Parashat HaShavua - VaYetze
Usually as I prepare to write this Dvar Torah, I spend time studying the weekly parasha and its commentaries, searching for a pasuk (verse) or a story that feels revelatory or relevant to the moment. This week I did not need to open a Humash. I could recite the relevant pasuk and its interpretation by heart:
וַיֵּצֵא יַעֲקֹב מִבְּאֵר שָׁבַע וַיֵּלֶךְ חָרָנָה (בראשית כ״ח:י)
רש״י: לֹא הָיָה צָרִיךְ לִכְתֹּב אֶלָּא וַיֵּלֶךְ יַעֲקֹב חָרָנָה, וְלָמָּה הִזְכִּיר יְצִיאָתוֹ? אֶלָּא מַגִּיד שֶׁיְּצִיאַת צַדִּיק מִן הַמָּקוֹם עוֹשָׂה רֹשֶׁם
Jacob left Beersheva and went to Haran. (Genesis 28:10)
Why, Rashi asks, did the Torah need to say “Jacob left Beersheva”? Why not just say “Jacob went to Haran?” We already know he is in Beersheva. The reason is this: when a righteous person leaves a place, it leaves an impression.
When a righteous person leaves a place, it leaves an impression. When many righteous people leave a place, it leaves an even greater impression.
I feel that I am living in this pasuk all day, every day right now. I am living this pasuk in my personal life, grieving the loss of a 22 year old nephew, which has made an indelible mark on my family. We are living this pasuk as a Jewish people, with the names and faces of the hostages impressed upon our hearts as well as the names and faces of family members, friends and Heschel alumni who have left home to serve their country in the IDF. And we are living in this pasuk as human beings, knowing that every day, more innocent people are leaving this world as the death count from the war grows.
I ask myself, how do I, how do we, move forward in this new reality? When Rabbi Sharon Brous was interviewed by Ezra Klein last week, she shared a mishna about the shalosh regalim, the three pilgrimage holidays, during the time when the Temple stood in Jerusalem. When people entered the Temple Mount they would go through an entryway, turn to the right and circle the perimeter of the Temple courtyard. Except for “״מִּי שֶׁאֵרְעוֹ דָבָר — someone who had suffered a loss of some kind. That person would circle to the left. In this way, everyone had to stop the person who was grieving, look at them, ask מַה לְּךָ – tell me about what has happened to you — and offer them a blessing appropriate to their situation.
What else can we do right now but make sure we look into each other’s eyes, both literally and as a metaphor for really paying attention to how others are doing, and find the ways we are within our own abilities to offer each other blessing? Or as Rabbi Brous put it so beautifully:
“I think the rabbis kind of captured this very sacred and profound, psychological and spiritual tool for us, which is to say when we are suffering and when we’re hurting, we need to be seen by other people. We need somebody to say, tell me about your pain. Help me understand what’s going on for you. And we need to be blessed.”
It is exceptionally hard to do this when it feels like we are all מִּי שֶׁאֵרְעוֹ דָבָר — we are all the ones that something has happened to. And yet, I believe we can play different roles at different moments, sometimes taking our turn to be there for others and at other times, asking our loved ones to support us. As we turn towards Thanksgiving, I am tremendously grateful for the blessings that have been offered to me by this community and the many ways that people have asked me over the past weeks מה לך – how are you.
Rabbi Anne Ebersman