How do we set aside past mistakes and work together with those who have hurt us?
Parshat Vayishlach speaks to us fundamentally about resilience—the ability of our body and mind to make choices that allow us to move forward and change the circumstances around us.
Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (z"l) once said: "Conflicts between brothers reflect humanity's internal struggles; overcoming them leads to inner peace."
Yaakov (Jacob) and Esav (Esau), twin brothers who endured years of estrangement and resentment over the dispute surrounding their birthright and their father Isaac’s blessing, remind us of our own family stories and the persistent, painful conflicts across the world.
From the Torah's account, we can infer that Yaakov wrestles internally with fear, guilt, and a desire for reconciliation. Before meeting Esav, Yaakov wrestles with an “ish”—a man, perhaps an angel, or even with his own inner self—symbolizing his effort to confront his weaknesses and find inner peace.
Emerging from that struggle, he is given a new name: Israel, meaning “he who wrestles with God and with men, and prevails” (Genesis 32:29).
Yaakov is no longer just the deceiver—the one who “takes by the heel” (ekev, the root of his name)—as he did with his brother at birth. He becomes someone who has faced his conflicts and emerged stronger. Wrestling with the angel and receiving the name Israel signifies not only overcoming his internal fears and doubts but also preparing for reconciliation with Esav.
And then… we arrive at the embrace:
וַיָּ֨רָץ עֵשָׂ֤ו לִקְרָאתוֹ֙ וַֽיְחַבְּקֵ֔הוּ וַיִּפֹּ֥ל עַל־צַוָּארָ֖ו וַיִּשָּׁקֵ֑הוּ וַיִּבְכּֽוּ׃
"Esav ran to greet him, embraced him, fell upon his neck, kissed him, and they wept.” (Genesis 33:4)
This scene is one of the Torah’s most powerful moments, where the human protagonists eclipse divine intervention. It reflects not only a force stronger than the external struggle between two brothers—one born of mistakes and bitter feelings—but also an internal battle in both, unable to accept the separation and distance.
The word “and he kissed him” in the text has a peculiarity: each letter is marked with a dot—a rare occurrence in the Torah scroll. This anomaly invites interpretation, prompting exegetes to infer deeper meanings.
Avot deRabbi Natan (a compilation of commentaries dating back to the 7th–10th centuries), among others, teaches that dotted words in sacred scriptures suggest the word should either be omitted entirely or understood in its opposite meaning. Perhaps Esav didn’t kiss Yaakov, or worse, what seemed a brotherly kiss was something else.
Rabbinic interpretations often argue that Esav didn’t kiss Yaakov sincerely. Instead, they propose a “neshiká” (kiss) became a “neshijá” (bite)—akin to a Tyson-like move. Thus, the reconciliation wasn’t genuine.
Similarly, the Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer (7th–11th-century exegesis and midrashim) says:
“And Esav ran to meet him… and he kissed him.” Do not read it as “and he kissed him” (vayishakehu), but as “and he bit him” (vayinshachehu).
Rashi hesitates and offers two explanations:
וישקהו And he kissed him.” The dots signify that the kiss was not wholehearted. However, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai argues: “It is known that Esav hated Jacob, but at that moment, his compassion was genuinely stirred, and he kissed him with all his heart.”
Rashi elaborates: ויחבקהו “And he embraced him.” Compassion was awakened when Esav saw Yaakov bowing so many times.
This reveals the power of vulnerability, the exhaustion of living with constant hostility, and the moment when we allow ourselves to escape hatred, violence, resentment, and the deep pain caused by the other.
It’s in these moments we dare to believe change is possible. That brokenness can be repaired—with effort, risk, and a profound conviction.
Overcoming conflicts with others—especially with our siblings—also requires facing and reconciling with ourselves, just as Yaakov did during his dream.
The name Israel emerges from a struggle for survival. Perhaps that is why the founding fathers of our modern Medinat Yisrael chose this name over Yehudah, making a profound statement about the character of the new Israeli born in the land: one who does not give up but takes destiny into their own hands.
This past year, we’ve witnessed acts of heroism of various kinds—efforts to correct and change the harsh realities we face without bowing our heads or surrendering.
This week’s parasha offers us an uplifting message amidst anguish: never stop fighting for life, liberty, justice, peace, and true brotherhood. Let us not ignore those who sincerely repent and take the time to reflect on our own mistakes toward those around us.
Two courageous groups shine amidst the ongoing Middle East conflict: Women Wage Peace in Israel and the Palestinian association Women of the Sun.
Just three days before October 7th of last year, they held a historic demonstration. “We,” they declared, “Palestinian and Israeli mothers, are determined to stop the cycle of bloodshed and change the reality of this difficult conflict for the sake of our children’s future.”
The banner they carried that day read: “Israeli and Palestinian mothers changing realities.”
Each group carries its profound pain, its narrative, and its version of history. Yet they are convinced that working together will restore hope for both peoples.
Let us imagine them as Yaakov and Esav, running toward one another, melting into an embrace. That embrace will rekindle compassion and courage, enabling them to someday feel like sisters again.
May the example of these mothers inspire us beyond October 7th, beyond the war, and in every corner of the world—especially in Medinat Yisrael.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Gustavo Geier