Jacob is returning home to the land of Canaan after twenty year’s absence, having fled the anger of his brother Esau who had threatened to kill him for having stolen the birthright and blessing of the first-born. Dividing his children and their mothers, and the flocks he has acquired, into groups, all of them bearing gifts, Jacob hopes to appease his brother, who he has been told is approaching with four hundred men. Appearing to spontaneously put aside his plan to approach Esau last, perhaps recognizing the cowardice and cruelty of putting others in danger first, even according to a hierarchy of love, Jacob went up ahead “until he came close to his brother.” Telling most poignantly of the reunion, of fear transformed, the Torah says, and Esau ran to meet him, fell upon his neck and kissed him; and they wept/va’yishakeyhu va’yivku. Above the six Hebrew letters of va’yishakeyhu/and he kissed him, there is a dot above each letter, even as the word is written in the Torah scroll itself. Such dots, appearing above a few other words in the Torah as well, are offered by the rabbis as an invitation to interpret the word, to enter and wrestle with something deeper than meets the eye. In the playful way of tradition, when there are more letters without dots than dotted ones, we are to interpret by combining the letters without dots, but when there are more letters with dots than without, then we are to interpret by combining the letters with dots. In our case, va’yishakeyhu has an equal number of letters and dots. We are then left with a choice as to how to interpret, whether at face value or in another way. Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar says of the choice offered by the same number of letters and dots, “it teaches that Esau’s compassion was aroused in that moment, and he kissed him with all his heart.” Questioning why there would be any dots at all if the word is to be interpreted at face value, the midrash continues with the view of Rabbi Yanai, who explains that rather, it comes to teach us that Esau did not come to kiss him, but to bite him. In the Torah text itself, Esau in fact urges Jacob to keep the gifts, that he has enough. But to Esau’s urging that the brothers go on together, Jacob finds reason to decline, blighting the possibility of deeper connection. In a stirring commentary, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch would disagree with both Rabbi Yannai and Jacob himself, amplifying in a voice so loud and clear the words of Rabbi Shimon. Reflecting on Esau as the hunter, the one who knows the art of weaponry, Hirsch writes from mid-nineteenth century Germany, this kiss, and these tears show us that Esau was also a descendant of Abraham…. Esau gradually more and more lays the sword aside, turns gradually more and more towards humaneness…. It is only when the strong, as here Esau, fall round the necks of the weak and cast the sword of violence far away, only then does it show that right and humaneness have made a conquest. Hirsch’s insight into the dynamics between Jacob and Esau at the time of their reunion points to an essential element of nonviolence, and the recognition of the other’s humanity. While praising the change that is taking place in Esau, Hirsch is also giving credit to Jacob, however much we might fault him. Rabbi Victor Hillel Reinstein explains: In a moment of spontaneous joy, Jacob, wounded in his thigh from his night wrestling with an angel, limps toward his heavily armed brother who is surrounded by a retinue prepared for battle. Unarmed and vulnerable, knowing of his brother’s promise to kill him, Jacob bows to the ground seven times in approaching his brother. Without diminishing the change that is also occurring in Esau, Jacob has acted in such a way as to allow Esau to respond in kind: and Esau ran to meet him, fell upon his neck and kissed him; and they wept. The possibility of transformation lies in the way that we approach the other. Whether it is with open arms or a clenched fist, whether to put down the sword, as it was for Esau, or the well rehearsed inner defenses that preclude reconciliation, as it was for Jacob. There is a fine line between the way it has always been, and the way that it could be. The fineness of that line and the narrow span between potential and real is contained in that one word of six dotted letters va’yishakeyhu/and he kissed him. The word for kiss and for weapon in Hebrew is formed of the exact same root, NaShaK. A kiss, a touch, a meeting together — n’shikah; weapons, arms, a means of defense – neshek. It is all in the way that we approach the other. As Jews, we have at times been wary of the other, ancient wounds that are carried, limping like Jacob toward wholeness. If Jacob’s way in that moment of transformation brought out the best in Esau, the deceiver now reaching out, vulnerable and revealed, he was yet too fearful to remain in his brother’s embrace. A way had been opened, though, a start had been made, a seed of hope planted in the possibility of another way. Acknowledging the pain that has been, our calling is toward oneness, to reach out with courage and faith and see the sword put aside, recognizing the capacity for change in the other as well as in ourselves. In the day when reunion blossoms into reconciliation, the warmth of a kiss and of tears upon each other’s cheek, we shall accept the hand extended and walk on together.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
