Parshat Vayishlach6 min read

Jacob Arrived Empty-Handed and Left With Wounds That Became Law

Laban ran out to embrace his nephew and found nothing on him worth taking. Twenty years later Jacob spent everything he had on his brother.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Laban Priced Him During the Embrace
  2. The Herd Was Arranged So Esau Would Sit as a Judge
  3. Something Fought Him All Night and Could Not Win
  4. Timna Asked to Be a Servant in a House That Was Not Hers
Jacob Arrived Empty-Handed and Left With Wounds That Became Law Click for full size

Laban Priced Him During the Embrace

Laban came out at a run and got his arms around the boy, and by the time he let go he had done the arithmetic. Nothing on the belt. Nothing in the pack. Jacob had arrived empty-handed, across the desert with a stick and nothing else.

"Surely you are my bone and my flesh," Laban said.

Rabbi Ami heard a threat inside the compliment. I had been planning to make you a king over me, Laban means, and instead you show up like this, so you are my bone, and I will strip you the way a man strips a bone. Then he housed him for a month, which Rabbi Ami noted is exactly how long a person is obliged to carry a relative for nothing, and on the last day of it he opened the negotiation.

"Because you are my brother, should you work for me for free? Name your wages."

Nobody in the room believed that sentence. A job worth ten pieces of silver was going to get paid at five. A delivery worth six would be settled at three. Jacob answered him with the only leverage he had. I did not come here for your money, he said. I came for your two daughters.

The Herd Was Arranged So Esau Would Sit as a Judge

Twenty years and two wives and eleven sons later, Jacob was on the road home with a brother coming to meet him and four hundred men behind that brother. He spent the night cutting his wealth into a procession.

Two hundred she-goats, twenty he-goats. Two hundred ewes, twenty rams. Thirty nursing camels with their young. Forty cows, ten bulls. Twenty she-asses, ten he-asses.

Rabbi Elazar read the ratios and got a marriage law out of them. Two hundred females need twenty males, so a man of leisure owes his wife every day, a laborer twice a week, a sailor once in six months. Rabbi Berekhya noticed that the camels are the one animal in the list whose males go uncounted, and said the verse kept quiet out of respect, because a camel is private about such things.

Then the placement. Why put the camels in the middle instead of at the front or the back? Because a camel stands taller than everything else in the line, and a row of tall animals coming over a rise looks like a bench. Esau would see the low herds part and the high ones rise up behind them and he would find himself, without deciding to, sitting where a magistrate sits. That was the whole design. Take the seat, Jacob was saying to him through the livestock. You are on the platform. I am the man standing below it. Now be merciful.

Something Fought Him All Night and Could Not Win

He sent the women and the children over the ford and stayed on the wrong bank alone, and something came out of the dark and took hold of him.

It could not throw him. That is the part the sources will not let go of. Whatever it was, it worked at him until the sky went grey and never got him down, and when it saw it was not going to, it reached and touched the socket of his hip, and the tendon came off its seat. The word for that nerve, gid hanashe, is built on the verb for a thing knocked out of place.

Rav Huna said something startling about it afterward. By the strict letter, those tendons are permitted. There is no verse forbidding them and no court forbade them. Israel is holy, and Israel put them off the table for itself. Rabbi Yehuda said the attacker touched one leg, so one leg is forbidden. Rabbi Yosei said he touched one leg, and both are forbidden, because nobody wrote down which. They argued the point out to the end. Some held for the right side, because the verse says his hip, meaning the strong one. Some held for the left. The argument has never closed, and every butcher in Israel since has cut both. Jacob carried two wounds out of Laban country, the twenty stolen years and the socket, and only one of them became law.

Timna Asked to Be a Servant in a House That Was Not Hers

There is a line in the family register that reads like bookkeeping. Timna was a concubine of Eliphaz son of Esau, and she bore Amalek to Eliphaz.

Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai asked why the verse bothers. It bothers, he said, to show how badly the world wanted in. Timna was not a servant girl. Her brother was Lotan, a chieftain of Seir, which made her a ruler's sister with a household of her own. She looked at the descendants of Abraham and decided she would rather be attached to that family at the lowest rung than stay where she was at the top. If I am not fit to be his wife, she said, I will be his maidservant.

And she went to Esau's line to do it. Esau, who in the whole ledger of his life had one commandment to his credit, that he honored his father. Kingdoms wanted to attach themselves to a man with one commandment. Rabbi Shimon left the obvious conclusion sitting there unspoken: what, then, about the brother who kept the whole of it, limping home over the ford with his hip out of joint and his herds gone ahead of him as a bribe.

The son Timna bore was Amalek.


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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Bereshit Rabbah 70:14Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

We see that play out in the story of Jacob and Laban. In (Genesis 29:14), we read, "Laban said to him:, you are my bone and my flesh, and he stayed with him a month’s time." But what’s really going on behind those words?

In Bereshit Rabbah, that seemingly warm welcome wasn’t so simple. Laban, seeing Jacob arrive empty-handed, says, "Indeed, you are my bone and my flesh.." but the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interprets this as Laban thinking, "I was thinking to render you a king over me, but now that you have nothing with you, ‘indeed, you are my bone and my flesh.’ I will strip you bare like this bone." Ouch. From potential royalty to…well, stripped bare.

Then comes the line, "He stayed with him a month’s time." Rabbi Ami points out something fascinating here: "The Torah teaches you etiquette. For how long must a person tend to his relatives? It is up to a month." So, even amidst the family drama, there's a lesson in proper behavior. Kind of like saying, "Okay, things are messy, but at least be a decent guest (or host) for a month!"

The story doesn't end there. "Laban said to Jacob: Because you are my brother, shall you work for me for nothing? Tell me, what is your salary?” (Genesis 29:15). Sounds reasonable. Bereshit Rabbah challenges that assumption. The text asks, "Is that possible? Did Laban really plan on paying Jacob fairly for his work?"

The answer, according to the Midrash, is a resounding no. Instead, Laban's idea of fair payment was more like, "If he performed a task for ten silver coins, he would give him five silver coins, and if his delivery was worth six silver pieces, he would give him three silver pieces." Talk about a bad deal!

So, what was Jacob's response? According to the Midrash, "What do you think, that I came because I want your money? I came only because of your two young women.” In other words, Jacob knew exactly what Laban was up to. It wasn't about the money; it was about something else entirely.

This little snippet from Bereshit Rabbah gives us a glimpse into the complexities of family relationships, the importance of etiquette, and the often-murky waters of fair dealing. How often do we mask our true intentions behind seemingly kind words? And how often do we see through the charade?

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Bereshit Rabbah 76:7Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Take the story of Jacob preparing to meet his brother Esau after years of estrangement. He sends Esau a lavish gift, described in detail in Genesis 32. But is it just a gift list, or is there something more profound going on?

In (Genesis 32:13), God says, "I will benefit you, and render your descendants as the sand of the sea, which cannot be enumerated for multitude." But the verse actually says "heitev eitiv" – "I will benefit, I will benefit you." What's the significance of the double blessing? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Bereshit Rabbah 76, teases out a beautiful idea: "heitev, by your merit; eitiv, by the merit of your fathers." So, one blessing is for Jacob's own righteousness, and the other is a legacy from his ancestors. – the blessings we receive can be both earned and inherited, a powerful combination!

Then comes the gift itself: "Two hundred female goats and twenty male goats, two hundred ewes and twenty rams…thirty nursing camels and their offspring, forty cows and ten bulls, twenty female donkeys and ten male donkeys" (Genesis 32:14-16). But Rabbi Elazar sees something else entirely. Hidden within this list, he finds allusions to the Torah's guidelines about the frequency of marital relations! The men of leisure, he says, every day; the laborers, twice a week; the seafarers, once in six months. Who knew a gift list could contain such intimate details?

It gets even more intriguing. Consider the camels: "Thirty nursing camels and their offspring [uvneihem]." Rabbi Berekhya, citing Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, points out a delicate nuance. The text doesn't explicitly mention the male camels. Why? He suggests it's "because it is modest in its sexual relations." Instead of being explicit, the verse uses "uvneihem" (their offspring) and hints at "boneihem" (those who build them), a subtle allusion to procreation. As we see in (Genesis 16:2), being built can refer to having offspring. It's a beautiful example of the Torah's sensitivity and discretion.

But wait, there's still another layer! Why are the camels placed in the middle of the list – after the goats and sheep, but before the cows and donkeys? The Midrash offers a striking interpretation: Jacob is essentially saying to Esau, "'Consider yourself as though you are sitting on the platform and judging, and I am being judged before you, and you become filled with mercy over me.'" Can you picture it? The tall camels, standing prominently, evoke the image of a courtroom, with Esau as the judge and Jacob pleading his case.

Isn't that incredible? What seems like a simple accounting of livestock transforms into a interplay of marital insights, familial legacy, and even a plea for mercy. The Rabbis of the Midrash, through their careful reading and insightful interpretations, invite us to see beyond the surface of the text and discover the hidden depths within. So, the next time you read a seemingly straightforward passage in the Torah, remember Jacob's gift to Esau – and ask yourself: what other secrets might be waiting to be uncovered?

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Bereshit Rabbah 78:6Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It’s a fascinating story that takes us back to the very beginnings of our people, to Jacob wrestling with a mysterious figure.

The Torah tells us, in (Genesis 32:33), "Therefore, the children of Israel shall not eat the sciatic nerve, which is upon the hip socket, to this day, because he touched Jacob’s hip socket, at the sciatic nerve." But why this specific prohibition? What's the story behind the gid hanashe, the sciatic nerve?

Bereshit Rabbah, the ancient collection of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, dives right into this question. The text asks, "Why is it called gid hanashe?" And the answer given is simple: "It is because it was dislocated [nasha] from its place." The very name of the nerve, gid hanashe, becomes a reminder of that fateful night when Jacob wrestled with a being, often understood as an angel.

So, if you're picturing a kosher butcher meticulously removing this nerve, you might wonder, how much of the surrounding area is also forbidden? Rav Huna offers an interesting perspective. He suggests that only the extensions of the sciatic nerve are technically permitted, but that "Israel is holy and they prohibited it upon themselves," taking on an additional stringency. It’s a beautiful idea – the community choosing to elevate itself by embracing a higher standard.

But the discussion doesn't end there. Rabbis Yehuda and Yosei have differing opinions on exactly how far this prohibition extends. Rabbi Yehuda argues that since the angel touched only one of the nerves, only that specific nerve should be prohibited. But Rabbi Yosei takes a stricter view, stating that since the Torah doesn’t specify which leg, both nerves are prohibited to be on the safe side.

And then it gets even more granular. Which leg was it, anyway?

Bereshit Rabbah tells us of a debate, a tanna, in which some scholars tried to deduce which leg was affected through logical reasoning. One opinion, in accordance with Rabbi Yehuda, suggests it must have been the right leg. Why? Because the Torah says "he touched his hip socket," using the possessive "his" which they interpret to mean Jacob's stronger leg – presumably his right.

But another tanna, aligning with Rabbi Yosei’s perspective, posits that it was the left leg. Their reasoning? The verse states, "Because he touched Jacob’s hip [yerekh] socket," a more general statement, implying it could have been either.

The tradition leans towards prohibiting the sciatic nerve from both legs. It becomes a lasting reminder of Jacob's struggle, his perseverance, and the covenant he made with God. It's a physical act that connects us to our history, to our ancestors, and to the ongoing process of wrestling with what it means to be a Jew.

So, the next time you hear about someone meticulously removing the gid hanashe, remember the story. Remember Jacob, the angel, and the enduring legacy of that night. It's a story etched not just in our texts, but also in our very bodies, in the foods we choose to eat – and not eat – connecting us to a rich and complex history.

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Bereshit Rabbah 82:14Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Take Timna, for example. Her story, though brief, speaks volumes about the magnetic pull of righteousness.

We find her mentioned almost in passing in (Genesis 36:12): "Timna was a concubine of Elifaz son of Esau, and she bore Amalek to Elifaz. These are the sons of Ada wife of Esau." Okay, so she’s connected to Esau. But what’s the big deal?

Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai, as quoted in Bereshit Rabbah, asks a pointed question: Why does the Torah even bother to tell us that "Timna was a concubine of Elifaz son of Esau?" It seems like a detail, almost an aside. Yet, according to Rabbi Shimon, this seemingly insignificant verse highlights just how much even the most powerful kingdoms desired to be associated with the lineage of Abraham. Who was Lotan? The verse tells us that Lotan was a chieftain, a ruler. And Lotan’s sister was Timna (Genesis 36:22). This Timna, a woman of noble birth, desired to cleave to the household of Abraham so strongly that she was willing to become a concubine – a woman in a subservient role – to Elifaz, Esau’s son.

The Midrash (Bereshit Rabbah 82) tells us that Timna essentially said, "Since I am not worthy to marry him as a wife, I will be his maidservant." Wow. She understood the specialness, the holiness, within Abraham's descendants.

Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. The text draws an a fortiori argument, a logical inference moving from the lesser to the greater. If even the wicked Esau, who only had one mitzva (good deed) to his credit – honoring his father, Isaac – could attract such interest from kingdoms and realms, how much more would they desire to be connected to the righteous Jacob, who fulfilled the entire Torah?

It's a powerful lesson in influence and legacy. Even a single act of kindness, like Esau honoring his father, can have far-reaching effects. But the true power, the true magnetism, lies in a life dedicated to righteousness, like Jacob's.

So, what does Timna's story teach us? They are drawn to those who embody values and principles. And it challenges us to consider: what are we drawing others to? Are we building a legacy that reflects the values of Abraham and Jacob? Are we living lives that make others want to cleave to the light within us?

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