When I was in rabbinic school, I was assigned this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach. I was to give a sermon on it to the student body, as well as the esteemed faculty, which consisted of renowned rabbis, cantors and teachers. 

In the portion, we read about Jacob preparing to reunite with his brother Esau. Years earlier, Esau had chased Jacob out of the house after Jacob usurped the birthright and blessing traditionally reserved for the oldest child. Esau vows that, if he ever sees him again, he’ll kill Jacob. As adults, the two will now reunite. Jacob hears that Esau is approaching with no less than four hundred men. Jacob, the text reports, is both anxious and afraid. Here, the commentator, Rashi, notes that he was anxious that he would be harmed and afraid he would be put in a position to harm others. He divides the camp in an effort to save lives, then lies down to sleep. In his dream, he famously wrestles with an angel and will not let the angel go until it blesses Jacob. The angel changes Jacob’s name to Yisrael, meaning ‘to struggle with God.’ Jacob is us, forever wrestling with God, tradition, our conscience, our past and the uncertainty of tomorrow. 

When morning arrives and the time for the reunion arrives at last, the two brothers embrace. The text notes: ‘He kissed him and they wept’ (33:4). We can feel the relief and joy in the words. It is a lesson in new beginnings and second chances. The relationship will start over in essence and the brothers will now move forward, together. 

I thought a lot about this iconic story when it was assigned to me. There’s so much here. Should I focus on Jacob, who alienated his brother and took what didn’t belong to him? Should I focus on Esau, victimized by those he trusted? Would I focus on Jacob’s dream and wrestling with the angel? Are we not all struggling? Are we not all seeking out a life of blessing amid hardship after hardship? What does it mean to come away from a trying situation feeling renewed, with a new sense of self or new perspective? Who among us has not been changed by illness or loss or great challenges in life? Should I talk about atonement and making amends?

In the end, I chose to speak of Jacob’s life vis a vis my grandmother’s life. Having escaped Nazi Germany, she also did her own share of wrestling. She left her family. She went on to a new place, London then New York. She was born anew, like Jacob, following her great episode of tragedy and trial. After the Holocaust, she married my grandfather, who had also fled Germany. Ann and Fred in time had my mom, Peggy, and began life anew in their modest New York City apartment. As Jacob limped away from his encounter, so did my grandparents carry a metaphoric limp, changed by what they had seen and all that they had learned during this darkest period for our people.

We will take on the name Yisrael as a people. It is who we are and who we are meant to be: wrestling forever with our story, our history, our faith, wrestling toward more widespread justice and peace all the time. In the Land of Israel, wrestling continues around the war in Gaza. Not only in Israel, but across the Diaspora, so many of us continue to wrestle with this war and its implications for prospects of peace one day. As Jacob’s wrestling led to newfound harmony and contentment, I pray that all of our wrestling does the same and we can find ourselves amid a world of greater good and greater compassion very soon. Amen.