Vayishlach
Genesis 32:4-36:43
Obadiah 1:1-21
We are all afraid of something. We might not like to admit it, but perhaps shadows moving in the dark still irk us. Maybe we shriek when we see a spider. Perhaps we avoid crowds or tight spaces.
I am afraid of heights. When I visited Florence, Italy, I was eager to climb to the top of the Duomo Cathedral to take in the breathtaking views of the city. Once I reached the top, however, I couldn’t bear to look down. Gripped with fear, I immediately turned around, grasped the railing tightly and headed back down the winding staircase. The trip down was even more terrifying, as I was painfully aware of the distance between me and the ground below.
There are fears that we can attempt to avoid by controlling our situation. We create systems — like using nightlights to keep the dark at bay, calling the exterminator so the spiders don’t come in, or staying away from the crowds at Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Personally, I do my best to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.
But no matter how tightly we control our environment, there will always be moments of great fear in our lives that we are unable to avoid. These are the times when our stomach lurches forward. We know we soon will have to face the moment we are dreading: an upcoming test or evaluation, the impending death of a loved one, seeing someone with whom you have had a terrible falling-out.
We find this last situation in Vayishlach, this week’s Torah portion. Jacob and Esau, twin brothers, are estranged. After Jacob stole their father’s blessing and his inheritance, Esau was, quite literally, ready to kill his younger brother. Jacob fled the home he had shared with his twin and created a new life for himself far from his brother’s wrath.
Vayishlach tells a story that occurred years later. Jacob was traveling with his family, and he was terrified when he realized that to get to his destination he had to cross paths with Esau — the brother who wanted to kill him. As our text says, “Vayira Ya’akov m’od” — Jacob was very frightened (Genesis 32:8). Jacob was afraid for his life.
Midrash Bereshit Rabbah gives us some insight. The midrash tells the story of a man who saw a wild pack of terrifying dogs. The angry snarling and aggressive growling seized him with fear, but he fought the impulse to run or hide. Rather, quite counterintuitively, he sat down among the barking dogs.
It’s a strange idea: that instead of dreading, avoiding or running from a fearful moment, we might sit down in the midst of our fears. It takes great strength to willingly subject ourselves to the thing that seriously scares us. Our midrash teaches us that we can reap great benefit by coming near to that perceived danger.
Jacob took the risk. He prepared to meet his brother by spending the night alone, wrestling with a mysterious ish (man). Some commentators wonder if this presence might be Jacob’s own conscience, or perhaps his own courage. In the morning, Jacob prepared to meet his brother. He “sat down” in the face of his fear. In this moment, he saw his brother Esau, who greeted him not with the violence he expected but with love. And Jacob was changed. All of the danger he feared dissolved. When he hugged and kissed the subject of his trepidation, he became someone new.
Is it possible for us, too, to sit down among the barking dogs? Can we, like Jacob, be changed when we embrace our fears?
The Hebrew term for courage is ometz lev, which essentially translates to “strength of the heart.” We learn that we can overcome our fears when we approach them not with force, but with heart. By facing our vulnerabilities we become stronger.
And this is the difference: to face our fears we must not harden, but soften; not brace ourselves against the challenging moments, but fold into them — like riding a wave or turning into a skid.
And with this ometz lev, this courageous heart, we move past who we were and are able to live our lives from the highest height, among the biggest crowd, and illuminate the darkest dark.
Rabbi Sara Mason-Barkin is an associate rabbi and educator at Peninsula Temple Beth El in San Mateo. She can be reached at [email protected].