By: Nelly Ben Tal
Senior Israel Community Emissary (Shlicha)
Last week began with one of those mornings—the kind where life conspires to test every bit of patience and resolve you have. It was a classic Denver freeze, the kind of cold that makes Israeli winters look like a cozy joke. Not Jerusalem chilly, not even the Ramat HaNegev desert kind of cold. In an effort to fight it, I overcompensated and got the heat way too high. The result? A house that felt like a sauna, which led to a night of restless sleep, and a morning where no one wanted to get up.
The morning unraveled quickly. The one load of laundry I forgot to do meant my son’s favorite pair of jeans (yes, the specific pair my son needed to wear because, apparently, none of his other 20 pairs were suitable) weren’t dry. Debating with him about another pair, I went to get the ones I keep in the car for emergencies, outside, I was met with a windshield iced over, as thick as a frozen lake.
The clock ticked, and frustration mounted, I muttered to myself, “This morning does not define me.” And yet, the thought lingered: What if it does?
That question clung to me all day. Between school drop-offs, errands, and meetings, I felt like I was walking in shoes that didn’t quite fit. By the afternoon, I just wanted to shed the weight of the day and step into the comfort of kibbutz slippers, where everything feels simple and familiar, but the wrestling continued, as it often does.
“The laundry doesn’t define you,” I told myself. “Being late doesn’t define you. The rushed drop-off doesn’t define you.” When I finally got home, my daughter came over, hugged me, and said, “Ima, what can I make for dinner so you can rest?” In that moment, it hit me, this one is easy: This defines me.
How often do we judge ourselves as if the chaos of our days serves as a verdict on our worth? How often do we rush to label or box others, defining them by fleeting moments rather than seeing the fullness of who they are? Well, maybe it is not just the pandemonium or the imperfections that define us or others, rather than the love, the values, and the enduring connections.
In this week’s parasha, Vayishlach, we read about Yaakov (Jacob) wrestling with a mysterious figure through the night. By morning, he is transformed—blessed with a new name, Yisrael, and marked with a limp. It feels like this struggle isn’t just with the other; it’s with himself—his past, his fears, his mistakes, and his aspirations for the future. Yaakov’s limp becomes more than a sign of conflict; it’s a testament to his journey. His scar is a reminder of both his challenges and his blessings—the courage to confront his fears, the resilience to move forward, and the identity forged through the wrestling.
As the Torah says: “And Yaakov was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the dawn,” (Genesis 32:25). The breaking of dawn is symbolic—it’s the moment of clarity after the long night, the time we trial gives way to transformation.
This story challenges us to embrace the tension—the business and the calm, the struggles and the blessings—as integral parts of who we are. It reminds us to ask deeper questions: What am I holding onto, and what am I ready to let go of? How do I balance my past with my potential?
May we all find clarity in the wrestling, strength in the scars, and joy in the unexpected moments that remind us of who we are.
Shabbat Shalom.
Please email Nelly Ben Tal at nbental@jewishcolorado.org with questions or comments.