We often speak of Yeshua as the “Perfect Isaac,” the one to whom Isaac and his sacrifice point forward. We also speak of Yeshua as the prophet greater than Moshe, as the Living Torah, and as the Perfect Passover Lamb. But I propose that we can also think of Yeshua as the Perfect Jacob.

We want to be the ones who start something new and fresh or see what was started reach its completion, for we see this as the source of our own significance. But isn’t it completely possible to simply be a vessel to carry someone or something else a step forward?

Yeshua initiated his students into this mission by taking on the role and dress of a servant (John 13). Therefore let us serve, not by looking for the grandiose or inspiring roles, not with an expectation that we know how the future will unfold, but by accomplishing what stands before us.

People are often shocked and a bit unsettled when they learn that there is a long Jewish tradition of arguing with God. It somehow seems disrespectful to challenge the Creator of the Universe; after all, who are we to argue?

Our ancestor Abraham was not particularly intent on playing it safe. When the situation called for it, he took great risks, and he reaped great rewards, as we see in this week’s parashah: “After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision: ‘Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.’”

The Lord himself is our Ark, our vehicle, and our hope. Remember, he has power over the waters of chaos. His life-giving Ruach hovered over the waters in Creation; his Ruach blew back the waters so that Noah could leave the ark; and his Ruach split the waters so that Israel could go through the Red Sea.

Why does the inspired writer force us at the outset of the human journey to confront such a violent accounting of sibling rivalry? I believe that the answer lies between the lines of the terse narrative found in the fourth chapter of B’reisheet.

Shelter is a primal human need, along with food and clean water and air to breathe. But beyond our primitive need of shelter, we might find ourselves yearning for a deeper shelter, which our observance of Sukkot hints at.

My treasured memories of spending time in Jerusalem at Sukkot always bring to mind those inspiring commands from D’varim/Deuteronomy: “Rejoice at your festival. . . . Adonai your God will bless you . . . so you are to be full of joy.”

No, we are not isolated from the brokenness of the world. It is our brokenness. In the words of our tradition, “We are not so brazen-faced and stiff-necked as to say before you, we are righteous and have not sinned; rather, we and our ancestors have sinned.”