Night. The last familiar noises from the Mahananaim camps had abated. Nothing was moving on the other side of the stream, whose glittering waves were the only remaining signs that the world was world and still alive.

And the man, what was he doing? Was he on the lookout, scrutinizing the darkness out of which, at any moment, the event would spring? Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham, was pondering, reviewing his situation. That was why he had chosen to leave the others and stay alone on this shore. He knew that his life was about to change. But not in what way. At this moment everything was still possible. One word, one move would suffice for Jacob to remain Jacob—and Israel a frightened old man’s dream.

A self-examination that implies a questioning of his past. Early childhood memories, early quarrels with his older brother, early triumphs followed by remorse, early loves, early and late disappointments; so many events led up to the encounter he had just had with his uncle Laban and the one he would have tomorrow with his brother Esau.

Jacob was worried. Understandably so. Tomorrow he might die. His brother, whom he hadn’t seen in twenty years, would not come to the appointment alone; he would be accompanied by at least four hundred armed men. What would tomorrow be made of? Jacob was afraid. He had been fortunate all his life; it could not go on indefinitely, not beyond this night. Tomorrow it would all be over. The debt would be paid. For every moment of happiness, for every gift of love received or given. Tomorrow Jacob would submit to Esau, his brother, his nemesis.

Tomorrow—but the night had just begun. Jacob should try to find a solution; there had to be a way out. What if he were to begin praying? What if he armed himself for the fight? Or then again, what if he offered his brother a new gift, even more beautiful than the others before? Nobody is insensitive to gifts . . .

In fact, had he the slightest understanding of practical matters, Jacob would have tried to rest. He should have tried to unwind, sleep, take advantage of the few hours that were left. Tomorrow he would need all his energy, all his faculties. He should have taken care of himself. He did not. He could not, for this night would mark the beginning of a new adventure, the most important of all.

A strange adventure, mysterious from beginning to end, breathtakingly beautiful, intense to the point of making one doubt one’s senses. Who has not been fascinated by it? Philosophers and poets, rabbis and storytellers, all have yearned to shed light on the enigmatic event that took place that night, a few steps from the river Jabbok. An episode told by the Bible with customary majestic sobriety. Do you remember?

• • •

. . . Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn. It was a silent struggle, silent and absurd. What did the stranger want? Nobody knew, not even Jacob. They wrestled until dawn, neither uttering a word. Only then did the assailant speak: Day is breaking, let me go. And a suddenly belligerent Jacob refused, setting conditions: I will not let you go, unless you bless me. The other demurred; they clutched each other once more. Theirs was an awesome fight, yet in the end they had to give up, neither being able to claim victory. Both were wounded: Jacob at the hip, the angel in his vanity. Yet they parted friends, or was it accomplices? Jacob accepted his aggressor’s departure willingly; the latter, as if to thank him, made him a gift: a new name which in generations to come would symbolize eternal struggle and endurance, in more than one land, during more than one night.