blogs/rabbi-huberman

In recent years, I’ve become increasingly attracted to country music.

Rather than listen to news stations as I drive, I’ve been downloading song collections made famous by Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, George Jones and more recently, Luke Combs.

Funny how until recently, there was no country radio station in New York. We, like so many New Yorkers, tend to focus on the heady messages and melodies traditionally spawned from Broadway or Greenwich Village.

But here’s why I love country music. Its songs talk about simple human experiences—love, heartbreak, hard times and joy.

In particular, the songs of the late Nanci Griffith resonate deepest within me.

She often sings about working people using their hands and tools, pursuing -- as some may argue -- one of God’s original commandments.

“God settled the Human in the garden of Eden, to till it and watch over it.” (Genesis 2:15)

These days, we complain about so much—our phone signal is weak, the train is running late, there is too much traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

Nanci Griffith, in her iconic song, Trouble in Our Fields, perhaps expressed it best, when she observed:

“Now our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders. They never want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder.” 

Yet in many ways, as Judaism teaches, hardship brings about humility, and that -- in turn -- inspires spiritual growth.

In this week’s Torah portion, Jacob is confronted with the often-self-centered life he has lived.

So far in the Book of Genesis, he has swindled his brother.

And when Essav vows to kill him, Jacob flees. Later, when Jacob feels he is owed wages from his Uncle Lavan, rather than confronting the issue, he corals his portion of Lavan’s sheep and runs away again.

Jacob so far is not my favorite biblical character. 

But as he gains maturity and perspective, in his middle age, he decides to return home and face whatever consequences await him.

There is still one problem: Jacob’s path of return is on a collision course with Essav.  

What will Essav do when their camps collide? Will he kill Jacob? Will he demand restitution?

That evening, Jacob retreats across the Jabbok River.

Before he departs, he divides his camp into two. If Essav carries through with his threat of revenge, at least half his household will survive.

That night, as he braces for his day of reckoning, a strange entity appears, which the Torah simply refers to as a “man.”

Commentators have speculated about the identity of that “man.” Is it an angel? Is it Essav in person? Is it Jacob wrestling with his conscience?

Or more seriously, is it God who confronts him?

The two wrestle all night, and by morning there is no clear victor.

Jacob asks at dawn that the man "let him go."

The entity complies, but then renames Jacob “Yisrael” meaning “wrestler or struggler with God.”

By extension, each of us as descendants of Jacob, will be forever defined as B’nai Israel—otherwise known as the “Children of Israel.”

Indeed, during these troubling times, who isn’t currently wrestling with God?

What is the plan, God? Is there a higher purpose to all of this? Will you steer us out of a society increasingly based on greed, privilege and entitlement?

Scholars over the centuries have speculated about the “man’s” identity.

Perhaps the Torah gives us a clue.

Jacob renames the place of their spiritual battle as Penuel, meaning “face of God.”

As the sun rises, a more reflective and introspective Jacob meets his brother and offers him all that he has. But Essav, who our tradition depicts as gruff and uncultured, is one step ahead.

He says he doesn’t need more wealth. He needs only his brother back.

The brothers part in peace, and Jacob eventually becomes the patriarch of the Children of Israel.

I was thinking about this story as I listened to the radio this week.

While our commentators have spent hours intellectualizing the encounter, the peshat (the simple reading) of the plot inspires us to consider a more basic meaning: All we really need in life is family, honesty and the pursuit of kindness and forgiveness.

Perhaps it’s as simple as a country song.

At some time in the ensuing 500 years, the location of Jacob’s infamous wrestling match, Penuel, became a city. It is mentioned numerous times in scripture with very little direct information of how it received its name.

But we know. Penuel was the place where Jacob faced his own demons. He wrestled with his imperfections, recognized God’s face within, and ultimately survived.

For as we learn from so many biblical characters, today may be imperfect, but there is always the opportunity for a better tomorrow.

Penuel may have existed as a physical place in Israel. But within each of us there exists an inner Penuel. We call it our soul.

However challenging it may appear at times, each us possesses the capacity to confront and survive our inner battles.

It is part of God’s ultimate design to guide us toward a more joyous and meaningful life—on the road to achieving what the great Sage, the Vilna Gaon, identified as life’s true purpose:

Through the experiences and lessons of our lives, we, like Jacob, are here, “To turn ourselves into something better.”

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman