Human Error, Divine Purpose, and Yosef’s Mysterious Mission

An exploration of Parashat Vayeishev by Rabbi Paul Bloom.

Parashat Vayeishev opens with one of the most perplexing decisions in Sefer Bereishit: Yaakov sends Yosef—alone, on foot—on a dangerous journey from Chevron to Shechem. Even in our day, the area is known for its volatility; certainly, in the ancient world, such a trek carried great risk. Yet unlike Eliezer, who traveled with ten camels and a protective escort, Yosef receives no assistance, no animals, and no clear mission beyond the vague instruction:

“לֶךְ־נָא רְאֵה אֶת־שְׁלוֹם אַחֶיך”

“Go now, see how your brothers are faring…” (Bereishit 37:14)

What was Yaakov thinking? How could he send the son he loved most into such danger seemingly for nothing?

This decision becomes the opening movement in a parashah filled with human mistakes—misjudgments by Yaakov, Yosef, the brothers, and even Yehudah. And yet, beneath the surface of these errors, there lies an unmistakable divine orchestration guiding the Jewish people toward its destiny.

Chevron as a Code Word

The Torah states that Yaakov sent Yosef “מֵעֵמֶק חֶבְרוֹן”—“from the Valley of Chevron.” But, as Rashi notes, Chevron sits on a mountain, not in a valley. Chazal interpret this as a remez, a signal: Chevron here alludes to the deep, ancient prophecy rooted in the city—the Brit Bein HaBesarim, where Hashem declared:

גֵר יִהְיֶה זַרְעֲךָ ... וַעֲבָדוּם, וְעִנּוּ אֹתָם

“Your descendants will be strangers… they will be enslaved and oppressed.” (Bereishit 15:13)

Thus Yosef’s mission “from Chevron” is not simply geographic; it is prophetic. It is the moment the ancient decree of exile begins to unfold.

The Anonymous Man Who Finds Yosef

On the way, Yosef becomes lost: וַיִּמְצָאֵהוּ אִיש — “A man found him” (Bereishit 37:15).

The Torah’s phrasing is striking: not that Yosef found a man, but that a man found him. Chazal identify this ish as מלאך גבריאל. This seemingly incidental encounter becomes the fulcrum of Jewish history. Instead of giving up and returning home after failing to find his brothers in Shechem, Yosef is redirected by this heavenly messenger. The angel asks him: מַה־תְּבַקֵּש (“What do you seek?”) This is not merely a request for information. As the Malbim explains, bakashah in Hebrew refers not to a need but to an ultimate aspiration. This question is existential: “What do you truly seek in life? What is your mission?” Yosef answers with remarkable vulnerability and sincerity: אֶת אַחַי אָנֹכִי מְבַקֵּש (“I seek my brothers”, Bereishit 37:16).

Despite their hostility, despite the pain of being rejected, Yosef’s deepest yearning is for connection and unity. In this moment, we glimpse Yosef’s essence.

Human Error Filling the Parashah

Vayeishev is a tapestry of human mistakes:

Yaakov’s errors:

●      He displays open favoritism: וְיִשְׂרָאֵל אָהַב אֶת־יוֹסֵף מִכָּל־בָּנָיו (Bereishit 37:3)

●      He gives Yosef the כְּתֹנֶת פַּסִּים, a distinct garment marking him as different.

Yosef’s errors:

●      He recounts his dreams of dominance without sensitivity.

●      He seems unaware of how his behavior affects his brothers.

The brothers’ errors:

●      They misjudge Yosef’s intentions.

●      Jealousy blinds them to the bonds of brotherhood.

Yehudah’s errors:

●      His involvement in selling Yosef.

●      His misjudgment of Tamar, later admitted with the words צָדְקָה מִמֶּנִּי (Bereishit 38:26).

No other parashah contains such a concentration of missteps by so many central figures. Yet the Ramban reminds us, citing Mishlei 19:21:

רַבּוֹת מַחֲשָׁבוֹת בְּלֶב-אִישׁ וַעֲצַת יְהוָה, הִיא תָקוּם

"Man proposes many thoughts, but the counsel of Hashem is what prevails.”

Through flawed human decisions, Hashem guides the story toward its destined outcome: Yosef will descend to Egypt, rise to power, and prepare the way for the Jewish people’s survival.

“Saru Mizeh” — A Warning from the Angel

When Yosef asks where his brothers have gone, the angel replies: נָסְעוּ מִזֶּה (“They have traveled away from here”, Bereishit 37:17). Rashi interprets this as meaning סרו מן האחוה — They have turned away from brotherhood. The angel’s words carry a chilling double meaning: the physical direction and the spiritual rupture.

Yosef’s Moral Tests

Yosef faces two defining spiritual tests in this parashah:

1. The Test of Purpose —מַה־תְּבַקֵּש

He responds with his true mission: “I seek my brothers”.  His heart yearns for unity even when others push him away.

2. The Test of Temptation — Aishet Potiphar

Yosef refuses with the unforgettable words: וְאֵיךְ אֶעֱשֶׂה הָרָעָה הַגְּדוֹלָה הַזֹּאת וְחָטָאתִי לֵאלֹהִים
 (“How can I do this great evil and sin against God?”, Bereishit 39:9). He invokes both ethics (betraying Potiphar) and spirituality (sinning against Hashem). This dual consciousness is what earns him the title יוסף הצדיק.

The Larger Theme: Divine Providence in Human Error

Despite all the mistakes made by Yaakov, Yosef, the brothers, and Yehuda, the parasha demonstrates a profound theological truth:

●      Human beings make flawed decisions.

●      Our judgment is limited.

●      Our plans often go astray.

And yet—

Hashem’s hidden providence guides every step.

Missteps themselves become tools of redemption. Yosef’s sale leads to his rise in Egypt. Yehuda’s failure with Tamar leads to the birth of Peretz, the ancestor of King David.

The message is not that mistakes are unimportant, but that they can be transformed into instruments of divine purpose.

Conclusion: “Mah Tevakesh?” — The Question of Life

Parashat Vayeishev centers around a single, piercing question: מַה־תְּבַקֵּש— What do you seek? This is the question every human being must face.

Yosef’s answer —אֶת אַחַי אָנֹכִי מְבַקֵּש — reveals a soul striving for unity, purpose, and moral clarity.  Even in the midst of mistakes and misunderstandings, Yosef’s inner compass points true.

And so it is with us: We strive, we falter, we rise again — but beneath all human frailty, אֲצַת ה' הִיא תָקוּם — the plan of Hashem endures.

Topsy turvy

This week's parashah invites us to ask challenging questions as to why we sometimes appear to be rewarded for our misdeeds or punished for our good ones. Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger investigates.

Viewed simplistically, our religion is binary: blessings are good, curses are bad. Mitzvot are good, sins are bad. Morality is good and immorality is bad. As Moshe reminds us time and time again throughout Sefer Devarim, we should choose life. The choice is obvious since the path is clear – it’s black and white.

Life however is full of grey tones and the Torah itself, at least as literally written, at times represents a confusing guide. Men who are the foundations of our faith are depicted in dubious or compromising situations. There is, at the very least, ambiguity regarding Reuven’s actions with Bilhah. Shimshon’s behavior put the nation at risk. Eli HaKohen’s sons’ treatment of women was less than exemplary. Both David and Shlomo faced Divine punishment because of their conduct with women.

There is no need to highlight other examples. Suffice it to say, passion and desire are powerful human emotions.  We cannot understand what Hashem expects from us, how to serve him or who we are without understanding these complex drives.

In Parashat Vayeshev we encounter two of the greatest figures in Jewish history facing what most would consider extremely compromising moral choices. For each, the outcome is different. The respective consequences are counterintuitive. Thus, in the micro, it is difficult to understand how to interpret the moral lesson, at least on the surface.

These are familiar narratives. Out of guilt for selling Yosef, Yehudah exiles himself, then marries and has children. As events unfold, his first two sons each marry the same woman, Tamar. They die childless, leaving a third younger son.  Yehudah sends her away to delay yibum. Years go by, she sees that she has been abandoned, so she decides to dress as a harlot to seduce Yehudah. She succeeds and gets pregnant.

Drama unfolds as she is accused of infidelity by Yehudah, who actually demands she be executed), but she is saved when he admits his culpability after she produces, among other things, the items he left with her as security for payment. In the end she gives birth to twins, one of which is the ancestor of the Davidic line (and hence the Mashiach). Bottom line, he knowingly interacts with a harlot and the result seems to be the greatest of rewards!

Simultaneously, Yosef begins servitude in Egypt. After a period of years facing harsh conditions, he rises to a position of responsibility in the home of an Egyptian nobleman. Unfortunately for him, the nobleman’s wife becomes interested in him. She repeatly attempts to seduce him numerous times, culminating in an incident where she manipulates events to make a very aggressive effort to entice him.  As he refuses and runs out, she grabs his garment and uses it as evidence of her claim that he attempted to sexually assault her. He is imprisoned for several years before he is released to interpret Pharoh’s dreams and as a result promoted to viceroy.

Yehudah succumbs to his baser nature and is enticed by a harlot. The consequence he faces is… a set of newborn twins, one of which is the progenitor of a royal dynasty and the ultimate redeemer.

Yosef is a Tzadik.  He endures suffering because time after time he resists temptation, ultimately at great peril—yet he pays a significant price. While, perhaps, there was a short-term benefit (he becomes viceroy of Egypt), effectively this benefited his father and brothers almost as much as it did him. Moreover, he certainly does not have the same historical importance (yes, there will be a Mashiach ben Yosef, but his role seems limited in function and is rather ambiguous).

Yehudah, the one who made the immoral choice (actually two, if you include the sale of Yosef) comes out the big winner. Where is the fairness?  What does this teach about morality? Topsy, turvy. V’nehafoch hu!

Perhaps the key to the answer is a word or concept that characterizes Yehudah more than any other. A quick word association with him would likely yield terms like: leader, majesty, spokesman, warrior, or (as his mother proclaimed) praise to Hashem. However, perhaps the most accurate word is “arev” or “eravon” – a guarantor or security. When someon

e defaults on a loan he received or on a loan he agreed to guarantee, when there is a default, then the borrower can collect from the security (eravon) given by the borrower or from the guarantor (arev).

When Yehudah negotiated with Tamar but did not have the fee (two goats) she asked for an “eravon” – and he inquired: “what is the ‘eravon’ I should give you?” (Gen 35:17-18). It was that very security that saved her when Yehudah was willing to admit that he acted immorally and accepted responsibility for his poor moral choice in engaging with her. Likewise, when confronting Yosef to plead for the release of Binyamin, his main argument—and the one that succeeded—was that he committed to Yaakov that he would be the arev for him (Gen. 44:32). Effectively, Yehudah was again accepting responsibility for his earlier immoral choice (in this instance, selling Yosef).

Yosef was good. Black and white. If he saw an iniquity, if he thought his brothers sinned, he would report it – even if they would hate him. Likewise, when faced with a seduction, he would not succumb, regardless of the consequence. This is certainly meritorious. But this is how he was hard-wired. He is a Tzadik.

However, life is grey.  For the rest of us (at least most of us) it is complex and confusing, Like Yehudah we fall, sometimes in extreme and calamitous ways. Knowing this, Yehudah is the paradigm for finding our way back to the path of morality and service of Hashem after we fail.  We are security for something precious. That might be for our family values (Yaakov for Yehudah), to our underlying sense of honor and responsibility (Yehudah’s need to fulfill his commitment – even in the face of shame), most certainly to the teachings of the Torah, to our neshamot and to the version of ourselves we strive to be.

Another word related to the root of Yehudah is to be modeh, to admit or acknowledge.  Yehudah was able to look inward and acknowledge his actions and to take responsibility.  He could then take the appropriate corrective action. We are not perfect. We are not expected to be tzadikim. We simply must be able to acknowledge who we are and what we do so we can turn things around.

Fear, Faith, and the Courage to Walk Forward: Vayishlach 5786

 This item was first posted in Hanassi Highlights, 4 December 2025. You can also read it in Hebrew via AI translation here.

As Yaakov Avinu prepares to meet his brother after 20 long years, he is engulfed by uncertainty. He had fled when Esav’s anger was still burning, and now he must face him again—without knowing how Esav will respond, or whether the old desire for revenge still lingers. Yaakov faces the unknown.

The Torah describes his emotional state with raw honesty: “וַיִּירָא יַעֲקֹב מְאֹד וַיֵּצֶר לוֹ – Yaakov was very afraid and distressed.” Fear, anxiety, and uncertainty are not abstract concepts here; they are lived, felt experiences. And they resonate deeply with us today

But there is a major question. If anyone should not have been afraid, surely it was Yaakov. Hashem had already promised him, more than once, that He would guard him, return him safely, and never abandon him. So why the fear? Why the distress?

Chazal and the Rishonim offer several explanations. Rashi (based on Gemara Berachot) suggests “שמא יגרום החטא” – Yaakov was concerned that perhaps he had sinned and was no longer worthy of the promise. The Ibn Ezra adds that perhaps he feared not for himself but for his family; Hashem had guaranteed his safety, but not theirs.

But the Abarbanel boldly rejects all of this. His reading is remarkably simple and profoundly human. Yaakov was afraid because going into a potential war is frightening. Divine promises do not erase human emotion. Emunah does not override the heart.

According to the Abarbanel, Yaakov’s fear is not a sign of weak faith. It is the opposite:
His faith is what allowed him to act despite his fear. He still prays. He still strategises. He still prepares. Faith does not remove uncertainty—it gives us the courage to navigate uncertainty.

This is a transformative idea, especially in the world we inhabit today. Over the past years we have been repeatedly reminded that life is far less predictable than we once imagined. We have lived with sirens and shifting realities. The sense of certainty we once took for granted feels shattered.

Modern psychology tells us that one of the greatest drivers of anxiety is not danger, but the intolerance of uncertainty. Our instinct is to try to control everything, predict everything, know everything.

But Parashat Vayishlach offers a different path. We are allowed to feel fear. We are allowed to feel unsettled. That is part of being human. But we do not let fear decide our next step. Like Yaakov, we move forward - with caution, with preparation, and with faith that we do not walk alone.

As we face an unpredictable world, may we draw strength from Yaakov  Avinu’s example and find the courage not necessarily to be unafraid—but to keep walking even when we are.

Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

From Yaakov to Yisrael: Transforming Survival into Significance

 The dramatic encounter between Yaakov and the mysterious malach is often read as a story of struggle and blessing. Yet the words Yaakov utters at this moment—“I will not let you go until you bless me”—are astonishing. We do not normally turn to angels for blessings; blessings flow from HaKadosh Baruch Hu Himself. Why would Yaakov demand a berachah from a malach? Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom offers a convincing answer.

Chazal explain that Yaakov was articulating a profound truth that resonates throughout Jewish history: overcoming adversity is not the ultimate goal. Victory over Lavan, Esav, or any other threat is merely survival. Survival alone cannot define the destiny of Am Yisrael. Yaakov sensed that beneath this struggle lay a hidden berachah—an emerging future greater than the conflict itself. He demands that the malach reveal it.

And the malach does—by uttering the single most transformative word in the entire parashah, perhaps in the entire Tanach: “Yisrael”, a name that becomes the eternal core of our personal and national identity—Am Yisrael, Eretz Yisrael, Medinat Yisrael.

A New Name—But Not a Replacement

It is a mistake to assume Yaakov’s name was changed to Yisrael. Chazal (Berachot 13a) teach the opposite. When Avram’s name changed to Avraham, the old name disappeared; it was a kind of spiritual rebirth. But Yaakov remains Yaakov forever. We refer to Hashem every day as “Elokei Avraham, Elokei Yitzchak, v’Elokei Yaakov.” Yisrael is not a replacement identity—it is an additional layer, an elevated dimension built upon the foundation of Yaakov.

What Does “Yisrael” Mean? Three Dimensions of Destiny

The Kli Yakar offers three interpretations of the name Yisrael, each revealing another aspect of our mission:

1. From “She’er” – To See Clearly
    Yisrael means one who sees. Yaakov is now granted a prophetic vision: clarity to perceive Hashem’s hand in history, in redemption, and in the unfolding future.
   
   
2. From “Yashar” – Integrity and Uprightness
    Yisrael embodies unwavering moral and spiritual integrity—direct, focused, aligned with Divine truth.
   
   
3. From “Sar” – A Prince of God
    A leader appointed by Hashem, carrying dignity, responsibility, and authority.

These meanings are not contradictory; they intertwine to form the essence of the Jewish mission.

The Two Names: A Map of Human Growth

The alternation between “Benei Yaakov” and “Benei Yisrael” throughout Tanach points to something deeper. The transition from Yaakov to Yisrael mirrors the inner development of every human being. Many years ago, someone described the four stages of personal growth—all beginning with the letter “S”:

1. Survival – Navigating danger, hardship, or instability.
   
   
2. Stability – Building home, family, relationships, and security.
   
   
3. Success – Developing excellence—professionally, spiritually, intellectually.
   
   
4. Significance – Contributing to the world; transforming others; leaving a legacy.

Yaakov’s early life is defined by survival—escaping Esav, enduring Lavan. He eventually builds stability—a home, a family, a return to Eretz Yisrael. But the malach reveals that his mission does not end there. Yisrael represents the stages of success and significance.

Yaakov internalized the Torah of Avraham, Yitzchak, and the Beit Midrash of Shem and Ever. But Yisrael would achieve something neither Avraham nor Yitzchak accomplished: building an entire nation of ovdei Hashem, all righteous, all committed. Yaakov is the foundation; Yisrael is the destiny.

Yaakov and Yisrael Before Hashem

The Shem MiShmuel offers a complementary perspective. Yaakov and Yisrael express two modes in our relationship with Hashem:

●      Yaakov – the posture of yirah, awe, humility, and submission.

●      Yisrael – the posture of ahavah, love, closeness, and uplift.

A Jew needs both. Yaakov remains the bedrock even when one ascends to the level of Yisrael. Awe does not disappear when love arrives; it becomes its silent foundation.

The Name of a People—and a Nation

Interestingly, when the State of Israel was being established, the name “Israel” was not an obvious choice. Early discussions by the Jewish Agency considered names like “Zion,” “Yehudah,” or “Ever.” But Ben-Gurion insisted that the only name worthy of the renewed homeland of the Jewish people was the one bestowed upon Yaakov in this week’s parashah—Yisrael—the name that carries a Divine promise of future greatness. For just as Yaakov’s life journey moved from survival to significance, so too the modern State of Israel emerged from generations of persecution and danger, establishing stability, and now stands poised to bring Jewish spiritual and moral excellence to the world.

The Blessing Endures

The blessing Yaakov demanded and received was not for himself alone. It was for his descendants—for us. It was a declaration that the Jewish people are destined for more than survival. We are called to succeed, to uplift, to contribute, to sanctify, to bring significance into the world.

May we—and our children—continue to fulfill the promise embedded in our name,
 Yisrael, and merit to see its ultimate realization.

Yehi Ratzon.

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.