My younger self took comfort in the metaphor of a moral compass; the notion that even when we are unsure what path to take in life, with a simple tool, we can find the magnetic pull of morality and redirect ourselves to a single path that is correct. But what happens when there is no solitary arrow pointing us to what is right? As polarization increases and society asks us to take hard-line stances, the map of the modern world is drawn in a dichotomous fashion that would have us believe we can only choose paths of extremes. What if the arrow of our compass points us in multiple directions at once? In a society fraught with polarity, how do we find stability and confidence in nuance and uncharted paths?
This week’s Torah portion, Parshat Vayishlach, teaches that before we can face the enormity of the world around us, we must be comfortable wrestling with our own conflicting beliefs and internal voices. As our patriarch Jacob prepares to face his brother Esau for the first time since fracturing their family and stealing his brother’s birthright and blessing, he is rightfully trepidatious. Expecting that Esau will try to kill him in revenge, Jacob is “greatly frightened and anxious” (vayira yaakov m’od v’yaitzer lo). (Genesis 32:8)
It is not often that the Torah supplies us with the emotions of its subjects, so we must pay particular attention when it does. Along with fear (vayira), we get a verb construct for “anxiety” (vayeitzer) that is used this one time in all of the Torah, and just 10 times in the entirety of the Bible. This particular anxiety is a distress born from narrowness and constriction. (The same root will be used to name mitzrayim, the ultimate constrictive setting of biblical Egypt.)
Find more commentaries on Vayishlach.
On the eve of their reunion, before approaching Esau, Jacob encounters another figure; an unspecified entity many interpret as a messenger of the Divine, with whom he wrestles until the break of dawn. (Genesis 32:25) Modern scholars, including Elie Weisel, argue Jacob’s wrestling match was actually an internal struggle between different aspects of Jacob’s character that have come into conflict. (“Messengers of God”)
In their wrestling match, the adversarial figure is overcome and asks to be let go, but Jacob refuses to let go without receiving a blessing. The mysterious figure responds, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed.” (Genesis 32:29) It is from this encounter that we the Jewish people receive our most significant name: am Yisrael, literally “the people who wrestle with the Divine.”
What would have become of us had Jacob refused to wrestle, again choosing the easier path of fleeing? Would he have ever made peace with his brother, able to engage in dialogue, embrace, coexist, and ultimately thrive?
Find more commentaries on the Israel-Hamas war.
As we continue to wait for a hostage deal and ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, the needles of our moral compasses may feel as though they are spinning in circles. If only we could follow the direction of a simple and straightforward path to peace. Alas, our moral compasses spin. They point us to fight for our Jewish siblings held hostage, from infant to elder. They point us to advocate for the innocent civilians of Gaza, who face destruction, disease, and exile. They point us at once to support Palestinians while fighting against Hamas, and to support Israelis while acknowledging the painful reality that certain leaders of the Jewish state actively desecrate our Jewish values and the imperative to preserve life.
Our identity and very name are an acknowledgment that life is difficult. Rather than a straightforward route, the path to the future is often twisted and filled with unknowns. Instead of wallowing in anxiety, becoming frozen by the enormity of the world around us, Jacob teaches us that it is holy work to wrestle, to struggle with forging our own winding path towards what we feel is moral. When we lack a concrete compass, pointing to the perfect path forward, it is OK to sit with that anxiety and wrestle, to take time to better understand our own nuanced thoughts and struggles. As a Jewish people, so much of our story has been written about emerging from the dire straits of narrowness and constriction. It is these moments of pressure and anxiety that lead to transformation. Wrestling is our divine task. The path may never be clear, a single arrow to follow towards moral perfection, but as Pirkei Avot 2:16 teaches, “It is not up to us to finish the work, but neither may we desist from it.”
May we stay in the work.
Rabbi Alexis Pinsky (she/her) was ordained from The Hebrew Union College — Jewish Institute of Religion in 2015, and currently serves the greater New York City area as a community builder, ritualist, educator, and musician. She is passionate about connecting others to the richness and beauty of the Jewish tradition, cultivating sacred ritual moments, and working toward a more just world. She lives in New York City with her wife and their dog MishMish.