Liminal Living – Parashat Vayishlah 5785

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So, it was a really old sofa.

The threads were coming out of the cushion; it was shabby and had seen better days.

As you sat in it, you could feel the wood underneath.

And it smelled, but not just old. It smelled of beer, too much beer.

But it didn’t matter; lots of us were crammed into that sofa in a lounge surrounding a small TV. We were glued to the set. It was Thursday, November 9, 1989, and I won’t forget the scene.

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Anyone remember?

It was the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the images captivated me and my college floormates. 

Suddenly, the wall was coming down. People were crossing, cheering, ecstatic.

The Soviet Union was collapsing. Eastern Europe would no longer be under the chokehold of the communist authoritarian rule.

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Sadly, tragically, Russia is ruled by a worse ruler today.

But at that moment, we could feel history changing in real time, and I will never forget it.

* * *

Over the last two weeks, we watched as the Assad regime fell. Its brutality, including the horrific Sednaya Prison, where 30,000 detainees were killed by torture, ill-treatment, and mass executions, came to an end. It is the end of decades of a tyrannic authoritarian ruling family that used chemical weapons against their own population. 

They allowed and facilitated the transfer of weapons to Hezbollah terrorists in Lebanon so they could be used to attack Israel.

And then, in just ten days, the country’s government fell. Its soldiers gave up en masse, and suddenly, a thirteen-year-old civil war turned into an easy victory for the rebel groups that had been held in check by the Assad family’s alliances with Iran and Russia.

It was surreal to watch it in real time: soldiers abandoning their posts, people arriving on a plane and running through an empty airport without security or customs.

Really wild.

Amazing. 

But it’s also scary.

Like many Jews, the first question I had was: is this good for the Jews?

And then, is this good for the Syrians?

Is this good for the world?

* * *

Lots of questions: Who will rule?

Has this rebel group reformed or maintained its original ideology, basically al-Qaeda? 

Are they going to rule responsibly? 

Will they really be in control? 

Will they be able to prevent their soldiers from committing atrocities? 

From turning against Israel? 

Can they control the other rebel groups?

Who knows?

Israel could not wait and could not take any chances – it destroyed almost all of Syria’s military equipment over this week: missiles, chemical weapons, manufacturing plants, its air force, and its navy. 

Israel ensured that whatever happens, it is less likely to be threatened on a large scale.

* * *

We live in a unique and uncertain time in history and Jewish history. Israel is enduring its worst year in its history. And a hundred hostages are still held in hell for 435 days. 

Unreal. 

Ukraine has been at war for almost three years since it was unjustly attacked by a tyrant.

The rule of law is threatened on our soil, and threats of all kinds are on the horizon.

Nonetheless, we see the change in Syria as a loss for Iran and Russia. Hezbollah has been largely defanged. There is a ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. 

There is serious talk of a hostage deal finally freeing the captives. 

There is hope.

And we stand amid all that fear and uncertainty on one side and hope on the other.

We stand in that no-man’s land.

* * *

Our Torah reading this morning, Parashat Vayishlah, is all about inhabiting that in-between, the liminal spaces – where you can stand in the doorway, one foot in one room and the other in the next. 

You are not entirely in either.

After fleeing from his brother and being away for two decades, Jacob returns to the Land of Israel and comes to the Yabok River.

Rivers are places of crossing—dangerous, threshold places in the ancient world.

According to some, the word Yabok means a pouring out, or a wrestling, as the stream winds through a wild and deep ravine.

On the river’s bank, Jacob’s family is divided into two camps; Jacob famously wrestles with a mysterious assailant. Jacob cannot defeat him, but he does not lose either. It is the same feeling – neither one gets the upper hand.

This feeling deepens when the attacker gives Jacob a new name: Israel. Two names, a change in identity. Which is he? The Jacob, which means heel – the one who is born grabbing his brother’s heel and behaves like a heel or the one who becomes the father of the people Israel? 

He is both. He inhabits both spaces.

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The name Yisrael – Israel is described by the Torah as someone who wrestles, struggles, and lives in that grey area.

And then, with his new name and his wrestling-induced limp, Jacob approaches his brother. Afraid of what might happen, he divides his wives and kids again.

It’s unsure until this last moment when Esau runs to greet him, embracing his estranged brother, falling on his neck, kissing him, and the two of them weep together.

* * *

But there is a less well-known moment in the reading where his name is changed again. This suggests that he is in flux as the narrative continues.

“God appeared again to Jacob on his arrival from Paddan-aram. God blessed him,  

וַיֹּֽאמֶר־ל֥וֹ אֱלֹהִ֖ים שִׁמְךָ֣ יַעֲקֹ֑ב לֹֽא־יִקָּרֵא֩ שִׁמְךָ֨ ע֜וֹד יַעֲקֹ֗ב כִּ֤י אִם־יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה שְׁמֶ֔ךָ וַיִּקְרָ֥א אֶת־שְׁמ֖וֹ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃ saying to him,

‘You whose name is Jacob, You shall be called Jacob no more, But Israel shall be your name.’ Thus he was named Israel.” (Gen. 35:9-10)

Why the name change again? Did it not stick? Is it because he is now in the land of Israel? Or now, God is doing it. 

Or, maybe, because he is someone who inhabits two worlds. His name is changed, and it means change and he is changing.

Now, he is more fully transformed. God now gives him a name, this time without a struggle, and now he is in the Land of Israel. Name, place, and time come together.

From impermanence to permanence.

But we know that too, is fleeting. Next week, we will read that Jacob’s son, Joseph, will leave Israel, and the Jewish story will move to Egypt and into slavery.

* * *

It all comes together, and then it’s gone…

This is what it means to be a Jew, a human being.

We are always living in different spaces, emotions, and realities simultaneously.

We can be overjoyed, but we also understand that there is fragility.

We can feel hopeful, but there is also fear.

We always inhabit those in every moment.

This is reality, and the tradition emphasizes it over and over again.

Life is filled with this duality.

Certainty and uncertainty.

Happiness and sadness.

They are all around us.

But our texts teach us that this is not new. This was true 3,700 years ago, and it’s true today.

We live in a world where things can be great or terrible. We can win the lottery one day and end up in the hospital the next.

But once we acknowledge that reality and see that we are always in between, we are always in those liminal spaces, we can figure out how to live in them.

Jacob perseveres on his journey. 

At the end of his life, he blesses his children and grandson, acknowledging that there has been an angel, a force of positive energy – Hamakh Hagoel oti – who has protected him throughout his life.

I like to think that this is his sense of hope amidst all the uncertainty and challenges of his life. 

There is always the potential for sparks of light amidst darkness. In fact, amidst darkness, is where we can best see those glimmers of light.

May we find ways not only to cope with the uncertainties of our time and this liminal space we inhabit but also find hope in them and even thrive.