How many of you remember the night of December 31, 1999?
Maybe you went to a party. Maybe you stayed home with family to watch the ball drop. Maybe you were keeping an eye on your computer. Remember that? Y2K was coming…
The theory was that operating systems hadn’t been designed to change from the 20th to the 21st century, that they’d assume a year ending in two zeroes would be 1900. As a result, the electrical grid might crash, airlines might halt flights, and the world could grind to a stop. Preppers and doomsayers prophesied the End Times, but they always do, don’t they?
I was living in Montclair at the time, just a few months into my first cantorial job. I went to bed early that New Year’s Eve. Why? I had an inexplicable urge to rise before dawn and drive down the shore to watch the first sunrise of the new millennium. I wasn’t alone. When I got there, a small crowd was gathered at Bradley Beach. Others had the same impulse to mark this singular moment in human history. It was a cloudy day, but together, eyes to the east, we watched the sun rise over the cold waves of the Atlantic. It was quiet. No cheers, no shouts. Strangers standing together in silence as we moved into the twenty-first century.
George Harrison understood this. “It’s been a long, cold, lonely winter…it seems like years since it’s been here…here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right…”
This week, in Parshat Vayetze, we read of a similar moment in the life of our patriarch, Jacob. Remember, Jacob is on the run after deceiving his father Isaac about his identity in order to receive the final blessing that was due to his older brother, Esau. In turn, Esau vowed to kill him, and Jacob hightailed it back to his mother’s people in Haran for safety.
We’re going to look at just six words:
וַיִּפְגַּ֨ע בַּמָּק֜וֹם וַיָּ֤לֶן שָׁם֙ כִּי־בָ֣א הַשֶּׁ֔מֶשׁ
“Vayifga bamakom” is a turn of phrase that has puzzled rabbis for generations. It is a strange lashon, language. Some translate it as, “He encountered the place,” others as “He (literally) bumped into the place.” That doesn’t make sense. Wherever you are walking IS the place. You’re in the place, right? You’re stepping on the place. What could Makom mean?
Rav Leibel Eiger, a nineteenth-century leader of the Lublin chassidim, brought down a simple yet convincing teaching on what, or more to the point, who Jacob bumped into during his hasty escape from Beer Sheva.
Rav Eiger reminds us that one way we talk about God is to use the word, “Makom.” The Place. We read in the Haggadah, “Baruch Hamakom Baruch Hu.” “Blessed is The Place, Blessed is He.” When we enter a House of Mourning, the words of comfort that come from our lips are the traditional greeting, “Hamakom yenachem etchem b’toch sha’ar avelei Tzion Virushalayim.” “May The Place comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.” The attribute Makom appears wherever there is need to show that there is Divine Guidance within God’s concealment, such as when a person is in a time of trouble and it seems as if Hashem abandoned them. When visiting the sick, we say, “Hamakom yishlach refuah sheleima.” “May The Place send you healing.” This is to show that throughout their suffering, God is with them, even at a time of trouble. God is in each and every place.
Now don’t forget, Jacob was leaving a terrific place. Beer Sheva was his home; it was where his holy parents lived, a place where he had studied and grown. He was fleeing to Haran, a place of trouble and tricks. When we read, “Vayifga bamakom, “He bumped into The Place” we can also say that he attached himself to the Makom that is in every makom. He connected to the Eternal even in his dark night of the soul. Beer Sheva may have been holy and Haran corrupt, but The Place is still with you.
What did Jacob do next? “Vayalen sham” He lay down and fell asleep. What does this remind you of? Perhaps a friend who won’t leave until they get what they need or want from you? The Midrash teaches that Jacob refused to leave Beit Eil until God promised to take care of his needs. Vayifga can also mean “to confront.” Jacob didn’t know why this was happening to him, but he held fast to the Eternal. He believed. He said, “You are The Makom, and I will not leave until you help me.”
Where did he get the chutzpah to confront God this way? Our final two words are the key: “Ki-va hashemesh,” usually translated as, “the sun set.” But taken literally, it means, “Here comes the sun.” Jacob knew the darkness was not permanent. He believed with every fiber of his being that the long night, the concealment, was only temporary. “This too shall pass.” Light would come again.
In our lives, there are moments, seasons, even years where the sun has set and it is hard to imagine light coming back into our lives. Loss, illness, and abuse can overwhelm us. It can feel like the shadows will last forever, like walking in a black tunnel. Each day is a struggle, and the flame of life is dim. It’s easy to think, “Whatever happiness I had, whatever goodness was in my life is gone forever.”
But it’s just not true. There will be a morning, the sun will shine again. Many years ago, when I was going through a tough time, a wise teacher reminded me, “This won’t last forever.” I hold on to that even today. And she was right. There will be sunset, there will be night, it may feel eternal, but know that there will be a new dawn.
A year ago this Shabbat — by the Hebrew calendar — like Jacob, I “went forth” to a new and strange land. It was a place of warmth and welcome. A haimische place. I came to the High Country with an open heart and was embraced with open arms. Like Jacob in a strange land, I encountered HaMakom — The Place. I believe with emunah shleimah, with complete faith, that God’s hand brought me here, and that God’s presence abides in this place, this shul, this community.
That fateful night, Jacob dreamt of a ladder ascending to heaven. Angels were going up and down, completing tasks here on earth and returning for new missions. Tonight, through the generosity of Bonnie and Jamie Schaefer, we dedicate a sculpture created by Bonnie and Michael Berkowicz which makes this vision manifest. The metal ladder twists and turns as it resembles DNA, reminding us that the ladder is in each of us. At the top, a golden Jerusalem shines. She waits for us to ascend. At the bottom, loose strands of metal give hints of a tallit — though we stand at the bottom, we can wrap ourselves in holiness as we strive upwards. This beautiful sculpture will welcome guests and congregants into our sacred space for many years to come.
And so. January 1, 2000. We all woke up. Even the doomsayers. The world didn’t end. The sun rose again. We watched sunbeams pierce the clouds.
A quarter century later, I can look back at the stops and starts, successes and set-backs in my life, and I see when and where the Makom sustained me and brought me to this place, to this very moment.
Look back. Maybe you can see the same power at work in your own life.
May each of us lying awake during a night which seems eternal hold onto hope with the faith and strength of our father, Jacob. Wherever you walk, wherever you go, know that Hamakom will always be with you.
And I say, it’s all right.