Rabbi David Levin
This week’s Torah portion is Vayishlach: Genesis 32:4 – 36:43
While reading Parshat Vayishlach this year, I was struck by the imbalance between speech and silence and what it suggests about power and action. On one hand, we see Jacob’s detailed plans and spoken words; on the other hand, we notice the chilling silence surrounding the women — Rebecca, Rachel and Dinah — who are central to the story but have no voice. This contrast raises an important question: what does it really mean to speak in a world where being heard equals power, and being silenced results in marginalization? When we discuss these women, we reduce them to mere props in a larger story. Their silence symbolizes the struggle of all people without power today, striving to be heard.
Jacob’s journey in this parsha is fundamentally about earning his voice. As he prepares to meet Esau, his communications — sending messengers, giving clear instructions, offering humble prayers — drive the narrative. But his true voice isn’t found in diplomacy; it’s forged within. Alone, Jacob wrestles with an angel — his internal, existential struggle for the authority to speak. He demands a blessing and a name, refusing to let go until he receives both. The new name, Israel — meaning “one who struggles with God and man” — represents the earned voice of leadership. It signifies the courage to take a stand and a physical scar that comes with it. Jacob’s voice, unlike the Israelites’ complaints against Moses, reflects the difficult choice of accepting the mantle of responsibility.
The contrast with the women is harsh and heartbreaking. Their profound voicelessness facilitates objectification. Jacob’s wives and concubines passively move across the stream, arranged into ranks by Jacob (Genesis 32:23). They are acted upon, not actors. Rachel dies in childbirth, and while she manages a final utterance, naming her son — Ben-oni (son of my sorrow) — Jacob overrides it with Benjamin (son of the right hand). Her final expression of grief is superseded.
When Reuben transgresses with Bilhah, she is excluded from the subsequent dialogue and its consequences. Bilhah is simply the passive object of the event. This ongoing pattern of movement and action without consent reveals the inherent vulnerability of those whose voices are not valued or recorded by the text.
The most chilling example of this enforced silence is Dinah in Shechem (Genesis 34). She “went out to see the daughters of the land,” and the story quickly reduces her to a catalyst for revenge. The entire chapter is shaped by actions done to her and words spoken about her by men. Dinah herself does not speak. Her silence is not a careless omission; it is the violent erasure that allows the catastrophic actions of Simeon and Levi. By taking away her voice, the brothers commit their devastating act of murder under the guise of defending her honor. Dinah’s silence becomes a void, filled by the destructive words and deeds of others, teaching us that to be voiceless is to become a surface upon which the powerful inscribe their decisions. In this light, Dinah’s absence from her father’s final blessings at his deathbed in Parshat Vayechi reflects her trauma and exclusion.
The implications for us are profound. Finding one’s voice is just the first step. From there, you must use that voice to stand up for what you believe in. The current horrific story of young women being sexually abused and trafficked in the Jeffrey Epstein case is just one shocking example of how these terrible things still happen.
Finding and using one’s voice requires strength and courage — a willingness to take risks and accept the consequences. Do we have what it takes to find and use our voice? Our values and the society we build depend on it.
Parshat Vayishlach is a commentary on the inherent privileges and responsibilities of expression. Jacob must wrestle — both physically and metaphorically — for his right to lead and speak, a struggle that grants his voice moral authority. Conversely, the absence or silencing of women — ranging from Rebecca’s textual dissolution to Dinah’s forced silence — reduces them to passive instruments. This text urges us to listen not only to what is spoken but also to the significance of what remains unspoken, recognizing the ongoing battle for voice that continues to shape human experience.
Rabbi David Levin is the president of the Board of Rabbis of Greater Philadelphia and founded the Jewish Relationships Initiative.