Parshat Vayishlach5 min read

Jacob Was the Axis All the Other Patriarchs Pointed Toward

Abraham received the promise and Isaac confirmed it, but Jacob was the hinge on which all of it turned. Jubilees and the Prayer of Joseph say why.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Blessing That Could Not Have Gone Elsewhere
  2. Before Birth, Before the Womb
  3. What Esau's Rage Revealed
  4. The Vision Jacob Woke From in Terror
  5. The Axis of the Seventy

The Blessing That Could Not Have Gone Elsewhere

When Rebekah put the goatskin on her son's arms and sent him into his father's tent smelling of the field, the tradition has to decide: was this a deception that worked, or a correction that had been waiting to happen?

The Book of Jubilees does not hesitate. The blessing went to Jacob because no other outcome was possible. Not because Esau was wicked, though Jubilees is not gentle with Esau. But because Jacob was not simply the younger son of Isaac. He was something larger, carrying within himself a destiny that had been fixed before either of them drew breath, before Abraham had even left Ur.

The roots of that destiny run deeper than Rebekah's tent, deeper than any human voice. They reach back to a moment when Jacob had no mouth of clay to speak with at all, and yet he spoke.

Before Birth, Before the Womb

The Prayer of Joseph, a Jewish text from the first or second century CE that survived only in fragments quoted by the church father Origen, opens with Jacob speaking in his own first person: I, Jacob, who is speaking to you, am also Israel, an angel of God and a ruling spirit. He had been brought into existence before the creation of the world. He was the first angel, the archangel of the divine presence, possessing knowledge of the highest order. He had descended into material existence, been born of Rebekah, and taken on a human body.

The wrestling match at the Jabbok was not, in this telling, a man struggling with a mysterious stranger. It was one angel contesting the precedence of another. The figure that confronted Jacob at the ford was an angel named Uriel, who had been claiming Jacob's rank in the heavenly hierarchy on the grounds that he, Uriel, had descended first and therefore held seniority. Jacob defeated him and proved his claim.

His new name was not a gift. It was a recognition of what had always been true.

What Esau's Rage Revealed

Jubilees, the second-century BCE text that retells Genesis and Exodus in a framework of heavenly tablets and predestined history, adds a dimension the Torah's surface leaves implicit. When Esau discovered what had happened with the blessing, his rage was not only wounded pride. He planned to murder Jacob the moment their father died. He spoke the plan aloud to his own children.

But Jubilees is equally clear that Esau's plan was never going to succeed, because the blessing had sealed something that force could not reverse. Isaac had blessed Jacob with the dew of heaven, the fatness of the earth, the service of nations and brothers. Once those words had left Isaac's mouth, they were not merely paternal sentiment. They were prophecy. Esau could not take back a blessing he had not received.

What the tradition finds interesting is not that Jacob tricked his brother but that the trick worked so cleanly. The goatskins fooled the blind old man's hands. The field-smell fooled his nose. But the blessing itself could not have been misdirected. It moved to where it was always going.

The Vision Jacob Woke From in Terror

Among the traditions preserved in Legends of the Jews, one of the most haunting is a dream Jacob had at Bethel after fleeing Esau. God appeared and showed him his own future: the Temple standing, the Temple burning, the exiles moving through the dark. He woke from the vision shaking. He had seen not only the promise but the cost of the promise, the destruction that would precede the restoration.

He prayed over what he had seen. He prayed for his descendants to survive the exile his dream had shown him. He prayed not for himself, who had the promise already, but for the generations who would inherit the promise and then watch it seem to disappear.

This is what the tradition means when it says Jacob established evening prayer. Abraham prayed in the morning, when things could still be shaped. Isaac prayed in the afternoon, when the day was known. Jacob prayed at night, when what was coming could not be seen, only trusted. The night prayer is the prayer of someone who knows the darkness is not permanent but cannot see the light yet.

The Axis of the Seventy

The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, the Aramaic translation of the Torah with its expansive additions, renders the blessing of El Shaddai in Genesis 28 with a specific number: twelve tribes and seventy souls would emerge from Jacob. This was not merely genealogical prediction. The seventy souls who descended into Egypt carried within them the seed of a people that would fill the world. Jacob carried them all, first as potential, then as name, then as history.

Isaac had fathered two sons, one of whom was chosen. Abraham had fathered multiple children, all of whom scattered except Isaac's line. But from Jacob, every single descendant was counted in. All twelve of his sons became tribes. None was Esau'd away. The axis held everything.


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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.

Prayer of Joseph 1-4Prayer of Joseph

Was Jacob, the patriarch, just an ordinary man? Tradition whispers secrets, suggesting his story is far grander than we might imagine. Some even say his true name was Israel, and that he was nothing less than an angel of God. Israel, the very archangel of the power of the Lord, the first minister before God Himself! According to some accounts, he was the first being brought to life by God, possessing the radiant beauty of Adam.

If that were true, how did he become the Jacob we know from the Torah? The Zohar tells us that when the angel Israel descended to earth, he forgot his divine origins. It's a poignant idea – a celestial being veiled in human form, unaware of their true nature.

What about that famous dream, the one with the ladder stretching between earth and heaven? God, according to this tradition, was trying to jog Jacob’s memory. (Genesis 28:12) describes angels ascending and descending, but what were they really doing?

The angels who accompanied him from his father's house, so the story goes, went up to heaven to announce to the angels on high: "Come and see Jacob the pious, whose image is fixed upon the Throne of Glory, the one you have longed to see." Then, the rest of the holy angels of the Lord came down to look at him. They ascended to see the face carved on the celestial throne and descended to see Jacob asleep, his features mirroring that divine image.

In the dream, Jacob hears God's voice: "You, too, Jacob, climb up the ladder." A direct invitation back to the heavenly realm! But Jacob hesitates. "Master of the Universe," he says, "I am afraid that if I climb up, I will have to come down." And he remains earthbound.

It’s a powerful moment, isn’t it? A choice between the celestial and the terrestrial. The tradition suggests that had Jacob ascended, Israel would have been spared immense suffering. A tantalizing "what if" hangs in the air.

And then there's the wrestling match at the River Yabbok (Genesis 32:25-31). Was it just a man struggling with an angel? Not according to this mystical interpretation. It was a clash of angels: Uriel and Israel locked in a cosmic struggle.

Some say Uriel was sent to awaken Jacob to his true identity: "Know that you were once an angel, who descended to earth and took up dwelling among humans, and your name became Jacob. Now your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel" (Genesis 32:29). Others propose Uriel wrestled with Jacob, demanding his own name take precedence over all others.

Suddenly, Jacob remembers. "Are you not Uriel?" he cries. "Have you forgotten that I am Israel, the chief commander among the heavenly hosts?" And, invoking God's secret Name, he triumphs.

Still, other traditions, as explored by Ginzberg in Legends of the Jews, claim Jacob only became an angel after his death, achieving immortality. Whether before or after, Jacob-Israel declares, "I am an angel of God and a ruling spirit, the first servant before the presence of God. It was God who gave me the name Israel, which means, 'the man who sees God,' because I am the firstborn of all living beings that God brought to life."

The meaning of Jacob’s struggle is complex, isn’t it? It seems to contain elements of self-discovery, remembering who we are, what our potential is, and the battle between our earthly and heavenly selves. It's a deeply resonant image, no matter how you interpret it.

So, was Jacob an angel? The tradition offers a compelling, if unconventional, perspective. It reminds us that perhaps there's more to each of us than meets the eye, a spark of the divine waiting to be recognized. What do you think?

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Legends of the Jews 6:86Legends of the Jews

The Legends of the Jews, that incredible collection compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, gives us a glimpse into the inner lives of the patriarchs and matriarchs. Isaac, blessed with prophetic vision, saw the long, winding road of exile awaiting his descendants, the children of Jacob. And what did he do? He prayed. He pleaded with God to ensure their return. "He shall deliver thee in six troubles, and in the seventh there shall no evil touch thee," Isaac prayed, a verse from Job (5:19) transformed into a personal plea for his future generations.

Rebekah, a powerhouse in her own right, she too lifted her voice. She saw the simmering resentment in Esau's heart, the dark plot he was brewing against Jacob. So she prayed, "O Lord of the world, let not the purpose prosper which Esau harbors against Jacob. Put a bridle upon him, that he accomplish not all he wills to do." It’s a powerful image, isn’t it? A mother's prayer, a shield against the darkness.

The story doesn't end there. Spurned and feeling cheated of his birthright, Esau, fueled by envy, seeks out his uncle Ishmael. He goes to the very person his father, Isaac, had distanced himself from! Desperation truly makes strange bedfellows.

Esau's proposition is chilling: "Lo, as thy father gave all his possessions to thy brother Isaac, and dismissed thee with empty hands, so my father purposeth to do to me. Make thyself ready then, go forth and slay thy brother, and I will slay mine, and then we two shall divide the whole world between us." He wants to team up to commit fratricide and patricide to seize control.

But Ishmael, hardened as he may be, recoils at the thought of killing a father. His response is fascinating: "Why dost thou want me to slay thy father? thou canst do it thyself." Esau, ever the manipulator, has a ready answer: "It hath happened aforetime that a man killed his brother - Cain murdered Abel. But that a son should kill his father is unheard of." It’s a warped sense of morality, isn’t it? He acknowledges the horror of fratricide, referencing the ultimate example of Cain and Abel, but draws the line at patricide, considering it a taboo too far.

What does this tell us? Perhaps even in the darkest of hearts, there are lines that some are unwilling to cross. Or maybe, just maybe, Esau knew that killing his own father would forever taint his claim, even in his own eyes.

This small passage from Legends of the Jews is a reminder that even the most familiar stories are filled with layers of complexity and moral ambiguity. The prayers of our ancestors, the choices they made, and even the evil they contemplated continue to resonate, shaping the narrative of our people. And it begs the question, what kind of stories are we writing with our own lives?

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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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Book of Jubilees 27:1Book of Jubilees

That feeling, that burning resentment, is at the heart of our story today, straight from the Book of Jubilees, a text that expands on the stories we find in the Torah itself.

Remember the scene? Jacob, with a little help from his mother Rebecca, tricks his blind father Isaac into giving him the blessing meant for Esau, the elder son. Ouch.

The Book of Jubilees gives us a little more insight into the fallout. It paints a picture of Esau seething with rage. "And by thy sword wilt thou live," the text says, recounting Isaac's words to Esau, "And thou wilt serve thy brother. And it shall come to pass when thou becomest great, and dost shake his yoke from off thy neck, Thou wilt sin a complete sin unto death, And thy seed will be rooted out from under heaven." It's a harsh pronouncement, filled with a sense of inescapable fate. Esau’s destiny is forever intertwined with Jacob’s, a constant reminder of what he lost.

The text goes on, "And Esau kept threatening Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father blessed him, and he said in his heart: 'May the days of mourning for my father now come, so that I may slay my brother Jacob.'" Can you feel the venom? Esau is consumed by a desire for revenge. He's not just upset; he’s plotting fratricide. He's willing to wait for his father's death just to get his chance. The weight of that resentment must have been crushing.

But here's where the story takes another turn. Rebecca, ever the protective mother, gets wind of Esau's deadly intentions. "And the words of Esau, her elder son, were told to Rebecca in a dream, and Rebecca sent and called Jacob her younger son, and said unto him: 'Behold Esau thy brother will take vengeance on thee so as to kill thee.'" Dreams, in Jewish tradition, often serve as divine warnings, messages from beyond. And Rebecca, attuned to these subtle signs, acts swiftly.

What does this all mean? It's a story about sibling rivalry, yes, but it's also about destiny, free will, and the consequences of our choices. Esau is seemingly trapped by the prophecy, fated to serve his brother. Yet, he also has the agency to choose his path. Will he succumb to his anger and fulfill the grim prediction? Or can he find a way to break free from the cycle of resentment and violence?

This passage from the Book of Jubilees leaves us hanging, doesn't it? It reminds us that even when we feel wronged, even when we believe fate is against us, we still have the power to shape our own stories. The question is, what will we choose to do with it?

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Legends of the Jews 6:103Legends of the Jews

Suddenly, you're jolted awake. Not by a noise, but by the sheer terror of a vision – a glimpse of the Temple in ruins. Can you even begin to imagine what that might feel like?

In Legends of the Jews, compiled by Louis Ginzberg, that's precisely what happened to Jacob. He wakes up trembling, exclaiming, "How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, wherein is the gate of heaven through which prayer ascends to Him." It's a powerful moment of realization. He understands that even in the most desolate location, the divine can break through.

So, what does he do? He takes those stones – the ones that had been his makeshift pillow – and does something extraordinary. He sets them up as a pillar. The text says it was actually twelve stones that merged into one. He anoints it with oil. But not just any oil. This oil, as the story goes, flowed down from heaven specifically for him.

This act isn't just a symbolic gesture. It has cosmic implications. God then sank this anointed stone, the Eben Shetiyah (the Foundation Stone), into the abyss, to serve as the center of the earth.

Now, the Eben Shetiyah is no ordinary rock. It's described as the center of the sanctuary, a place where the Shem HaMeforash, the Ineffable Name of God, is engraved. The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, expands upon this idea, and the implications are staggering. To know this Name, according to tradition, grants a person mastery over nature, even over life and death. A simple stone, transformed by a dream, by divine oil, and by the presence of God's Name, becomes the very foundation of existence. It's a powerful image, isn't it? A reminder that even in the most unlikely places, the sacred can be found.

What does this story tell us? Perhaps it suggests that the divine isn't confined to grand temples or holy cities, but can be revealed in the quietest, most unexpected moments of our lives. And maybe, just maybe, the key to unlocking profound mysteries lies within recognizing the sacredness of the ground beneath our feet.

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