The Torah tells us that when Yaakov Avinu left the house of Lavan to return to Eretz Yisrael, he anticipated an antagonistic meeting with Eisav, his brother. He therefore sent emissaries to Eisav to offer peace. When the messengers returned, however, they informed Yaakov that Eisav was approaching with an army of 400 men.
The Torah relates (Bereishis 32:8) that “Yaakov was very frightened, and he was distressed.” Yaakov Avinu was forced to prepare his camp for a hostile encounter. To this end, he did three things: Firstly, he split his camp into two groups, so that if one group would be attacked the other would have a chance to escape. Secondly, Yaakov prayed to Hashem and, lastly, Yaakov sent some of his livestock as a gift for Eisav. When Yaakov finally came face to face with his brother, he humbled himself before Eisav, and bowed before him seven times. Our sages note that Yaakov humbled himself before Eisav, and Eisav in turn embraced Yaakov.
Why was Yaakov afraid of Eisav? Hashem had already explicitly promised him (Bereishis 28:15), “Behold I shall be with you and protect you.”
R’ Elchonon Wasserman says that Yaakov was afraid he might have committed a sin after Hashem had made that promise, and he no longer deserved Hashem’s protection.
R’ Yechiel Dancziger, the Alexander Rebbe states that a person who has emunah shleimah does not fear anything in this world. The Chovos HaLevavos tells of a chassid who fell asleep in the forest. The king’s soldiers were astonished to find someone sleeping in the forest, and asked, “How were you able to sleep so comfortably when dangerous animals are all around?” The chassid responded that he only feared Hashem, and thus did not fear anything in the world.
The Alexander Rebbe continues that when Yaakov realized that he was afraid of Eisav, he was distressed that perhaps his yiras Shamayim (fear of G-d) was somehow lacking. In that event, he was frightened that there was a possibility that Hashem’s promise to protect him was no longer valid.
R’ Dancziger points out that our sages tell us that before all else Yaakov Avinu prayed, not that he did teshuva. We would think that repentance would have been the more instinctive response if Yaakov Avinu thought he might have sinned. Why did he engage in prayer?
R’ Dancziger explains that at a time of war, one must continue fighting, and not tend to himself. Fighting means turning to Hashem in prayer. When there is a break in the fighting, then one can isolate himself to care for his wounds, i.e. to teshuva.
The Yismach Yisrael tells us that Yaakov Avinu was in fact on the highest spiritual level. Hashem made him fearful for a very specific reason, which was to signal future generations that whenever we need Hashem’s help – whether we are meritorious or not – we should cry to Hashem and ask for Divine assistance.
The Sefer Shochar Tov writes that anyone who prays sincerely and takes time with his tefillos is guaranteed that his prayers will not be ignored. There are people who are doubtful about their spiritual standing and often wonder about the significance of their prayers. Our sages state that the prayer of every single individual – even the most simple, humble and unlearned person – is compelling and meaningful. If we would appreciate how powerful our prayers are, we would pray continuously from early morning until late at night.
We learn this from our parsha, and we find this in Tehillim as well as throughout Neviim and Kesuvim, as it says (Tehillim 34:7), “This poor man calls and Hashem hears and He saves him from all his troubles.” We also read in Hallel, “I called upon Hashem from distress; Hashem answered me with expansiveness.”
An outstanding talmid chacham, R’ Moshe Brown, recently depicted the conduct of R’ Yaakov Yitzchak Ruderman, zt”l, during the days of the 1967 Israel war, when he did not allow more than a few minutes to elapse without tefillah.
A king had an only son whom he loved deeply. When his son rebelled, the king sent him away until he would mend his ways. The son repented and the king lovingly welcomed him home. Soon the prince defied his father again, and the king sent him away to a distant country. From time to time the king would send money and food to him, but often the messengers were accosted on the roads by robbers and the packages were stolen, leaving the prince with no support.
Soon the prince no longer thought about his father, the king, and he adapted to living with the local peasants. Not hearing from his son, the king sent packages even less often, thinking that would teach the young prince a lesson. On the contrary, though, the prince consigned his father to oblivion. When the king realized this, he recommended the local police imprison the prince. They did so, and made the life of the prince very difficult.
It was then that the prince remembered his father. He wrote his father a letter, begging him to have mercy on him. He confessed all his wrongdoings and promised to repent. He sent a second and third letter, none of which received a response. Understanding that the letters were probably being intercepted and never reached the king, the prince asked a friend for advice. “Don’t send the letters by land where the messengers are being beset by robbers. Send your missive by sea, where there are no robbers to steal your correspondence, and in that way, it will reach your father.”
The great tzaddik R’ Binyamin of Zluzic says that there will come a time in galus when it will seem that the prayers we send to our Father in Heaven are not being answered. The most reliable way to ensure their secure passage will be through water, i.e., crying and tears. Our sages tell us that, unlike the Gates of Prayer which may be closed at times, the Gates of Tears are never closed. Tefillos recited with tears will always reach Hashem. In the merit of our tears may we see complete victory for the IDF, the safe and unharmed return of each and every hostage, and may the Jewish People be rescued with absolute redemption.
