Genesis Cycle Two Toledoth 25:19 to 28:09

Toledoth

Sometimes the wells dry up. Sometimes they are plugged by others.

You can dig into wells and find nothing but death, contention, accusation, blindness, lies, deception, this food, this birthright, this garment, names, ancestors, our spoken words, the unspoken, manipulation, stories, cattle, slaves, Philistines, oaths, the wheels of mourning (Rashi). That isn’t water, you think. That isn’t water.

You can find the tears deep in the wells but something stops them from rising. Something makes it seem like your body is struck with drought, like your soul is bleeding red from suffocation, like you are trapped like an animal into being someone or something you aren’t. You can make excuses around it, say you are whole but the truth is you are one of two wholes so how can you be complete? You curse the layers that keep the tragedy stuck in you, that wrap up your humanity and keep you thirsty. You curse your inability to bring both wholes together with ease. You decide to love one more, or the other. You get into conflicts with yourself and with God.

And as Abraham dies and you work hard to make one from two, from death and life, you realize that you are eating lentils, yes, lentils and they are the wheels of mourning (Rashi). So you stand without even room to breathe and watch as your mother so much like your grandmother and the earth talks you into being someone else. And the other part of you watches as your father so much like your grandfather and the sky loses touch with his heart-vision and mistakes the other half for you. What is real is now twisted, blurred. The layers, so packed tight, have lost their definitions.

And with all of this, the mistaken realities, the masks we wear, the masks we love, the masks we hate, the masks we put on others, the love we can only feel skin deep, the mistaken visions of others, how (we ask God, we beg God) how are we expected to dig a good well? As we attempt to fake it, be the sister, be the wife, turn a blessing, obey it, obey the mask, put on that animal skin… as the fragrance of fresh dead meat begins to define our beings, how (we ask God, we beg God) how can we see these layers as anything but what kills us slowly, turning fresh water into fury?

And as it says in Genesis 33:9….I have enough (rav) do not trouble yourself. And as it says in Deuteronomy 2:3…You have circled around this mountain enough (rav)…I think we need to see that one day we will have gone around and around the concealments rav (enough). Now, though, we need them to protect the water in the wells for which we so yearn, to protect the tears, to stop up our hearts (Rashi) so that they may be unstopped. We need the concealments to make us feel alive. We need them to have a story to read in Torah from which we can learn. We need them because God is concealed and we are in His image. We need them because it’s only with the constant unmasking that we can finally get a taste of a clean flow from the core of our being. We need the concealments like we need our garments of skin (Bereshith)…to cover and protect and allow us all to drink the rush of gratitude, kindness, love, compassion and joy flowing to us fast. We need our anger at the concealments. We need to accept that there’s work to be done.

So, may we love each other including the layers we wear. May we reach out and try and touch beyond the masks, to the flowing splashing joy in the pure center. May we forgive if we are blinded by deception. May we accept and love each whole, each mind, each heart, each smell and sound, each fear and doubt, each layer that seems so impossible but only strengthens the radiant texture. May we hold each other with gentleness and patience while knowing that we have been in the pain of these concealments rav…enough.

May we use the pain to drink the water and love the image of God.