OUTREACH

Vayeitzei 

This week’s parshah opens with the first true exile in Jewish history. Yaakov, our third Patriarch and the father of the entire Nation of Israel, is forced to flee everything familiar, his home, his parents, the sacred environment of his youth and run for his life. Though he heads toward family, he is walking straight into danger. Lavan’s world was spiritually corrupt, morally twisted, and, as we recall in the Haggadah, capable of uprooting the entire future of the Jewish people.

Yaakov begins this journey with nothing but a staff in his hand. Elifaz, sent by Eisav to kill him, spares him only when Yaakov convinces him that someone who has lost everything is considered “as if dead.” So Yaakov literally buys his own life by surrendering the last of his belongings. With nothing but faith and uncertainty, he steps into the unknown.

As he begins what he later describes as a life of “few and difficult years,” Yaakov turns to G-d with a simple plea: “Be with me.” And G-d responds, “I will not abandon you.” That promise becomes the foundation of every exile we have endured, from Egypt to Rome to the journeys of our own families. Chassidus teaches that the first exile is not geographical but spiritual: the moment the soul leaves its pure, transcendent state to enter a physical body and a challenging world. The soul immediately encounters resistance, materialism, ego, struggle, relationships, and the temptations of the animal soul. And then come the external exiles of history.

Yet Yaakov’s story teaches us that exile is not just a descent; it is a laboratory for greatness. It is in Lavan’s house, the darkest environment in the Torah, that Yaakov builds the future of our people. It is there that the Tribes of Israel are born. It is there that he becomes wealthy and spiritually elevated. It is there, with a stone as his pillow, that he dreams of a ladder reaching from earth to heaven and discovers his mission to bridge the two.

And it is exactly here, in this same parshah, that the Torah gives us a scene that feels almost ordinary but contains one of the deepest lessons of all. Yaakov arrives at a well and finds several shepherds waiting with their flocks. A large stone covers the well, and Yaakov wonders why they are simply standing around. “Why not move the stone, draw water, and continue?” Their answer is immediate: “We cannot. It is impossible until everyone gathers.” But then Yaakov steps forward and rolls the stone away by himself, as lightly as lifting a pebble.

Our Rabbi’s explain that this is not a story about physical strength but about human psychology. To the shepherds, the stone was a barrier. To Yaakov, it was just a task. What one group believed impossible, Yaakov believed possible. And both beliefs became true. The well represents the reservoir inside each of us, our creativity, resilience, emotional depth, spiritual strength, and potential for growth. Every person has a well. Every community has a well. And every well has a stone. For some, that stone is fear; for others, fatigue, insecurity, or the quiet inner whisper that says “I cannot.” If you decide the stone is a boulder, it becomes one. If you decide it is a pebble, something you can move with effort and faith, suddenly it is movable.

“Lo nuchal—we cannot,” the shepherds declared. And because they believed it, their words became reality. Yaakov believed otherwise, and that belief opened the well. Our limitations are often created long before our bodies fail. They appear when the mind decides something is impossible. We see this everywhere: people who dream of a new path in life, studying, building, changing, healing, reconnecting spiritually, yet immediately list reasons it cannot happen. The stone becomes enormous. Yet history is filled with individuals who refused to accept “Lo nuchal” and discovered strength far beyond their circumstances. They looked at the same stone and saw something they could lift.

What is true for individuals is equally true for communities. Every Jewish community faces its own stones, disconnection, distraction, shifting schedules, spiritual fatigue, or the misguided belief that people do not care. But in every community lies a well filled with immeasurable potential: Jewish souls, yearning for connection and meaning, capable of unity, growth, and renewal. If we see only the stone, nothing moves. If we remember the well beneath it, the stone becomes only a pebble that can be moved with courage and vision.

Yaakov’s entire life is a model of this mindset. He never accepted the premise of impossibility. He rolled stones from wells, outmaneuvered Lavan, dreamed of ladders reaching heavenward, endured injustice, built a family, and wrestled an angel through the night. At the breaking of dawn, the angel tells him, “You struggled with divine and human forces and you prevailed.” Vatuchal. You were able. You insisted it was possible, and so it became possible.

As we look at our world with its complexity, challenges, and moments of darkness, it is easy to feel overwhelmed. But the story of Yaakov reminds us that exile is not an ending; it is fertile ground for discovery and strength. The light that follows darkness is brighter than the light that preceded it. The redemption that follows struggle is deeper because of what we faced along the way. And the stones that cover our inner wells often move the moment we decide to try.

May this Shabbos give us the courage of Yaakov, the clarity to see our challenges as stepping stones, and the strength to roll away the stones that block our deepest potential. May we uncover the well within ourselves and within our community, and may we discover just how much becomes possible the moment we stop saying “I can’t” and start saying “I can.”

Wishing you a peaceful Shabbos and a week of blessing, growth, and renewed strength.

Rabbi Zalman Lipskar

(adapted from the writings of my Father and Teacher, Rabbi Sholom D. Lipskar, obm)

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