The story of Jacob at Beth-el is one of those moments. After receiving a profound revelation from God, what did Jacob do? He didn't just stand there awestruck. He acted. He set up a pillar of stone – a matzevah – and poured out a drink offering. It’s such a simple act, really. But according to the legends, this wasn’t just any offering. It was enormous!
Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, tells us that Jacob’s libation at Beth-el was equivalent to all the water in the Sea of Tiberias! Can you imagine? It's a potent image, isn't it? This act foreshadowed the libations that the priests would later offer in the Temple during Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles. Jacob's personal encounter became a template for future generations.
But life, as we know, is also full of sorrow. The stories of our matriarchs are often intertwined with both joy and pain.
The Midrash tells us that around the time that Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse, and Rebekah herself passed away, so too did Rachel. She was only thirty-six years old. But Rachel's story is one of perseverance. For twelve long years, she had been unable to conceive after the birth of Joseph. Imagine the heartache, the societal pressure...
Yet, she didn't give up hope. She fasted for twelve days, pouring out her heart in prayer. And her petition was granted. She conceived and gave birth to Benjamin, Jacob's youngest son. Jacob called him Ben Yamin, "the son of days," because he was born in his father's old age.
But Rachel's joy was tragically short-lived. The birth of Benjamin cost her her life. The legends even say that Benjamin was born with a twin sister! What a bittersweet ending to a life marked by love, longing, and ultimately, fulfillment. Rachel's story, though tinged with sadness, reminds us of the power of prayer and the enduring strength of the human spirit, even in the face of immense hardship.
What do these stories—the enormity of Jacob’s offering, the perseverance of Rachel—tell us about our own lives? Perhaps it’s that even in the simplest of actions, we can connect with something far greater than ourselves. And even in the face of profound loss, hope can still be found.