Parsha Vayishlach – December 13, 2024 / 13 Kislev, 5785

We are all in the middle of a match.

Parsha Vayishlach is probably most famous for its description of Jacob’s wrestling match. While Jacob is alone, fearing for his family as his angry brother approaches, one of the most famous encounters in all of Torah takes place. Jacob wrestles with an “ish,” or a man until the break of dawn. Our prophet Hoshea later describes this “ish” as being an angel. Depending upon who you ask, this “ish” could have been Esau’s own guardian angel. Some say that this wrestling match took place between Jacob and God. We do know that this wrestling occurred over the course of an entire night, and did not cease until “Ha-Shachar-the break of dawn.” Just to give you an idea of how physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining this must have been: the average wrestling match today, in a sport with world-class and highly conditioned athletes, typically only lasts 6-9 minutes, and is spread into multiple periods. Psalm 121 tells us that God, the guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. This is a tough night-time opponent. 

I believe we all exist somewhere in the 6-9 minute range during our lifetimes. We are in the middle of the 6-9 minutes of a wrestling match. Some of us might feel as if we have the upper hand, and things are going well. We tend to love God more easily when life feels smooth. We have control of our perceived opponent. Some of us might feel moments away from both of our shoulder blades crashing flat to the mat and being pinned. Perhaps we have experienced a fresh loss, an illness, or some other hardship that inevitably ruffles our human feathers. We might be locked head to head, arms tangled, in a liminal space between victory and possible defeat. It seems that one of our most vulnerable moments during our lifelong tussle is when we must face the end of a match…the end of a loved one’s life.

As some or many of you know, I found myself in this vulnerable position in my wrestling match last week. I lost my incredible grandmother, Barbara, at the age of 93. I traveled upstate to the capital region for her funeral service and burial. This past Sunday morning, I entered a Temple that I had not been in since I was a young boy attending High Holy Day Services with my family, and with my grandmother. I remember always being unable to see the bimah, and feeling confused when I was young. It mostly felt crowded and overwhelming. It was a bit larger than life. All of those memories rushed back to me. This time, however, I was not the 11-year-old waiting for it all to be over, but the officiant at my own grandma’s funeral. Watching my brothers and cousins as pallbearers, standing in the shadow of her Aron, her casket, and also seeing my grandfather sitting anywhere besides directly next to my grandmother, the love of his life since teenagehood…it was a surreal feeling, and likely one that I still have not fully processed quite yet. I cleared my throat, stepped onto that bimah, and we went through the liturgy, the psalms, and some songs. Words and tears were shared. When the Temple service concluded, we proceeded to the burial where each shovel-full of earth was deafening in its finality. We honored this beautiful and pure soul as well as we possibly could, and then we gathered back at my grandmother and grandfather’s house; the same one my mother and aunts and uncles grew up in, and my cousins and I spent countless weekends and holidays creating connections and memories. Cousins and aunts and uncles I hadn’t seen in quite some time all hugged one another tighter than we had, maybe ever. Our family knew we had all lost a matriarch…a person who created the foundation of what I understand a family to be. One who lovingly supported all of us in a genuine and unique way. I mentioned in my remarks how difficult it was to put all of this into words because the love she nurtured through our lives was not always based on words. It was airborne.

Somewhere during all of this, I did as I do, and turned to Torah. This week, among the wrestling with God, we also lost Rachel, the love of Jacob’s life, as she was giving birth to Benjamin. She passed away and was buried along the road to Bethlehem. Her grave is still able to be visited to this very day. Rachel is buried where we can walk. She is the one Jewish matriarch who is not buried in Machpelah, a cave-out of sight. This is intentional. Why? In Yiddish, Rachel is often lovingly referred to as “Momma Rochel.”  Our tradition tells us that Rachel is watching over her children who are spread out all over the world. Maybe Rachel is lovingly supervising all of her children’s wrestling matches. She is rooting for us, and her memory lives to this day. My grandmother and Rachel were intertwined this past week, and I will always remember how they connected to one another during their times of departure from this earth. I like to think that my grandmother is also a guide along the road. She is cheering for us, as Rachel is. I was vulnerable this week, but never pinned-held sturdy by the loving arms of remembrance and of Torah.

Most in this room have likely been faced with the death of a loved one. Sometimes Olam-haba, the world to come, in our tradition can feel a bit nebulous. We focus so much on life that when death does come, we can sometimes feel as if we haven’t given it much attention. What I do know is that Judaism and I agree on this notion: the soul is not the body. The body will eventually disintegrate and become no more. The soul moves on to what comes next. If this is the case, what are we left with here on this earthly plane of formation? We, who are so tethered to the tangible-we crave what we can see, hear, feel, touch. As I looked at my family gathered together at my grandparent’s house, I flashed back to memories of growing up, to feelings, smells, and tastes; all of love and camaraderie. I truly felt that my grandmother was there. She was there, and not even in a “she’s looking down from Gan EDEN or Olam Haba,” type of way. I mean that she will always be here, because we are here. The 38 souls who descend from her are just the beginning of who she is and will become. 

I learned a lot last weekend, and it was a difficult part of my life’s wrestling match. Eventually, in Torah, Jacob overtakes the ish, demands a blessing, and limps away with a hip injury, explaining the kashrut prohibition against eating the sinew and sciatic nerve of the animal. Only after Jacob’s demand for this blessing is his name changed from “Jacob” to “Israel,” with the latter meaning to wrestle or contend with God. We might limp away from some of the painful experiences in our lives, but I know we are truly blessed to be alive to share in them. 

Jacob is us. Israel is who we are, but perhaps more whom we continue to strive to be. The match is not over. We are in the 6-9 minutes. We will eventually walk away from the match, maybe with a limp. But as Jacob turned-Israel learned when he finally met his estranged brother Esau with affection…once you have struggled so honestly, so openly, so completely with God, the earthly moments can become a bit more full and fruitful.

Let us all be blessed on this Holy Shabbat to remember to keep one foot in the ring, feel the love of a “Momma Rochel” in our own lives, and maybe to see Torah as our respite between rounds, and even during the madness of the match. As we navigate the space between Jacob and Israel, we balance our relationship and struggles with God. Our doubts, our pain, our grief, even our moments of pure joy and bliss, these all allow us to share life with one another more thoroughly and absolutely. Let us all embrace our wrestling matches, breathe deeply, and consistently demand our blessings. We can receive them once we are open to the fact that if we wrestle with God, we can also reach out for our perceived opponent, and be lifted up. As I experienced this weekend, If we give over a bit of ourselves to fully feel and be present, even the struggles can allow us moments with our departed loved ones, and in those times of wind, breath and ruach, we can allow ourselves to feel the warmest embrace…beyond the physical, beyond the tangible…into the arms of our Momma Rochel, my Grandma Barbara, Your loved ones, and ultimately, God, who brings us all together as one. Wrestling or embracing? With God, it can be beautifully hard to tell the difference.

Shabbat Shalom.

– Rabbi Josh Gray