We all dream of ladders to heaven. Whether it’s Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven or Yaakov’s dream in this week’s parsha, there’s something universal about the longing to touch the divine, to glimpse something transcendent. The image of Yaakov’s ladder has inspired countless artists—from Chagall to Rembrandt—because it captures a timeless yearning: to connect earth and heaven, to see the extraordinary within the ordinary.
For Yaakov, this longing begins as he flees everything he has ever known. The sheltered “tent-dweller,” pure and untainted, is thrust into exile. He leaves behind certainty and structure and is forced to lie down in the chaos of the open field, the unknown. The sun sets prematurely, and he sleeps on the boundary of his old life and whatever awaits him. In this liminal space of uncertainty - he dreams.
Yaakov’s first dream is extraordinary: a ladder stretches toward the heavens, with angels ascending and descending. It’s a revelation of connection, of possibility—a bridge between the divine and the mundane. But the dream is also profoundly human. Yaakov discovers that the angels aren’t distant, otherworldly beings—they’re here, among us, woven into the fabric of life.
When Yaakov awakens, he’s shaken by the unexpectedness of it all: “Behold, God is in this place, and I did not know it!” (Bereshit 28:16). He is the first person in the Torah to interpret a dream, and his realization is breathtaking: I once believed that God would only appear to me in the sacred enclosure of my tent. I thought transcendence could only be cultivated in safety, in structure. But now I see—my ability to dream, to receive a divine message, and to interpret it, is itself my human strength. Sanctity lies beyond the tent.
Until now, Yaakov has lived within boundaries. The “tent-dweller” has known structure, purity, and clarity. Now, forced into exile, he discovers the divine at the edge of his known world - in the chaos and uncertainty of his geographical and existential dislocation. His exclamation reflects a new awareness: divinity is not separate from life but intertwined with it. His dream is a revelation—not just about God’s presence but about human potential. It’s a reminder that holiness isn’t confined to where we think it should be. It’s in unexpected places, imperfect moments, and the messiness of being alive. And it’s in our capacity to see, to dream, and to interpret what we encounter.
This idea—that the ordinary can be extraordinary—brings to mind the song Giborei Al (Superheroes) by the Israeli band Hatikva 6. The lyrics challenge our traditional notions of heroes. Superheroes, it turns out, aren’t born with intrinsic superpowers. They’re ordinary people, living ordinary lives, who choose to rise above the everyday and act in extraordinary ways.
Yaakov’s ladder invites us to see these everyday heroes in a new light. The angels ascending and descending the ladder are not mystical beings—they are us, when we rise to the occasion. They remind us that holiness is not about escaping life but transforming it.
The Philosophy of the Ladder
The question—where is God?—is as old as philosophy itself. Spinoza answered it by making God synonymous with the universe: no ladder, no heaven, just nature. Others swung in the opposite direction, describing God as the unreachable mysterium tremendum—so distant that He can only be approached by leaving the world behind entirely.
It’s a belief that echoes the builders of another famous ladder-like structure in the Bible: the Tower of Babel. They imagined a utopia that could only be achieved by ascending to heaven, leaving earth and its messiness behind. In their view, the ladder existed, but it only went up. God was distant, and transcendence meant abandoning the world below.
Judaism, however, insists on a different answer. God is neither synonymous with the world nor removed from it entirely. Instead, He is present in the connection between heaven and earth. In Yaakov’s dream, the ladder stands firm, touching both realms. Martin Buber puts it simply: “If you can hallow this life, you meet the living God.” (I-Thou)
Bookend Dreams:
But Yaakov’s journey is about more than the ladder; it’s about the dreams themselves. Early on, when he is still the idealistic tent-dweller, his dreams are grand and otherworldly—angels, ladders, transcendence. Later, when life pulls him into the grind of Laban’s house, his dreams shift. He dreams not of angels but of sheep. Yet even here, in the mundane business of shepherding, there is a divine message.
Yaakov’s two dreams, which bookend this week’s parsha, reveal two profound truths. His first dream, with its ladder stretching to heaven, teaches that even within the sacred confines of the tent, there is a religious imperative to step beyond our comfort zones, to leave our “holy spaces” and engage with the world. It’s a reminder that angels walk among us—ordinary people who rise to extraordinary occasions.
His second dream, later in the parsha, shifts to the mundane. Here, Yaakov dreams of sheep—not angels, not ladders, but the repetitive, earthbound world of tending flocks. It’s a vision rooted in the grind of daily life, filled with challenges, competition, and even vice. Yet even here, the dream carries a divine message. God reminds Yaakov of His promise, of his mission, and the purpose behind his business ventures. This dream reveals that holiness is not reserved for the extraordinary but can infuse even the most ordinary moments when they are imbued with purpose and intention.
Young Yaakov, the tent-dweller—parochial, righteous, and idealistic—needs to learn that “God is in every place and with every person, not just the righteous tent-dweller.” His first dream reminds him to look beyond the narrow boundaries of his sacred space, to see the divine presence in unexpected places and people.
Older Yaakov, the man of the field—the businessman, the entrepreneur—must be reminded that material success is not the ultimate goal. His second dream reveals that his work must serve a loftier vision, one that transcends wealth and ambition.
At each stage of his life, through his dreams, Yaakov is reminded to preserve this ladder - this connection, between heaven and earth.
As Yaakov’s journey shows, revelation often requires breaking down the walls we’ve built—our certainties, our narratives, our carefully constructed tents. It demands that we step into the chaos, the unknown, and reimagine our perspective.
In awakening to his dream, Yaakov begins to see himself and the world differently. Chagall’s painting of Yaakov’s ladder captures this shift: the perspective is tilted, dreamlike, forcing us to see through new eyes. This is the challenge Yaakov faces. He must move beyond his narrative, his accepted self-perception, to see himself, and God, anew. It is a call to look beyond the structures we build around ourselves—our certainties, our boundaries, our “tents”—and step into the messiness of life, where divinity often hides.
The Journey of the Ladder
The ladder in Yaakov’s dream is rooted in the earth, but it stretches to the heavens. It bridges two worlds and calls us to do the same. It reminds us that even in our darkest moments, when we might doubt ourselves and God, a connection will always exist between heaven and earth. It challenges us to discover sacredness not by escaping the world but by transforming it.
“Behold, God is in this place, and I did not know it.” Yaakov’s words are a wake-up call, not just for him but for us. They remind us to see the divine in the mundane, to hallow the patterns of ordinary life, and to rise, like angels on a ladder, to bring heaven a little closer to earth.
Shabbat Shalom
Comments