados que somos de tener lo que tenemos y tenemos la obligación de regocijarse en ella. 

Tanto Koheleth y un viaje nos obliga a centrarnos en lo que es verdaderamente importante. No es el hotel lujoso, pero el placer de comer con sus seres queridos. No es la calidad del vino, pero las bendiciones que pronuncia sobre ella. No es la suavidad de la cama, pero el que se llega a compartir. No es el destino, el plan u objetivo, sino simplemente confiar en el horizonte. Tu puedes conducir, viajar, caminar y el resultado final será en algún lugar. Tu te sentirás el viento y la lluvia y el sol demasiado y te sentirás vivo y estar agradecidos por ello. Confiar, alegría fiel no es un subidón de adrenalina o una moda, sino que es algo duradero, el combustible que lo mantiene en el camino. Con los ojos en el horizonte. 

Estoy deseando comenzar esta aventura con vosotros y viajar contigos. ¿Quién sabe qué cosas bellas que todavía va a descubrir. 

Shabat shalom jag Sameaj!

Words are Wind?

Southport Reform Community 

Kol Nidré Sermon 

Words are Wind? 

“I’ll begin from the moment I got you, the moment I saw you lying on the table among my other birthday presents... on Friday, June 12, I was awake at six o ‘clock, which isn’t surprising, since it was my birthday. But I’m, not allowed to get up at that hour, so I had to control my curiosity, until quarter to seven... A little after seven I went to Daddy and Mama and then to the living room to open my presents, and you were the first thing I saw, maybe one of my nicest presents...’ 

When she started scribbling her thoughts in her checkered blue-and-red diary, on that fateful 12th of June, 1942, did she know her words were eternal? That they would change the world – both hers and ours? 

Words bind our fate and shape worlds, as my fellow Dutchwoman and co-religionist Anne Frank would intuit. Words, words, words. Yom Kippur is heavy with them. Prayers that are given wings through our sacred intentions. Words that indict us and defend us. Words that praise and words that ring with the empty chime of our mortality. Ancient words from the Torah, Prophets and Sages and contemporary words from our Progressive rabbis. Words that speak of vows, of repentance, of prayer and charity. Words that condemn our abuse of words: of slander, of lying, of judgment. Words that ring true and words that ring hollow. Words that move us and words that leave us cold. 

Between now and Ne’ilah, many words will be spoken, too many perhaps. Even, or especially on Yom Kippur, there is a danger that words become wind. The machzor brims with them. It is a document that shows our struggle with God and ourselves, that maps our gratitude and exposes our weakness. It disseminates the mayor themes of our tradition, provides us with the roadmap into life’s most profound questions. It is a distillation of our Jewish tradition’s wisdom and theology, a rallying cry to justice and a whisper to bring the heart to contrition. The machzor is a beautiful document to be sure, but in many ways it is not ours. We might struggle with finding God on those pages that are so God-heavy, we might not recognise ourselves in the ‘Al Chets’, we might not be moved by the imagery of ‘Ki Anu Amecha’ and do we really need to ponder the want of our actions in ‘Avinu Malkeinu’? Even the Kol Nidré, the convergence point of many a Jewish community, may be rendered meaningless in our experience. What vows have we broken? What obligations have we forsaken? For what must we atone? 

As important as breaking down our ego is during these Days of Awe, it is equally important to build up our values, our intentions, our promises. From this Kol Nidré to the next. 

If Kol Nidré is about annulling and excusing the vows we’ve made between God and ourselves, from this past year to this present moment, then can we perhaps do the reverse? Can we bequeath a heritage of words that is lasting, positive and compelling in our lives? We know that Anne Frank did even in the darkest and direst of circumstances. Her diary encouraged her to see pinpoints of light in the midnight of the century. I can only stand in awe of what her spirit accomplished but it does prove the power of words. 

Words matter, for better and worse. Then how can we make our words count? In a way, Anne Frank’s diary is a complex and beautiful example of an ‘ethical will’. The ethical will is one of those wonderful concepts that the Torah bequeathed on humankind (together with monotheism and the weekend!) and that made its way in both the Jewish and Christian tradition. There are two important ethical wills mentioned in Torah: Jacob’s blessing of his children in Genesis chapter 49 and Moses’ song in Deuteronomy chapter 32 (yes, you can go home and read these and be inspired). 

Speaking words of wisdom and blessing to one’s progeny does seem very Biblical indeed. Not many of us may be granted that dignity, calm and lucidity when at death’s door. Hence, during the Middle Ages, rabbis developed the ethical will as a written document that could be written when the individual was still of sound body and mind. An ethical will grants us an opportunity to impart our values both to ourselves and to the next generation. It is a valiant storming of the gates of Eternity, to make sure that we are indeed inscribed in the Book of Life. I would invite you, then, to complement the fleeting words of the Kol Nidré and words of urgent morality from the machzor with writing your own ethical will – you can glean inspiration and tips from the website ethicalwill.com. 

For those of you who do not write on Shabbat and Yom Tov; this is a project that can be done right up till Hoshanah Rabbah, when the Gates of Repentance really close for the year. For those Progressive Jews who do choose to write on holy days, I invite you to consider taking up pen and paper when you come home tonight after services. You might even use the machzor as a source of inspiration. Consider the question you would like to ask yourself. If the machzor represents a meeting between God and the individual, then maybe you can see yourself from the God’s eye perspective. See yourself with both chesed and din, loving-kindness and judgment. What things did you get right this year and what things did you get wrong? Who is this person you are trying to become? Who are the people you want to honour, love and cherish in your lives? What are the timeless values you want to impart on family and friends? And how do you wish to be remembered? Write these words with tenderness – they can truly be a gift. 

It seems indeed that the ethical will can be an excellent metaphor and tool for the transformative experience of Yom Kippur. We can seal ourselves in the Book of Life; not out of presumption and arrogance but out of contrition and quiet dignity. 

This moral profundity is reflected in the first written ethical will known to us, from Eleazar, the son of the famous 11th century Ashkenazi rabbi Isaac of Worms. In this document, Eleazar writes advice fitting for this time of year: 

 “Think not of evil, for evil thinking leads to evil doing.... Purify your body, the dwelling-place of your soul.... Give of all your food a portion to God. Let God’s portion be the best, and give it to the poor.” 

Another scholar, Asher, the son of Yechiel, writes in the 14th century, leaving us with another appropriate set of values: “Do not obey the Law for reward, nor avoid sin from fear of punishment, but serve God from love.” 

I would like to close with the wisdom of our beloved Anne Frank - even the young can share transformative and prophetic insights. Allow me to read some snippets of the ‘ethical will’ she left the world, through the words of her diary. Consider these words alongside with the themes of the machzor:

“The final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.” Pair this with “Hachayim v’hamavet natati lefanecha, hab’racha v’hak’lalah, uv’acharta bachayim - I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse... choose life!” (Deut. 30:19) 

Or, “No one has ever become poor by giving”, which can be read in conjunction with, “al chet shechatanu lefanecha b’neshech uv’marbit – for the sin we have committed before You by financial greed.’ (Liturgy) 

Or, “I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart” with “Elohai, neshamah shenatata bi, tehorah hi – my God, the soul You have given me is pure.” (Liturgy) 

And finally, “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world” with “Limdu heitiv, darshu mishpat – learn to do good, seek justice” (Isaiah 1:17). 

The key word here is limdu, the imperative to learn. We are our own books, the stories of our own lives. It is never too late to write them, to be inscribed for goodness and eternity, in the reflections we share and the love we transmit, from one day to the next, from Rosh haShanah when we are written to Yom Kippur when we are sealed. The gates and the pages of our ethical wills are open. 

Give yourself and your loved ones this gift. G’mar chatimah tovah!