Finding Purpose in the Long Journey: Vayetzei 5786

This piece was first published in Hanassi Highlights, 27 November 2025. You can also read it in Ivrit here.

There is a puzzling phrase at the heart of this week’s parsha. After Yaakov agrees to work seven years in order to marry Rachel, the Torah tells us that these years were “in his eyes like a few days”—keyamim achadim. Anyone who has waited for something deeply desired knows that time does not pass quickly. It drags. The Akeidat Yitzchak sharpens the point: for someone so eager to marry the love of his life, the wait should have felt like a thousand years. What, then, is the Torah trying to teach us?

The Sforno offers a simple but powerful explanation. The phrase keyamim achadim does not mean the years passed quickly; rather, they felt light—an insignificant price compared to what Yaakov was receiving. He would gladly have worked even longer because Rachel was worth far more than seven years of labour. The Torah is describing not the speed of time but the magnitude of Yaakov’s love.

But perhaps there is something deeper happening. The stories of Yaakov’s early years—from his flight to Charan to his years of labour—are strikingly unspiritual. We read about wages, contracts, sheep, daughters, and family disputes. It feels more like a biography than a parsha. Why does the Torah spend so much time on what appears to be the mundane details of Yaakov’s personal life?

The answer is that Yaakov’s life is never just personal. Rather, it is about the future of Am Yisrael. His work, his marriage, his family—all of this forms the foundation upon which the Jewish people will be built. In that context, seven years truly are like a few days. When a person understands that his actions are part of a mission stretching across generations, the scale shifts. What might otherwise feel like a burden becomes meaningful. What might feel endless becomes purposeful.

This idea also sheds light on the only other place where the phrase yamim achadim appears. When Rivka tells Yaakov to flee from Esav’s wrath, she urges him to remain in Charan for just “a few days”, yet he ends up staying for over two decades. Rivka was not promising a short exile; she was giving Yaakov a framework. Measured against the long arc of Jewish history, even decades can be understood as a short chapter in a much larger story.

In our world of instant results and constant immediacy, we often lose that broader perspective. We judge our lives by the urgency of the moment rather than the purpose of the journey. Yaakov teaches us to look up, to see ourselves as part of something far bigger than today’s pressures or frustrations.

If we remember that our daily efforts—our Torah, our mitzvot, our commitment to community—are part of the ongoing story of Am Yisrael, then we too can experience moments of keyamim achadim. Not because life is easy, but because it is meaningful.

 Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

Yaakov’s Awakening: From Dream to Destiny

Yaakov's awakening from his sleep on the Even Shetiyah is a truly transformational moment in the emergence of a nation from a nomadic family. He is no longer a fugitive but a man with a mission. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains:

There is a pivotal moment in Parashat Vayetzei when Yaakov Avinu awakens abruptly from his sleep and suddenly realizes—perhaps for the first time with absolute clarity—that he has a mission unique in all of human history. His task is not merely to follow the spiritual paths of his father Yitzchak and grandfather Avraham. His mission surpasses anything they had accomplished. Avraham launched the idea of ethical monotheism; Yitzchak cultivated and deepened it. But Yaakov is charged with building the bayit—the spiritual home—that will anchor the destiny of Klal Yisrael forever.

From Ohel to Bayit

Avraham and Yitzchak, despite their greatness, lived nomadic lives. Their existence was characterized by the ohel, the tent—temporary, portable, always on the move. Yaakov, in contrast, begins to build a bayit. In his private life, he establishes a family structure that becomes the foundation of the Jewish people. But his mission reaches beyond the personal. Chazal teach that the place where Yaakov lay down to sleep was none other than Har HaBayit—the future site of the Beit HaMikdash. Unwittingly, he lays his head upon the Even Shetiyah, the primordial foundation stone from which the world itself was created.

The Rambam, the Midrash, and other Rishonim identify this very rock as the same stone upon which Avraham performed the Akeidah and upon which the Kohen Gadol would one day enter the Kodesh HaKodashim. Tragically, that rock still lies beneath the foreign dome that occupies Har HaBayit today. Yet its identity, its holiness, and its destiny remain unchanged.

At this moment, Yaakov begins to understand: this stone—this even—is the starting point for a beit Elokim, the spiritual epicenter of Klal Yisrael and, ultimately, of the entire world.

Why “Elokei Yaakov”?

When Yeshayahu describes the Messianic future, he proclaims:

“לְכוּ וְנַעֲלֶה אֶל הַר ה'… אֶל בֵּית אֱ-לֹקי יַעֲקֹב”

 “Come, let us go up to the mountain of Hashem, to the house of the God of Yaakov.”

Why, ask Chazal, does the Navi refer specifically to Elokei Yaakov?  Because the Beit HaMikdash is uniquely the achievement of Yaakov. Avraham discovered the mountain; Yitzchak cultivated the field; but Yaakov built the house.

Chazal teach that all three patriarchs encountered the same place, yet each perceived it differently:

●       Avraham called it a har, a mountain—an awe-inspiring peak representing the revolutionary idea of monotheism he introduced to the world.

●       Yitzchak called it a sadeh, a field—something requiring labor, cultivation, and effort, reflecting his life's work of developing, deepening, and refining Avraham’s idea.

●       Yaakov called it a bayit, a home—stable, eternal, structured, capable of housing a nation and the Shechinah itself.

It is a natural progression: idea → cultivation → structure.  Yaakov’s greatness is that he transforms potential into permanence.

From Vision to Construction

Yaakov’s dream of the ladder with angels ascending and descending is breathtaking—but he knows immediately that a dream alone is insufficient. As soon as he awakens, he declares:

“אָכֵן יֵשׁ י' בַּמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה… וְהָאֶבֶן הַזֹּאת… יִהְיֶה בֵּית אֱ-לֹקים.”

 He recognizes that the time has come to build, to take the stone and make it a foundation for the future. Yet before he can build the nation, he must build a family. And here the Torah presents a sobering reality. According to Rashi’s chronology, Yaakov at the start of the parashah is 77 years old, alone, unmarried, fleeing for his life from Eisav, a refugee entering an alien land steeped in idolatry and corruption. Materially and emotionally, he appears vulnerable. But spiritually, he possesses one priceless treasure: his mission. He carries within him the emunah of Avraham, the disciplined avodah of Yitzchak, and decades of Torah learned first at home and later in the yeshiva of Shem and Ever. Everything is in place—except the bayis that will bring it all into reality.

Yaakov’s Prayer: Protecting the Mission

The Sforno notes a powerful nuance in Yaakov’s tefillah:

●       “Give me bread to eat” — protect me from poverty, lest deprivation break my spirit.

●       “Clothing to wear” — shield me from the corrupting culture of Lavan’s world.

●       “Return me in peace” — guard me from fear, depression, or anxiety.

The Gemara in Eruvin teaches that three forces can cause a person to lose his spiritual mission:

1. Influence of a corrupt surrounding culture
   
   
2. Anxiety, fear, or depression
   
   
3. Crippling poverty

Yaakov prays not for luxury but for the strength to remain Yaakov—to preserve his mission unbroken through the challenges ahead.

The Legacy of the Foundation Stone

By consecrating the stone beneath his head, Yaakov transforms the place into the foundation of the future Beit HaMikdash. In the language of the Maharal, Har HaBayit becomes the makom hachibur—the point at which heaven and earth connect. Yaakov’s act teaches that the destiny of Am Yisrael depends on building a home: a bayit built on Torah, on spiritual clarity, and on an unwavering sense of mission.

Every generation must remember this. In every era, foreign forces, cultural pressures, or inner struggles threaten to make us forget who we are and what we are meant to build. Yaakov shows us the antidote: hold the mission tightly, build the bayit, and anchor everything on the Even Shetiyah—the eternal foundation. Because only Yaakov knew how to take a dream and turn it into a home.  And only a home can hold the Shechinah.

"Who knows three?"

As we close out the Seder every Pesach, our families sing “three are the fathers and four are the mothers.” But is this true? No doubt there are three fathers, but what is the correct number of mothers? Were there four?  Perhaps there are only three? The most accurate answer actually might be six. Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger explains:

When we bless our daughters, we beseech Hashem to imbue them with the qualities of Sarah, Rivka, Rachel and Leah—the four mothers. In Parshat Vayeshev, Bilhah and Zilpah are clearly identified as wives of Yaakov (“neshei aviv”), this might support six. Rachel is the one who eternally weeps for her children in exile, she was solely designated for Yaakov (Leah believed she was destined for Eisav: see Rashi to Bereishit 29:17) and she, the younger sister, not Leah who birthed such a large number of tribes, is mentioned third in the weekly blessing (we also note Rashi on Bereishit 31:33, who states that Yaakov’s regular abode was in Rachel’s tent and that generally Rachel is the only one designated in the Torah as “eshet Yaakov.”)

Turning back to Seder night, the focus seems to be on the fours—the four cups, the four sons, the four expressions of redemption, and so on. But it is actually the threes that have primacy: one does not fulfill one’s obligation without mentioning three things (Pesach, Matzah, Maror) and the Ten Plagues are condensed into a three-part acronym.

Our people are a nation of threes, as Rav Chisda expresses in Shabbat 88a: “Blessed is the Merciful One who gave the threefold Torah (Torah, Neviim, Ketuvim) to the threefold nation (Kohanim, Leviim, Yisraelim), through the third born (Moshe) on the third day of separation in the third month (Sivan).” Indeed, there is an even earlier three to be associated with our people: according to the Midrash, Avraham Avinu recognized Hakadosh Baruch Hu at the tender age of three years old.

What is the significance of three and how does this relate to the elevated status of Rachel?

While Three Dog Night may have designated one as “the loneliest number,” it is, in fact, the most important number. It is Hashem and it represents unity. With no other (ein od milvado), there is only clarity.  There can be no contradiction or confusion.

When a second is introduced, when there are two, there is opposition and conflict. Adam might not have sinned without his “negdo,” the one opposite him. Yitzchak prayed for children, but that prayer was “lenochach ishto,” opposite his wife. This is not to imply that a man and woman are in a perpetual state of conflict.  Quite the contrary, their ideal state is one of shalom bayit. Nevertheless, this cannot be achieved without a center point, without a third, a three, that integrates their disparate personalities and natures.

Our nation has three fathers, but we are most closely identified as the children of only the third: we are the sons of Yaakov, we are identified as Benei Yisrael. A parent cannot spoil and indulge a child with love: Avraham is the parent of love.  Likewise, a parent cannot always be strict and exacting, as represented by Yitzchak. The most fitting parent blends together these two characteristics into a path of truth and clarity – “titen emet leYaakov.” The third father was the center point that provided our foundation.

If we focus on Rachel, we see that she, more than any of the matriarchs, represented this same center point. She took action at two critical junctures that displayed contradictory behavior. When Lavan substituted Leah when Rachel was to marry Yaakov, she refused to allow her sister to face embarrassment and she honored her father. In other words, she showed love, compassion and respect.

Yet she was willing to disrespect Lavan, even to the point of risking her own safety and that of her family, by removing the idols from his home; they were a complete anathema to her. Rachel, like Yaakov, was a mixture of love and justice (In contrast, Leah showed no compassion to Rachel after she asked for the flowers from Reuven. Leah demanded payment in the form of extra time with Yaakov.).

As the children of Yaakov and Rachel, our spiritual DNA contains the capacity to experience the world in three dimensions, not two. There is a time for love and life and mercy and peace.  Likewise, there is a time to be strict, to fight, to kill, to make war and to be vengeful. The first is ideal, the second is sometimes and reluctantly necessary. However, the guiding principle is always truth and what is right – and that is what our three, our Torah, demands from us.

Unfortunately, much of the world exists in a two-dimensional reality. We are surrounded by those who believe that there is only a single path—the path of death and hate.  In their world there is their way or no way.  Three Dog Night had it wrong. One is not the loneliest number…but two is – the two of conflict, the two of deceit and manipulation and the two of mutual destruction. Any solution involving two is likely one doomed to fail.

Post Script: We all know the old joke about the two Jews stranded on the island having three shuls: one for each and the third that neither would go to. Thinking about this a little more, this explanation does not hold up. They each already had one they would not pray in, this being the shul the other Jew occupied. It is more logical to believe that the third shul was the place where they prayed together; it was the third point where, as the children of Yaakov and Rachel, they would have cried out together be rescued.

The blessing of success--and how to handle it: Vayetzei 5785

Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov all suffered from jealous reactions to their success from the local populations in which they lived. Avraham is recognized as the “prince of God in our midst” and yet is begrudged a grave in which to bury Sarah. Yitzchak is sent away from the kingdom of Avimelech because, the latter says, “you have grown too great from us.” And, in this week’s parsha, Lavan tells Yaakov that everything that Yaakov owns really belongs to Lavan. 

The blessings of God and His promise to protect the patriarchs and matriarchs of Israel do save them from their neighbors, relatives and enemies. However, the success and achievements of this small family, as per God’s promise and against all odds and opposition, raise the hatred and jealousy of their neighbors—even though the neighbors themselves, such as Avimelech and Lavan, benefit mightily from the achievements of Yitzchak and Yaakov. 

The rabbis of the Talmud taught us that “hatred destroys rational thought and behavior.” So, instead of gratitude and friendship, the accomplishments of the patriarchs and matriarchs only bring forth greed, jealousy and persecution, with the ever-present threat of violence hovering in the background. All efforts to maintain a low profile and to mollify Lavan result only in increased bigotry and hatred. 

It is not for nothing that the Pesach Haggadah makes Lavan a greater enemy to the survival of the Jewish people than even the Pharaoh of Egypt. But almost all the enemies of the Jews over the centuries suffer from the same basic moral faults regarding the Jews: ingratitude, jealousy and greed. These are all revealed to us in this week’s parsha. 

Someone mentioned to me that perhaps, if we maintained a lower profile in the world, didn’t receive so many Nobel prize awards, and were less influential in the fields of finance, and the media, that anti-Semitism would decrease. “What if?” is a difficult thought process to pursue intelligently. There is no question that the world and all humankind would be so much poorer if the Jews purposely withheld their energy, creativity and intelligence and ceased to contribute to human civilization. And there certainly is no guarantee that the world would like us any more than it does now if we were less successful and prominent. 

The mere fact that God blessed the patriarchs with success and influence indicates that this is His desire for us. The Torah specifically states that every nation and family on earth will benefit and be blessed through us. So, in our case, less would not necessarily be more. Yet we were enjoined from flaunting our success in the faces of those less fortunate than us.

Modesty in behavior and deportment is an important partner in times of success. This is also a lesson that our father Yaakov intended to teach us. We are not allowed to rein in our talents and achievements. We are however bidden to control our egos and bluster. That is also an important Jewish trait that should be a foundation in our lives. 

Shabat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein