In this week’s Torah portion, the Jewish people earn a new name: Yisrael. Here’s the context:
Jacob was left alone. And a figure wrestled with him until the break of dawn. When he saw that he had not prevailed against him, he wrenched Jacob’s hip at its socket, so that the socket of his hip was strained as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for dawn is breaking.” But he answered, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” Said the other, “What is your name?” He replied, “Jacob.” Said he, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Yisrael, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed (כִּי־שָׂרִיתָ עִם־אֱלֹהִים וְעִם־אֲנָשִׁים וַתּוּכָל).” (Genesis 32:25-29)
It’s a bit of clever word play; to be “Yisrael” is to strive or struggle or wrestle (“sariti”) with God and prevail.
A 20th century commentator, Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin (1881-1966), notices something peculiar about the end of the episode. In his middle-of-the-night wrestling match with the stranger (maybe a person, maybe an angel), Jacob is injured rather seriously. His hip is strained and as a result, he will walk with a limp for the rest of his life. Yet the text says that he has “prevailed”. Rabbi Sorotzkin notices this detail and finds both wisdom and a touch of dark comedy in it, saying:
“One could say, in a somewhat humorous way, that this is a typical Jewish ‘success story’. When robbers attack a Jew and he is left ‘only’ with a permanent limp, it is considered a victory since he was neither killed nor was he forced to kill.”
There is a deep truth to this teaching as well as a beautiful Jewish value at its core: not only do we want ourselves not to be harmed, we equally do not want to cause harm to others. We don’t want to be the targets of Jew hatred. We don’t want to have to defend ourselves. A permanent limp seems to be, according to this text, a type of Jewish victory. It could have been worse! We could have been killed or forced to harm another!
But if we are to be completely honest with ourselves, this dark humor is painful and even a bit pathetic. Of course, we don’t want to have to defend ourselves from antisemitism. We don’t want to have the need to respond to those who slander us online or, God forbid, try to harm us physically—in our synagogues, on our campuses, and on our city streets. But if we are forced to do so, prevailing must mean more than “not dying”. Prevailing must mean that those who seek to destroy us are deterred from ever doing so again.
And while we should, of course, never seek the harm of another, let’s not be naive. Sometimes the only way to defend ourselves and those we love is to take actions that, sadly and tragically, result in the harm of those who seek to destroy us. And in defending ourselves and our values, bystanders might be swept up in the violence as well and we will have to deal with the fact that our actions resulted in the harm of the innocent.
It is a core value of our sacred tradition to never seek the harm of another (known as pikuach nefesh) and yet, at the same time, to protect ourselves and those we love and thereby truly prevail, we must, sometimes, take defensive action against those who seek to destroy us. Action which, tragically, does cause harm. Additionally, in protecting ourselves, bystanders can be swept up in the violence as well and we have to deal with the fact that our actions resulted in the harm of the innocent.
I read those verses from our Torah differently than Rabbi Sorotzkin does.
Jacob doesn’t come looking for a fight. He is set upon in the middle of the night while he is sleeping. He fights back, refusing to quit. Yes, he is injured in the process, but Jacob won’t let his attacker go until his attacker blesses him. Jacob gains a new name which he and his descendants wear with pride.
Our prayer is that we would not need to fight, that we would not be injured or killed, and that we wouldn’t ever have to harm another. But when we must prevail, we remember who we are. We remember our name.
We are Yisrael. We are willing to wrestle, willing to fight when necessary, even if it means walking away with a limp.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi