Rebbetzin Yemima Mizrahi
A new month has begun: Kislev, the time of miracles.
But in our weekly portion, Vayetze, Rabbi Yonatan ben Uziel also counts five miracles that happen to Yaakov on his way from Be'er Sheva to Haran: the stones beneath his head join into one, the journey is shortened, the sun sets two hours early, he has a prophetic dream, and the water in the well rises to meet him…
Anyone who does not believe it is possible to go beyond nature's limits will be unable to build a Jewish home.
A shidduch is a miracle; a wedding is a miracle; pregnancy is a miracle; raising children is a miracle. We see how Yaakov builds a Jewish home, and from him we learn that we must rely on a miracle. When our Sages said that one must not rely on miracles, they meant obvious, openly revealed miracles. Hidden miracles, however, are our entire life.
When people ask me whether I rely on miracles, I always answer, “Of course! What else is there to rely on but miracles?”
The Hebrew word for “miracle,” nes, has two letters: nun and samekh — nismakh, the one relied upon, and somekh, the one who relies. A miracle supports us when we rely on it. People are always laughing at Israelis who wave a hand and say, “Everything will be all right.” We should not laugh: pure, simple faith underlies that attitude to life.
This capacity to rely is imprinted in us as Jews. And we have Someone to rely on: our Father in Heaven. We must believe that the coming month of Kislev will bring a renewal of miracles for us too. In Hebrew, the word for month, chodesh, is related to chadash, “new.”
The author of Pri Tzadik, Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin, writes that a month's name reveals its meaning.
The meaning of Kislev is bitachon be-nes, trusting in a miracle. Proverbs says, “Hashem yihyeh ve-khislekha”: the Almighty will be your support; you can trust Him and rely on Him. Rabbi Tzadok writes that every person among the people of Israel should have great confidence in the Almighty. He also cites Sefer Yetzirah, which says that the letter of Kislev is samekh.
We need to rely on a miracle because sometimes we must go beyond our natural limits and change the inborn traits with which we were born.
The author of Mei HaShiloach writes that Lavan names his daughters according to their nature. He calls the elder Leah and the younger Rachel. Why these names? In earlier times, people could read an infant's face and see what their nature would be. The elder was born, and they looked: yes, this is Leah. The younger was born: clearly, this is Rachel.
What does Rachel mean? A woman who restrains her feelings: whatever is in her heart does not reach her lips. Rachel holds herself back, for “rachel lifnei gozezeha ne'elamah” — like a ewe standing silently while she is shorn. This is how Lavan defines her at birth. And Leah? Like adamah le'ah, weary earth. She waits passively for her deliverance.
The author of Mei HaShiloach says: look at how both of them change their inborn nature…
Rachel remains silent for so long that even Yaakov tells her, “Stop being silent!” Mordechai says the same to Esther, Rachel's descendant. Esther “does not reveal her people or her birthplace to the king,” while Mordechai tells her, “If you remain silent now…”
Rachel, sometimes you must stop keeping silent: you must begin to cry out about your distress. When she says, “Give me sons,” Yaakov answers, “Am I in the place of (tachat) the Almighty?” Kli Yakar offers a beautiful commentary based on another meaning of tachat: “under.” Yaakov is saying: I am not “under G-d”; I do not have your sorrow; I have children.
Do you not understand that a woman who is suffering is “tachat Elokim”?! You are under G-d, directly beneath the Kisei HaKavod, the Throne of Glory!
So why are you asking me to pray? However much I pray, it will not be heard in the way your pain-filled prayer will be. Open your mouth, Rachel! Ask on your own behalf!
This is so difficult, because Rachel is silent and quiet by nature. It is hard for her to cry out; it is hard for her to weep. And Rachel goes out — vayetze — beyond the boundaries of her nature and prays for herself: naftulei Elokim niftalti, “With struggles of G-d I have struggled with my sister, and I have prevailed.” How difficult it is for gentle women to insist, demand and ask…
And how does Leah go beyond her limits? Leah, who is always waiting for deliverance? Her mouth is open like adamah le'ah, cracked, dry earth. Leah, who according to the plain meaning of the text is an ishah senu'ah, an unloved woman, makes an effort to overcome herself: “Yaakov came from the field in the evening, and Leah went out to meet him and said: You must come to me, for I have indeed hired you with my son's mandrakes!”
How much we need to learn from our matriarch Leah about taking the initiative to establish shalom bayit, peace in the home.
This is so difficult, so contrary to your nature. Leah prays; her eyes have grown weak from weeping; she turns to the Almighty; she is entirely spiritual. What connection does she have to the material world? Yet it is written that Issachar is a chamor garem, “a strong-boned donkey” (Genesis 49:14). The word garem has the same root as garam, to cause: the donkey was the cause. Yaakov's donkey, approaching Leah's tent, caused her to go out to meet her husband. Materiality “suddenly” appears in a woman whose life is entirely prayer.
The Almighty speaks to us through the weekly portion: to build a Jewish home, you need to trust in the miracle that you can change your nature. Children will make you step beyond that nature, beyond your habitual, inborn way of behaving. And it is not only children: it is your relationship with your husband and your family. Sooner or later, you will have to “go beyond your limits”! All we need is to believe that the Almighty truly gives us the strength to make all these miraculous changes within ourselves.
Prepared by Z. Skarzhinskaya