"The Seat" and Other Solutions to Sibling Rivalry

My brother and I always got along growing up, to the best of my recollection. Maybe he would disagree. But I don't think so. I can't remember a time when we really fought about anything. We had peaceful solutions to any conflict, some perhaps a little abnormal, but we always found a way to resolve our differences. I think one of the best gimmicks we devised was "the seat." When our parents got new sectional sofas, they placed the six pieces in pairs. Two were at the back of the arrangement, facing the fireplace. The other two pairs faced inward - with all six around a coffee table - with their backs on the side walls of the family room. On one side, one of the pieces sat about 4 feet away from the television. This was the seat. It came with the privilege both of being able to be closest to the television and also was situated right next to one of the vents, providing the perfect supply of air conditioning or heating.

I imagine that most siblings would have fought over 'the seat.' There would have been mad dashes to get there first, brothers shoved out of the way, and sisters thrown to the floor. But not at our house. Adam and I devised a system, a set of rules that governed who got 'the seat.' (My brother tells me that I was like a third parent for him growing up; I may have devised the rules and forced them upon him, but you'd have to check with him to be certain.) There were two simple rules:

1) Each day, we would alternate who got 'the seat.'

2) If your birthday fell on a day on which you wouldn't have gotten 'the seat,' the alternation would switch so you would have 'the seat' on your birthday.

I don't think the system ever failed. This, however, wasn't the case with Jacob and Esau. If you remember two weeks ago, in Parashat Tol'dot, Jacob steals the birthright from his brother, Esau, and then steals their father's blessing, too. But this week, the brothers have worked through (some of) their differences and reunite after a long estrangement.

In Genesis 33, the brothers reunite. Jacob arrives with his wives, his maidservants, and all of his children. Esau arrives with four hundred men, ready to engage in battle. When Esau sees Jacob with his family, he runs to greet his brother and, weeping, kisses him. (Last year, I discussed the rabbis' concern about Esau's sincerity and intention in the moment of his embrace with Jacob. This year, I'd like to assume he was well intentioned. There's nothing in the text that really indicates he wasn't.) When Esau asks Jacob why he's brought the whole family along, Jacob tells him he wants to please his brother. Jacob offers Esau gifts, which Esau refuses. "I have enough, my brother; let what you have remain yours," Esau tells Jacob.

The two argue back and forth for a while, but ultimately, Esau tells Jacob he doesn't have to offer gifts to make up for their difficult past, but Jacob insists. When the time comes to move along, Esau, in a moment that I think demonstrates his sincerity, offers to travel at Jacob's pace. Jacob has his family, including small children, and his livestock, all of whom cannot travel as quickly as Esau's army. In this moment of compassion, Esau affirms his intention to walk alongside Jacob, something they might not have ever done before. When Jacob insists that Esau go ahead, that his family would slow down Esau, Esau offers some of his men to protect Jacob and his family. Later in the parashah, Esau and Jacob are present when their father dies and, together, they bury him.

In spite of their lifelong estrangement, in spite of the ways they treated each other in the past, Jacob and Esau find a way to walk side by side and to recreate their bond to one another. No one's relationship with his or her sibling is perfect. There will be conflict, there will be times when our differences overpower us. Still, Jacob and Esau teach us that there are always opportunities to stand (or sit) side by side, if we just take advantage of those opportunities.

Ufaratzta - Spread Peace in Every Direction

In the midst of Jacob's dream, after he sees angels ascending and descending a ladder that reaches heaven, God tells him that his descendants will be like the dust of the earth, spreading out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south, ופרצת ימה וקדמה וצפנה ונגבה (Genesis 28:14). These words make up a song, Ufaratzta, that I learned as a participant at the Reform movement's youth leadership summer camp, Kutz Camp, from Cantor Ellen Dreskin. The song, apparently, was written by Avi Maslo. I always knew how the words translated, but never really thought about what they meant in my understanding of Judaism. Let's unpack the meaning of the words:

ימה, yamah: towards the Mediterranean sea, to the west;

קדמה, keidmah: towards the early part of the day, to the east;

צפנה, tzafonah: towards the hidden, to the north;

נגבה, negbah: towards the Negev desert, to the south.

These aren't just words that tell us that Jacob's descendants will spread out in all directions, but specifically that they will fill what we come to understand as the Land of Israel, as the Hebrew Bible sees it. It's all well and good if we believe, today, that the people Israel should inhabit all of the land from east to west, from north to south, but I am one who believes that if the State of Israel is to remain democratic and Jewish, we need to find a peaceful, two-state solution with the Palestinians.

So, then, what do we make of God's words spoken to Jacob? Are they meant to be understood literally? Do they have a different message for us today, with our awareness of the reality in Israel and with her neighbors? I hadn't really given much thought to the meaning behind the words of Ufaratzta until yesterday morning when I was reminded of another version of Ufaratzta, one by Noam Katz, that re-interprets the words in a modern context. You can hear the song here:




In his version, Noam Katz uses the Hebrew as the chorus, but re-interprets the meaning of the words in the way he translates them in the verses of the song:

May you... may you always try to inspire.
May you... may you always try to reach higher and higher.
May you bring your goodness and may you bring peace.
May you spread it from the west to the east.
May you spread it from the north to the south.

May you... may you be a light that shines the way.
May you... may you be a blessing each and every day.
May you let the laughter and love increase.
May you spread it from the west to the east.
May you spread it from the north to the south.

Instead of a vision of manifest destiny, Noam Katz teaches us that it isn't spreading ourselves east and west, north and south, that God intends. Instead, God expects us to inspire others and elevate ourselves to a place where we bring laughter and love, goodness and peace into a world in much need of those blessings and more.

When You Cut One Finger, the Whole Hand Hurts

My great-grandmother was a mother of eight children. Her three oldest children were daughters born to my great-grandfather's first wife, who died when her daughters were 1, 3, and 5 years old. My great-grandmother raised Jeanette, Francis, and Ruth as though they were her own daughters, along with her five children, including my grandmother. Whenever asked which of her children she loved the most - a potentially explosive question given her blended family - my great-grandmother would always reply with a comment along the lines of, "When you cut one finger, the whole hand hurts." (I hope my family will forgive me if I didn't get the quotation quite right.) What I think she meant was that if she loved any of her children less than the others, they would all have suffered.

I am fortunate that my great-grandmother was one of my ancestors. Isaac and Rebekah, however, could have used her wisdom. This week's Torah portion, Tol'dot, tells us of the birth of Isaac and Rebekah's twins, Jacob and Esau. Jacob was the gentle one, loved more by their mother, Rachel. He spent his time with her at home. Esau, the rugged one, loved more their father Isaac, hunted game and spent his time in the great outdoors. When it comes time for Isaac, on his deathbed, to bestow a blessing on his older son, Rebekah steps in to help her beloved son steal Esau's blessing. She dresses him in a goat skin and passes him off as his hairier brother. Jacob tricks his blinding father and steals his brother's blessing.

We often forget about what happens next (Gen. 27:30-40). Esau returns from the field with the game that Isaac has requested, ready to nourish his dying father. When he sets the food before his father and asks to receive his blessing, Isaac lets him know that Jacob has stolen his blessing. It is then that my heart goes out to Esau, that I wish that my great-grandmother had been there. "Bless me! Me too, father!" he exclaims, but Isaac explains that there is no blessing left for him. Esau cannot believe it. "Did you not reserve a blessing for me?" he asks, becoming overwhelmed. Isaac can only reply by saying it's out of his control. And then, Esau begs a third time - and my heart breaks a little with his - "Do you have only one blessing, father?" Isaac musters up a blessing that at best tells Esau to move away and then maybe things will be okay.

What Isaac and Rebekah didn't understand, what my great-grandmother did, is that love cannot be divided. It is like fire. If it isn't cared for and nurtured, it will either grow wild and out of control or it will fade to embers and ash. But if love is nourished, like fire it will increase with warmth and light as it separates from its source.