At the end of the book of Genesis the sons of Jacob, for whom Israel’s tribes are named, hear blessings from their father that are not just poetic, but oracular. The patriarch’s expressions are more than mere appreciations – and, in some instances, critiques – of his sons; his words ring out as definitive characterizations and pronouncements about what each will become.
Jewish tradition is notably ambivalent about predestination. “All is foreseen, and free decision is granted,” says an emblematic and paradoxical dictum attributed to Rabbi Akiva in the Mishnah’s Pirkei Avot (3:19). “All is in the hands of heaven, except for the awe of heaven,” Rabbi Hanina Ben Hama is quoted as saying in the Babylonian Talmud’s tractate Berakhot (33b) – suggesting that the most momentous decision-making truly is our own hands.
We can perhaps chalk it up to patrimony if, as a people and as individuals, we are somewhat disinclined in our Jewish minds to regard our fates as totally given over to a higher power. Jacob, who seems to foretell so much to and about his offspring in this week’s Torah-reading is also, after all, a man who famously wrestles with the divine, and is deemed notably capable in that contention (Genesis 32:28). In his grandfather, Abraham, and later in Moses, we see an ability, perhaps even a proclivity, not just to question but to challenge apparent destiny, and sometimes, notably, to prevail in the gambit – and those foundational figures are far from alone in this regard.
On a theological and philosophical level, perhaps it is the helplessness, the implicit human incapacity inherent in sheer destiny taken on its own, that inclines us to have a certain distaste for the concept. Covenant entails responsibility, and responsibility is only meaningful and actual if something truly hangs in the balance, to be decided by choices we really make. Angels in heaven, as imagined in our tradition, may be wondrous in their own way; but, insofar as they are creatures of pure divine will, they are less impressive to many of our ancient rabbinic ancestors than human beings, who, precisely because we are prone to so many earthbound inclinations, are that much more impressive when we manage to side with the measure of eternity we discover instilled in ourselves.
All of that said, it seems necessary to concede that there is a legitimate place in spiritual life for saying, with the Psalmist, “Into Your hands I entrust my spirit; You have redeemed me, Eternal One, God of Truth.” (Psalm 31:5). And, when we do so, it is powerful to conceive of a path of blessing somehow eternally laid out for us, awaiting our first trusting footstep.
But then that specter of helplessness and letting go again – and that hanging tightly on.
Perhaps the art is in learning when to ride a fall-line of destiny, and when deliberately to carve a turn – when to admit, prayerfully and with humility, that we are ready to be taken somewhere new, and to take responsibility for our conduct when we get there, and along the way.
There is so much beyond our control, so much handed to us – and so much of it may, just possibly, be blessing.