Surely these doubts must have tormented Jacob. He must have felt vulnerable, on the defensive, ill-at-ease in his role, at fault with his father (to whom he had lied) and with his brother (whom he had cheated) and with the entire world for which he was playing out a role. He had deceived others too often, he now thought of nothing but penance, of suffering to expiate his fault and redeem himself. That was why he submitted quietly; that was why he often wept without uttering a word.

People were exploiting him? Never mind! They were cheating him? Never mind! They were using him against himself? Never mind! The more they hurt him, the more reassured he seemed. When the blows became too hard, he took refuge in dreams, thus becoming the first dreamer in Biblical history. Abraham had visions, Jacob had dreams. When one dreams, the world and its laws seem better. When Jacob dreamed, he transcended himself and became sublimated. His dreams transformed him—taught him that life is a ladder and that ladders lead up . . . and down. Nobody ever remains in one place, no suffering lasts indefinitely, every error may be corrected, perhaps erased. These were easy dreams, dreams of consolation. Neither demanding nor severe, God showed him His charitable side: Do not be afraid, Jacob, I shall remain with you. The very words that Jacob needed. More than Isaac, more than Abraham, Jacob had a constant need for personal reassurance and outside approval. Even when he heard what he wanted to hear, he could not believe in his mission. His very covenant with God became conditional: If You will give me bread to nourish me and clothes to wear, then I shall say yes and go wherever You will send me.

Here again: What was he asking for? Food, clothing, security. How disappointing. Jacob’s dreams, while not lacking in grandeur and scope, were clearly neither metaphysical nor mystical. He lacked imagination: whatever he did, whatever he said, whatever he asked for was commonplace. To the point where one fails to understand why the Bible insists on overwhelming us with details: his quarrels with Laban, his labor contracts, his trivial conversations with wives and concubines. Was this what Jacob was all about? Nothing more? An insignificant dreamer who allowed himself to be taken in by the first comer, who fled from every contest, who gave up a fight without even trying? And this man who lacked both will and authority, this man who submitted to a search by Laban to prove that he had not stolen from him, could this have been the man chosen by God to plant the tree of Israel? Was there nothing left of Abraham’s power, of Isaac’s vision?

It is painful to say, but—before Peniel—we can claim no discovery, no triumph for Jacob; no heroic act has been attributed to him. Abraham and Isaac had been involved in extraordinary battles; their conflicts had touched the very core of man. Jacob? Concerned only with appearances, business matters, all manner of worldly endeavors; forever plunged in impossible situations, ready to be duped. Until Peniel no one ever heard him speak of anything other than the most down-to-earth matters, and even at Peniel he seemed far from having come into his own.