We Are Never Alone

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayetze, Jacob makes two pivotal journeys. In the first, he is entirely solitary. In the second, he is surrounded by a large family. Yet, in both instances, he is vulnerable, exposed, and seemingly alone.

The first journey took Jacob from his parents’ home in Canaan to Haran, where his uncle Laban lived. Jacob had just outwitted his brother, Esau, securing the blessings his father had intended for the firstborn. When their mother overheard Esau plotting to kill Jacob in revenge, Jacob was forced to flee.

He trudged through the night, filled with foreboding. He was sixty-three years old, unmarried, and alone in the world. His twin wanted him dead, and his parents had sent him away. He was jumping from the frying pan into the fire: traveling to seek refuge with an uncle known as a swindler.

Twenty years later, there was a second journey. Jacob left Haran to return home. This time, the scene looked very different: he had four wives, twelve children, and was laden with livestock and possessions. Yet, he was just as vulnerable—if not more so. His large family and slow-moving flocks made him an easy target.

He had to sneak his family out of his uncle’s home in the dead of night, fleeing as fast as he could. It seemed to be in vain; his uncle caught up with him, threatening to wipe him out. Even after Jacob made an uneasy peace with Laban, he still had to contend with Esau, who was marching toward him with a private army.

The bottom line is that whether Jacob was impoverished and solitary or wealthy and surrounded by family, he was beset by threatening forces. He was never truly free and clear. Even after surviving Esau, tragedy struck: his daughter Dinah was kidnapped, and later, his beloved son Joseph was taken. Mishaps and danger always seemed to find him.

Israel Today

The two lonely night journeys made by Jacob are eerily reminiscent of our modern Jewish experience.

In the shadow of the Holocaust, the Jewish people stood alone. The world had largely abandoned them to the Nazi beast. Even after surviving, homeless and bereft, few nations offered refuge. When survivors tried to return to their ancestral homeland, the British embargoed the country, locking them out of the one place they could call home.

The Jew faced down the entire world alone. When the United Nations finally granted the Jews a sliver of land, five Arab nations declared war. No foreign army came to aid the fledgling state. They were about to be devoured—few weapons, few soldiers, and scarce resources. They were left to fight with what they had.

Fast forward seventy-five years. Israel now boasts one of the most advanced armies in the world and a thriving economy. Yet, once again, they must fight for their existence, and once again, they are isolated on the world stage. We are in a much better position than we were in 1948, but no matter how wealthy or advanced we become, the diplomatic isolation remains.

Castigated and vilified, Israel stands accused of heinous crimes it has not committed. When the Israeli ambassador walks the corridors of the United Nations, he often walks alone. When the Prime Minister speaks from the rostrum, many delegates turn their backs and walk out.

Whether the Jew is wealthy or poor, mighty or weak, it seems we face our troubles in isolation.

Except that we are not actually alone. And this, too, we learn from Jacob.

Lifting His Feet

On that fateful first night, when Jacob fled his parents’ home, he stopped at the Temple Mount. He gathered stones for a pillow and lay down to sleep on the empty, rocky ground. But once he closed his eyes, the vista was transformed. Rather than a desolate plateau, Jacob beheld a ladder with angels ascending to Heaven and descending again.

He awoke with a start and realized: This is no mere mountaintop. This is G-d’s home; the gateway to heaven.

After this dream, the Torah tells us that Jacob “lifted his feet” and continued his journey to Haran. Rashi explains this seemingly simple phrase to mean that he traveled with a light heart. The burden of fear had lifted. He no longer felt isolated because he had discovered the truth: He was not on a distant mountain or a lonely road. He was in G-d’s home.

As Jews, we are never alone. G-d is always with us.

This was a lesson Jacob never forgot. During his twenty years of toil in Haran, Jacob spent many frosty nights alone in the fields, tending to his uncle’s sheep. But he was never downtrodden. Instead, the Midrash tells us he sang through the night—songs of joy, gratitude, and confidence in the Almighty.

By the time Jacob journeyed back home, he was accustomed to G-d’s company. Yes, he was “alone” in the sense that his wealth and family could not physically save him from Esau, but he was never spiritually alone. This knowledge gave Jacob the courage to face down his wicked uncle and his vengeful brother. It gave him the strength to keep traveling through the long night.

It is no surprise that our Sages attribute the invention of the evening prayer to Jacob. It is the prayer that reminds us that when the sun sets, when the world seems cold and dark, we are still in G-d’s home.

The Lesson for Us

The same G-d who ensured our survival in 1948, when we had few resources, ensures our survival today, when we have many. Our tanks and technology are tools, but they are not the source of our victory. G-d is. Without Him, we are solitary; with Him, we are a majority of one.

My father-in-law’s mother, known affectionately as Mama Rose, once told the Lubavitcher Rebbe (of blessed memory) that she felt terribly lonely when she lit Shabbat candles on Friday nights. It used to be the highlight of her week, surrounded by her husband and children. But in her later years, her husband had passed away, and her children were grown and out of the house. The silence was heavy.

The Rebbe replied with the lesson Jacob learned on that fateful night. He told her that a Jew is never alone, because a Jew is always with G-d.

From that day onward, Mama Rose never felt lonely when she lit her candles. Even at the sunset of her life, living in a nursing home, she did not complain of loneliness. G-d was very real to her.

This is a lesson for us all. Every time we feel overwhelmed by life’s circumstances, we must make a point to remember that we are not facing them in isolation. This is not a cliché; it is a vibrant, spiritual reality. G-d is at our side, leading the way.

Every time we think we are lifting our burdens by ourselves, we must stop and visualize G-d’s hands tucked under ours, absorbing the weight of the load. Even in our darkest hours, He does not abandon us. And when it comes time to breathe our last and leave our earthly families behind, we will not be alone then, either. G-d will hold our hand and accompany us on that final journey.

We are never alone.