Vayetze 5771 / Mending Wall

Dear Friends:

This week's parasha is Vayetze (Gen. 28:10 - 32:3).

In the triennial Torah reading we will undertake to explore this Shabbat, the final section of the parasha, Jacob has finally broken free from his indentured servitude to his father-in-law Laban. For more than twenty years, Jacob has served Laban as a shepherd, and he has prospered. Unable to come to terms of severance by which Jacob could be freed of his service to Laban, Jacob flees under the cover of night, with his family and his flocks in tow.

Laban pursues him and finally catches up, accosting him with these words: "The daughters are my daughters, and the sons are my sons, and the animals are my animals, and all that you see is mine" (Gen. 31:43).

Deciding, however, not to steal back what he believes to be "his," Laban proposes concluding a formal covenant with Jacob. Jacob sets up a stone as a monument to the agreement that Laban will no longer harass Jacob over his accumulated wealth and his wives; in further demonstration of the covenant Jacob instructs his men to set up a pile of stones that will "serve as a witness between me and you."

As I read the passage I was struck by the titular image of Robert Frost's celebrated poem, "Mending Wall" (1915, North of Boston):

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

So now that you've had a chance to reflect on these texts, consider commenting below in response to these questions:

1. Do you believe that "good fences make good neighbors?"

2. Was it a good thing that Jacob & Laban finally are able to make a firm separation, even if it meant erecting a wall of stones between them?

3. How would you apply these texts to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict?

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours without walls,

Rabbi Jonathan Blake

Guest Blogger Rabbinical Student Leah Citrin - Parashat Vayera 5771

Dear Friends,

WRT Torah Study alumna Leah Citrin writes this week's posting from her perch in Jerusalem, where she is in the first year of her rabbinical studies at Hebrew Union College - Jewish Institute of Religion.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Jonathan Blake

After returning from a 32 hour trip to Bethlehem last Friday, I promptly called Rabbi Blake. A while back, we discussed the possibility of a guest blog appearance (or two) during my Year In Israel. Wanting to share my Bethlehem experience, I figured now was as good of a time as ever to offer. Turns out, I was pretty lucky because my message ties in pretty nicely to Vayera, this week’s Torah portion.

Although there are many rich stories detailed in this jam-packed parasha, I am actually not going to take us past the first few verses. “When Abraham saw the men he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them [Gen. 18:2].” Not only did Abraham run to greet these three strangers, be he also invited them to bathe, rest, and eat. He ran around gathering all of what they might have needed.

So the first thing to point out is that Abraham is only three days removed from a very painful surgery (hint: most males experience it when they are eight days old). For him to be running around doing anything is, as I understand it, a great feat. Not let’s add in the second part: these three men are total strangers. Abraham goes out of his way to provide these passers by with the very best hospitality he can offer. This story of hachnasat orchim, or welcoming the stranger, is tied directly to my experience in Bethlehem and can absolutely offer us something this week. I had the opportunity to, among other thought provoking things, be on the receiving end of some incredible hospitality.

After a long day of listening to speakers and touring Bethlehem, we set out for dinner at The Tent restaurant. Eating with our host parents, Jamila and Abdifata as well as their seven year old granddaughter Dana, my friend Dusty and I engaged in as much conversation as was possible with their limited English and our complete lack of Arabic. We asked about their story and their life in Bethlehem. What was immediately clear was their excitement for hosting foreign guests. They continuously made mention of all their previous visitors and how great it is to meet diverse people from many other countries. We learned about their enjoyment of travelling to Haifa, Tel Aviv, and Jerusalem before movement restrictions were imposed, making it impossible for them to leave the West Bank. Abdifata teaches Islamic religion at the Lutheran school in Bethlehem, and Jamila used to spend much of her time in women’s empowerment groups and dialogues between Israelis and Palestinians. Her philosophy is based on the premise that “People get along. The government gets in the way.” This family is living evidence of that message.

Once dinner was over, we headed back to their house, which has been in the family for more than 100 years. It started with tea. Then there was chocolate. Next came the box of cookies. We politely nibbled on some of what Jamila presented us with, despite being incredibly full from a delicious and filling dinner. Then she brought each of us an entire plate of fruit. I quickly reached my consumption limit and Dusty was not far behind. We sat and we talked with Jamila and Dana as we ate, and watched the two of them lovingly interact. Later, Dana’s mother came down (they live in an apartment upstairs from Jamila and Abdifata) with Lean, her youngest child who was about nine months old. Watching all of them, all I could think about is how these children will group up: surrounded by a warm and loving family. But will they also be suffocated by movement restrictions? Will they ever experience life outside of Bethlehem? Will they grow up hating Israelis or will they build the foundations of peace as their grandparents have tried to do?

We have such a long way to go on the road to peace, but surely, this incredibly hospitality is a start. Connecting on a human level, I believe, sets the foundations for other types of bridges to be built. Most Palestinians are not terrorists. Most Palestinians want peace. I can say that until I’m blue in the face, but unless more people get to see and experience it firsthand, I’m not sure much will change.

And what about us, as North American Jews? Do we do a respectable job welcoming the stranger? Would we be as open to hosting people from “the other side” as my Palestinian host family? How might that change the outlook of the situation?

My trip to Bethlehem was thought provoking, meaningful, important, and worthwhile and, most of all, rooted in my dedication to listen resiliently and look past glaring differences in the search for commonalities. I would be happy to answer any questions about my trip, as this has provided only a miniscule glance into the time I spent in Bethlehem.

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