Parshat Vayishlach5 min read

Samael Wrestled Jacob at the Jabbok Ford

At the Jabbok ford a figure grips Jacob until dawn. Tradition names him precisely: Samael, Esau's angel, the prosecutor of Israel.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Stranger at the Crossing
  2. Who Samael Is
  3. What the First Day Already Contained
  4. The Birth That Set the Contest in Motion

The Stranger at the Crossing

Jacob had sent everyone ahead. His wives, his children, his herds crossed the Jabbok while he stood alone in the dark on the far bank. He did not know what was coming. Then something seized him.

They wrestled through the night. The stranger could not break Jacob's grip. Jacob could not drive the stranger off. When the first grey of dawn spread across the ridge, the stranger touched Jacob's hip socket and wrenched it. Still Jacob did not let go. He demanded a blessing before he would release the man. The stranger gave it. He told Jacob that from now on his name would be Israel, because he had wrestled with God and with men and prevailed. Then he was gone.

The tradition never let that description stand as written. A man who appears from nowhere, who cannot defeat his opponent by force, who finally has to disable him through a touch, who refuses to speak his own name but grants a new one in exchange for release: this was not a man. The rabbis and mystics of later centuries identified the stranger precisely. He was Samael, the angel appointed over Esau, the figure who had been trying to prevent the covenant from passing to Jacob's line since before either of them was born.

Who Samael Is

The Tikkunei Zohar describes Samael with a precision that distinguishes him from simple chaos. He is not a force running outside creation's order. He is a specific officer within it, assigned a specific function: guardian of Esau, heavenly prosecutor of Israel, and the figure the tradition associates with the pull toward harm that lives inside every person. He operates in the divine court. He brings accusations. He tests. He presses on whatever weakness he can find.

The Esh Kodesh tradition elaborates on why Samael was assigned to Esau at all. Esau was not simply Jacob's rejected twin. He was the other son of Isaac, the inheritor of Abraham's blood, the line that did not receive the covenant but carried a weight in the cosmic structure nonetheless. Samael as Esau's guardian was therefore also Samael as Israel's opposition, the force that kept Israel's integrity under constant examination.

This is why the fight at the Jabbok was not accidental. Samael had been Jacob's adversary since the moment Jacob entered the womb ahead of Esau's hand, since the moment Jacob received Isaac's blessing through deception, since Jacob fled to Laban and built a household and a fortune in spite of every obstacle Esau's world could put in his path. The night at the ford was not the first engagement. It was the final examination before Jacob could become Israel in earnest.

What the First Day Already Contained

The Legends of the Jews opens the story of creation with a detail that places Samael inside the cosmic structure from the beginning. On the first day, God brought ten things into being simultaneously: the heavens and the earth together, like a pot and its cover. Light. The four winds. Fire of Gehinnom. The angels. And the deep places, the dark foundations under the world that would later be assigned to the powers that test human beings.

Samael, in the account from the Tikkunei Zohar, is associated with those dark foundations. He is tied to the serpent of Eden, to the adversarial principle that entered the world on the very day the world was made. He is not younger than creation. He is woven into its first layer. This is why he could appear at the Jabbok as though he had always been waiting there. He had been.

The Birth That Set the Contest in Motion

The Legends of the Jews describes the moment before Jacob and Esau were born as a moment of cosmic competition. Even in the womb they struggled. Esau was drawn toward temples of idolatry. Jacob was drawn toward Torah. Samael's appointment to Esau, in this framework, was not arbitrary. He was assigned to the son who carried the potential to become something destructive, and his task was to manage that potential, keep it directed, and use it against the covenant line whenever possible.

The name Esau means complete in the sense of arriving already finished, already committed to what he would become. Jacob's name, by contrast, meant the heel-gripper, the one who would have to fight for everything. Samael knew which name to stand against. The fight at the Jabbok simply made it physical.

What Jacob won was not just a blessing. He won the right to carry the name Israel through the rest of history without Samael being able to take it from him by force. The hip that was wrenched reminded him that the victory had a cost. He walked differently afterward. He was supposed to.


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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Esh Kadosh p. 13Esh Kodesh (Rabbi Kalonymus)

It's one of the most enigmatic scenes in the entire Torah (Genesis 32:24-30), and Jewish tradition has offered some pretty wild interpretations over the centuries.

One compelling idea, found in various midrashim (rabbinic interpretive commentary), is that Jacob wasn't just wrestling any old being. Oh no. It was Esau's guardian angel. And not just any angel, but Samael (the angel of death) himself! Samael is often identified as a powerful, even demonic, figure in Jewish mystical thought.

The Zohar tells us that Samael is a powerful figure with a lot of influence. So what was he doing wrestling Jacob? The idea is that by wearing Jacob down, exhausting him through this all-night struggle, Samael hoped to make him vulnerable for Esau's attack the next day. He wanted to ensure Esau would finally triumph over his brother.

Jacob, stubborn and determined as ever, held on. He didn't let Samael win. And here’s where the story takes another fascinating turn. Before letting the angel go, Jacob demanded a blessing. "Your name shall no longer be Jacob," the angel declared, "but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed" (Genesis 32:29).

Now, why would Jacob insist on a blessing from such a figure?

Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto – may his memory be a blessing – offers a profound and moving insight in Esh Kadosh. He suggests that Jacob wasn't asking for a blessing for himself. He was asking for it on behalf of his descendants, the people of Israel. The blessing from Samael, forced as it was, meant that this powerful adversarial angel couldn't protest when God decided to liberate Israel from oppression in future times. It meant that even Samael had, in a way, given his reluctant assent to the Exodus from Egypt!

As we find in Midrash Rabbah, everything said about Jacob can also apply to the people of Israel, especially after Jacob's name was changed to Israel. It’s all intertwined. This blessing, therefore, wasn't just for one man, but for the entire nation that would spring from him.

This ingenious interpretation casts the whole wrestling match in a new light. It transforms it from a personal struggle into a cosmic battle with implications for generations to come. Even the dark forces of the universe, personified by Samael, could be compelled to serve the ultimate purpose of redemption.

The idea that Jacob wrestled with Esau's guardian angel, Samael, appears again in another myth, "The Magic Flock," found in Tree of Souls (Schwartz). It's a recurring motif, highlighting the ongoing struggle between good and evil, between Israel and its adversaries, a struggle that continues to this day.

So, the next time you read about Jacob's wrestling match, remember it's not just a story about a man wrestling an angel. It’s a story about a nation's destiny, a cosmic battle, and the enduring power of hope, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. What does this story mean for us today, and our own struggles against seemingly insurmountable odds?

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Tikkunei Zohar 99:20Tikkunei Zohar

Jewish mysticism wrestles with this very idea. The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a later expansion on the core Zohar, dives deep into these shadowy realms. It asks, who are these "dark ones" that seem to hold sway over us?

The answer, perhaps unsurprisingly, isn't a simple one. The Tikkunei Zohar 99 points to Samael (the angel of death), often considered the angel of death or a powerful adversary. And the snake, that ancient symbol of temptation and transgression. But here’s the kicker: what allows them to rule?

The text pulls no punches. It cites (Isaiah 59:2): "Because your sins have separated, between you and your God." Ouch. Our actions, our missteps, create a void, a space where these forces can gain influence. It’s a powerful idea, isn't it? That our choices have cosmic implications.

King David, in (Psalm 119:18), seems to echo this sentiment. He cries out, "Reveal to my eyes, and I shall behold wonders from Your Torah." He's not just asking for knowledge; he's pleading for the ability to see beyond the darkness, to pierce the veil that our own actions have drawn.

But here's where the story takes a hopeful turn. The Tikkunei Zohar suggests that a transformation is possible. A reversal of fortune. A moment when "the lights are now transformed and rule over the dark-ones." Isn't that what we all yearn for? To tip the scales, to bring light into the darkness?

So, how does this happen? The text explores the mystical realm of ta'amei ha-mikra (טעמי המקרא), the cantillation notes used when chanting the Torah. These seemingly small markings hold profound secrets, the Tikkunei Zohar says. Think of them as the musical score for the soul.

Specifically, it mentions notes like shofar (שֹׁפַר֣), me-hupakh (מְהֻפָּךְ֚), qadmah (קַדְמָ֨), and zaqeph qatan (זָקֵף קָטָ֔). It connects these to Jacob's humble declaration in (Genesis 32:11), "I am made small (qatonti קָטֹנְתִּי), from all the kindnesses and from all the truth…"

It’s a powerful connection. Jacob, facing his estranged and potentially hostile brother Esau, acknowledges his own unworthiness. He feels small, diminished. But it is precisely from this place of humility, of recognizing our limitations, that transformation can arise. The smallness, the qatonti, is "straightened-up" and becomes zaqeph gadol (זָקֵף גָּדֹל֕) – the great upright.

And what is this "truth" that Jacob speaks of? The Tikkunei Zohar connects it directly to Torah, citing (Malachi 2:6): "The teaching (Torah תּוֹרַת) of truth was in his mouth.." Torah, in this context, isn't just a set of laws or stories. It's a pathway to truth, a guide to working through the complexities of life and overcoming the darkness within.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it’s a reminder that the battle between light and darkness isn't some abstract cosmic struggle. It plays out within each of us. Our choices, our humility, our willingness to seek truth – these are the weapons we wield. The Tikkunei Zohar invites us to embrace the smallness within, to learn from the cantillation notes of our lives, and to strive to transform the darkness into light. Isn’t that a worthwhile pursuit?

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Legends of the Jews, I. The Creation Of The World, The First DayLegends of the Jews

In Legends of the Jews, on day one, God brought forth ten things. ten fundamental aspects of existence all popping into being at once. That's a lot to unpack!

The heavens and the earth, though so different, were created together, “like the pot and its cover.” A beautiful image of interconnectedness, right from the start. The heavens, And the earth? From the snow under the Divine Throne!

About that Tohu and Bohu. These are Hebrew words that are famously difficult to translate, often rendered as "formless and void" (Genesis 1:2). But the legends give them a bit more substance. Tohu is described as a green band encompassing the whole world, dispensing darkness. And Bohu? That's made up of stones in the abyss, the source of the waters. These aren't just abstract concepts; they're almost like primordial building blocks.

What about light? The light created on the first day wasn't like sunlight. It was something far more extraordinary. Imagine a light so powerful it would have enabled anyone to see the entire world at a single glance! But, anticipating the wickedness of future generations – the generations of the Flood and the Tower of Babel – God concealed this light. It was too precious to be wasted on those unworthy of it. But don't worry! The promise is that this original light will reappear in the world to come, shining in all its glory for the righteous.

And the heavens themselves? Not just one, but seven! Each with its own purpose. The first heaven, the one we see, simply covers the light at night and vanishes each morning. The planets are in the second heaven. The third? That’s where the manna is prepared for the righteous in the afterlife.

Things get even more interesting. The fourth heaven contains the celestial Jerusalem and Temple, where Michael serves as high priest, offering the souls of the pious as sacrifices. In the fifth, angel hosts reside, singing God's praises – but only at night, because during the day, that's the job of Israel on Earth!

The sixth heaven is a bit… ominous. It's the source of trials and tribulations. We're talking snow, hail, noxious dew, storms, and smoke, all guarded by the archangel Metatron. According to the legends, these things actually defiled the heavens until King David prayed for their removal, finding it unseemly for such negativity to reside near God. Only then were these things moved down to Earth.

Finally, the seventh heaven: a place of pure goodness and beauty. Right, justice, and mercy reside there, along with storehouses of life, peace, and blessing. It holds the souls of the righteous, the souls of unborn generations, and the dew that will revive the dead on the day of resurrection. And, of course, the Divine Throne itself, surrounded by the seraphim, the ofanim, the holy Hayyot (living creatures), and the ministering angels.

But it doesn't stop with the heavens! Corresponding to the seven heavens, God created seven earths, each separated by layers. The lowest, Erez, is separated from the next by the abyss, the Tohu, the Bohu, a sea, and waters. Then comes Adamah, the scene of God's magnificence. The earths continue upward, each with its own characteristics, containing everything from Gehenna (hell) to rivers and springs.

One earth, called Tebel, is inhabited by creatures unlike anything we know. Some have human heads on the bodies of lions, serpents, or oxen. Others have human bodies with animal heads! And there are even two-headed humans with doubled organs (except for the trunk!). Apparently, they're very pious, unlike us.

Our own earth is called Heled. And like the others, it's separated from Tebel by – you guessed it – the abyss, the Tohu, the Bohu, a sea, and waters.

According to the legends, it takes five hundred years to walk from the earth to the heavens, from one end of a heaven to the other, and from one heaven to the next. It also takes that long to travel east to west or south to north! Of this vast world, only a third is inhabited, with the rest divided between water and desert. Beyond the inhabited east lies Paradise, divided into seven sections for the pious. To the west is the ocean, dotted with islands. Beyond that, boundless steppes full of serpents and scorpions. To the north are the supplies of hellfire, snow, hail, and all sorts of nasty things, along with demons and destructive spirits. And to the south? A chamber of fire and smoke.

The creation began in the center, with the Eben Shetiyah, the foundation stone of the Temple in Jerusalem, considered the center of the world. The first ray of light pierced the Holy Land, then illuminated the whole earth.

The Zohar adds an interesting detail. It tells us that creation couldn't begin until God banished the ruler of darkness, declaring, "Retire, for I desire to create the world by means of light." Only after light was fashioned did darkness arise, each ruling in its own domain.

So, what does all this tell us? It's not just about the physical creation. It's about the imposition of limits, the balance between light and darkness, and the interconnectedness of everything. The heavens and the earth stretched out, aspiring to infinity, until God called a halt. The power of creation lies not only in bringing things into being, but in defining their boundaries. The first day – a cosmic explosion of creation, mystery, and divine intention. Food for thought,.

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Tikkunei Zohar 103:13Tikkunei Zohar

It involves the Satan, the liver, and… a goat.

Stick with me. This isn’t your typical Sunday school lesson.

The Tikkunei Zohar (literally, "Rectifications of the Zohar") is a collection of mystical commentaries that explore the deeper meanings of the Torah. And right away, it throws us into the deep end by connecting the Satan with Samael, a powerful and often dark angelic figure.

Where does the liver come in? The Tikkunei Zohar tells us that Samael’s dominion, his sphere of influence, is actually within the liver. Yes, that vital organ churning away inside you right now. The text even ties this idea to the verse "Esau is Edom" (Gen. 36:1), linking the physical organ to broader themes of struggle and opposition within Jewish thought.

The veins of the liver, according to this mystical perspective, are like hosts and camps, teeming with… well, not exactly good vibes. The liver, it says, takes on all the defilements and sins of these veins. It's a pretty visceral image, isn't it? Imagine your liver as a sponge, soaking up all the negativity.

This brings us to the scapegoat. Remember the ritual described in Leviticus, where a goat is sent into the wilderness carrying the sins of the people? The Tikkunei Zohar sees a direct connection. "And the goat will carry upon it, all ‘their sins’ (avonotam), to an uninhabited land.." (Lev. 16:22). The text then cleverly breaks down the Hebrew word avonotam, "their sins," into avonot tam, which can be understood as "sins of the perfect one."

Who is this “perfect one”? According to the Tikkunei Zohar, it's Jacob, described in (Genesis 25:27) as a "perfect (tam) man." The “uninhabited land” (ge-zeirah) where the goat is sent, is then linked to (Daniel 4:14), referring to "the decree (ge-zeirah) of the watchful-ones." It's a dense web of connections, drawing together seemingly disparate verses to reveal a hidden, mystical truth.

So, what’s the takeaway here? Is it just a bizarre anatomy lesson mixed with biblical interpretation? I don't think so. The Tikkunei Zohar is offering a profound insight into the nature of sin, negativity, and how we process it. It suggests that we, like the liver, are constantly absorbing the "defilements and sins" around us. And that, perhaps, there's a need for a "scapegoat" – a way to release that burden, to send it away to an "uninhabited land."

Maybe that's meditation, maybe it's acts of kindness, maybe it's simply acknowledging the weight we carry and finding healthy ways to cope. Whatever it is, the Tikkunei Zohar reminds us that this process of cleansing and release is essential for our well-being. It's a reminder that even the most internal and seemingly mundane parts of our being – like our liver – can be battlegrounds for the forces of good and evil, and that we have a role to play in choosing which force prevails.

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Legends of the Jews, VI. Jacob, The Birth Of Esau And JacobLegends of the Jews

This is a tale you won't soon forget.

In Legends of the Jews, Isaac, son of Abraham, was a chip off the old block. He mirrored his father in every way, beauty, wisdom, strength, wealth, and noble deeds. It was an honor to be Abraham's son, sure, but it was just as great an honor for Abraham to be Isaac's father.

Despite all his amazing qualities, Isaac didn't marry young. Why? Well, Ginzberg tells us that God waited until Isaac proved wrong the taunts of Ishmael, who mocked Isaac for being circumcised at eight days old, while Ishmael chose to do it at thirteen. Isaac had to prove his devotion to God before finding his bashert, his destined one. And even then, after the near-sacrifice on Mount Moriah, his mother died, delaying things even further.

Finally, Isaac married Rebekah, a woman described as "a rose between thorns." Her father, Bethuel the Aramean, and her brother, the infamous Laban, weren't exactly role models, but Rebekah was righteous, just like Isaac.

Yet, their marriage wasn't initially blessed with children. For twenty long years, they were childless. Rebekah urged Isaac to pray for children, like his father Abraham had. But Isaac, stubborn as ever, initially refused. He figured, hey, God promised Abraham a huge family, so if there's a problem, it must be Rebekah's fault! He thought she should be the one praying.

But Rebekah persisted, and eventually, they both went to Mount Moriah to pray together. Isaac's prayer, as recounted in Legends of the Jews, is a powerful plea, reminding God of His promises to Abraham and asking that those promises be fulfilled through him and Rebekah. He specifically asked that any children destined for him be born from this pious wife. And Rebekah made the same request for Isaac.

Their combined prayer was heard. But here's a fascinating detail: according to the legends, it was mainly for Isaac's sake that God granted them children. While Rebekah was pious, the prayer of a righteous man who is the son of a righteous man carries extra weight.

Now, here's where things get really interesting. Rebekah conceived twins, but her pregnancy was anything but easy. After seven months, she was in constant pain. The twins, Esau and Jacob, were fighting inside her womb! Midrash Rabbah describes how if Rebekah walked near a temple of idols, Esau would stir; if she passed a synagogue or Bet ha-Midrash (house of study), Jacob would try to break free.

Their arguments even had a philosophical bent. Esau, according to the legends, believed only in earthly pleasures, while Jacob insisted on the importance of the World to Come. They even debated who would take which "world"!

The Zohar tells us that Samael (the angel of death), often identified as a adversary, was an ally of Esau, trying to kill Jacob in the womb. But the archangel Michael intervened, attempting to burn Samael. It was such a serious situation that a heavenly court was convened to arbitrate the dispute!

The brothers even fought over the birthright before they were born! Each wanted to be the first to enter the world. Jacob only relented when Esau threatened Rebekah's life. Desperate, Rebekah consulted with Shem and Eber, who had a Bet ha-Midrash on Mount Moriah, and even Abraham himself. She wanted to understand the cause of her suffering.

Shem revealed a profound secret: "Two nations are in thy womb… two nations they are, each owning a world of its own, the one the Torah, the other sin." He foresaw their destinies, the rise of Solomon and the Temple from Jacob, and the destruction by Vespasian from Esau. He told her they'd never be at peace, and that eventually, Jacob would rule over all, but only if he remained pure of heart.

The births themselves were just as extraordinary. Esau emerged first, fully formed, hairy, red, and… well, impure. He even had teeth! His ruddy complexion led Isaac to delay his circumcision, fearing poor circulation. But when Esau grew older, he refused to be circumcised at all.

Jacob, on the other hand, was born "clean and sweet of body," and according to the legends, he was even born already circumcised! While Esau had the mark of a serpent on him, Jacob bore the sign of the covenant.

Even their names were significant. Esau was called such because he was ‘Asui, fully developed at birth. Jacob's name, Ya'akov, was given to him by God, hinting at future events in Israel's history. The letters of his name, according to the legends, represent the Ten Commandments, the seventy elders, the Temple's height, and the two tablets of stone.

So, what does this all mean? This interplay of birth, struggle, and prophecy speaks to the complex relationship between these two brothers and the nations they would represent. It's a story of choices, destinies, and the enduring battle between opposing forces. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, how much of our lives are predetermined, and how much is up to us? And perhaps, even more importantly, what kind of world are we choosing to build, one of Torah or sin, harmony or conflict? It's a question that resonates just as powerfully today as it did when these stories were first told.

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