Parashat Vayishlach: The Spiritual Nourishment of Refraining from Eating - How Does Gid Hanashe Teach Us to Rise Above the Forces that Pull us Down?

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Parashat Vayishlach: The Spiritual Nourishment of Refraining from Eating  

How Does Gid Hanashe Teach Us to Rise Above the Forces that Pull us Down? 

A depiction of the power struggle between Jacob and Esau. Art by Yoram Ranaan

Who Understands the Mysterious Prohibition of Eating the Sciatic Nerve? 

I often think about how much of our spiritual work takes place not only through what we eat but especially through what we choose not to eat. In a world overflowing with indulgence, restraint itself can become a nourishing act – one that strengthens our inner alignment and allows holiness to flow more freely through us. By adhering to the laws of kosher eating, we become more mindful of what we allow to enter our mouths. We train ourselves to limit indulgence, cultivate self-discipline, and pay attention to the details of what we consume. When we become accustomed to checking for reliable kosher certification, it is only one small step further to examine the fine print for unhealthy or toxic ingredients to avoid. Even the mitzvah of waiting hours between consuming milk and meat guides us to be mindful not only about what we eat, but also when we eat it. 

Yet while the general laws of which animals are kosher are familiar to most Jews and even many non-Jews, there is one hidden kashrut law that remains almost entirely unknown. This is the mysterious prohibition of eating the גִּיד הַנָּשֶׁה/gid hanashe – the sciatic nerve. Since only a highly trained expert knows how to remove this tendon, kosher meat is always sold with the gid hanashe already extracted. We therefore refrain from eating it automatically, without needing to exercise any self-restraint. Although my neighbor is a skilled expert in removing the gid hanashe and often travels to Argentina in his profession, I never understood much about this mitzvah until today, when I was happily surprised to discover a taste of the wealth of wisdom surrounding this concealed mitzvah in the Zohar and kabbalistic commentaries. 

 

How Does Refraining from Eating Gid Hanashe Nourish Our Subtle Spiritual Memory?  

After Ya’acov’s long night of wrestling with the angel, the Torah concludes: 

ספר בראשית פרק לב פסוק לג עַל כֵּן לֹא יֹאכְלוּ בְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת גִּיד הַנָּשֶׁה אֲשֶׁר עַל כַּף הַיָּרֵךְ עַד הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה כִּי נָגַע בְּכַף יֶרֶךְ יַעֲקֹב בְּגִיד הַנָּשֶׁה: 

“Therefore, the Children of Israel do not eat the sciatic nerve that is on the socket of the thigh to this very day, because he struck the socket of Ya’acov’s thigh in the sciatic nerve” (Bereishit 32:33). 

 

It is striking that the Torah encodes this cosmic moment of spiritual struggle specifically into an eating practice. Of all the ways to remember Ya’acov’s battle, why does the Torah choose to mark it by refraining from consuming one particular sinew? According to Rashi, this sinew is called גִיד הַנָשֶׁה  /gid hanashe because it was dislocated – נָשָׁה/nasha from its place, a root that signifies both dislocation and forgetting. Similarly, “Their might has failed – נָשְׁתָּה/nashta” (Yirmeyahu 51:30) and “for G-d has caused me to forget (נַשַׁנִי) all my toil.” (Bereishit 41:51); (Rashi, Bereishit 32:33 based on Chullin 91a). 

The gid hanashe embodies the spiritual force that seeks to disconnect us from our center – the pull of fear, doubt, anger, and spiritual forgetfulness. Neshiyah – ‘forgetting,’ shares its root with נָשֵׁה, hinting that this tendon represents the energy that tries to make us forget who we truly are. The angel’s strike on Ya’acov’s thigh symbolizes a blow to the place of stability and rootedness, the feminine foundation called yesod hanukva, the capacity to receive and actualize Divine light in the world. When this place is weakened, our clarity wavers, and we become more vulnerable to inner fragmentation. 

By refraining from eating the gid hanashe, we nourish ourselves with a subtle spiritual memory: we refuse to ingest the energy that once tried to make Ya’acov stumble. We choose not to take in the forces that pull us off balance, that attempt to distract us from our mission, that whisper stories of fear instead of faith. Our abstention is not an act of deprivation; it is an act of resistance – a way of strengthening the holy within us. 

How Does a Single Tendon Reveal Where Evil Tries to Enter Our Lives? 

The mysterious prohibition against eating the גִיד הַנָשֶׁה /gid hanashe is rooted in the moment when the angel of Esav struck Ya’acov during their midnight struggle. According to the Zohar, this tendon is the spiritual root where Samael – embodied by the primordial serpent – attempts to strike at Ya’acov’s spiritual core, and attach himself to human consciousness. It is called גִיד הַנָשֶׁה  because it causes a person to forget the service of Hashem, for the evil inclination dwells in this hidden place (Zohar I:170b).  The gid hanashe belongs to a realm that cannot be elevated, for its root is tied to the forces of concealment. In the mystical anatomy of the soul, each limb of a tzaddik strengthens its corresponding supernal limb. Rabbi Moshe Zacuto explains that all of Ya’acov’s limbs were spiritually complete and fortified, except for the one tendon through which the angel of Esav could enter. Therefore, Samael found no weakness in any of Ya’acov’s limbs except in this single tendon (The Remaz, Zohar I:170b). It is the one place through which the yetzer hara seeks to enter the soul of a complete tzaddik. Therefore, the Torah forbids not only the eating of this tendon but even deriving benefit from it, because its spiritual root leads only to forgetfulness and disconnection (Ketem Paz, Parashat Vayishlach). 

 

How Does the Wound of the Gid Hanashe Reflect the Inner Wounds of Exile? 

Rabbis Shmuel Laniado and Menachem Tziyoni reveal that the 365 sinews of the human body correspond to the 365 days of the year and to the 365 prohibitions of the Torah. The sciatic nerve corresponds specifically to Tisha B’Av, the day when spiritual judgment intensifies and the Temple was destroyed. Therefore, just as Ya’acov’s strength weakened only at the gid hanashe, so too Israel falters each year at the point of Tisha B’Av. This is the meaning of the teaching that whoever eats on Tisha B’Av is as if he ate the gid hanashe, for on that day the same spiritual wound reopens (Ketem Paz, Sefer HaTziyoni, on Parashat Vayishlach). As long as this spiritual tendon remains damaged, the Shechinah remains partially exiled, for the angel’s strike caused the separation of the tzaddik from the Shechinah, sending Her into concealment (Tikkunei Zohar 36b). Abstaining from the gid hanashe thus becomes a way of remembering our shared wound, refusing to ingest the energy of exile into our being. 

The Midrash unveils another layer of meaning behind the injury to Ya’acov. Due to his spiritual stature, the angel could not defeat Ya’acov himself, for he stood protected by five shields: his own merit, and the merit of his father, mother, grandfather, and grandmother. Unable to overpower Ya’acov directly, the angel touched the one point where future vulnerability lay and dislocated the tendon, tearing it from its place. In doing so, he struck the spiritual roots of the tzaddikim, prophetesses, prophets, and righteous women destined to descend from him. The blow weakened the spiritual strength of a future generation, identified as the דורו של שמד, a generation destined to endure religious persecution (Bereishit Rabbah 77:3).  

This displacement of the gid hanashe mirrors the collective displacement of Israel in exile. Just as Ya’acov limped into the dawn, carrying the imprint of struggle, so the Jewish people carry the imprint of national wounds. Abstaining from the gid hanashe becomes not merely a technical dietary detail but a remembrance of our deepest collective wound and a commitment to walk forward, like Ya’acov, toward healing and redemption. 

 

How Can We Nourish Ourselves by What We Refuse to Consume? 

Parashat Vayishlach brings the concept of restraint to its deepest root. When we refrain from eating the sciatic nerve, we choose to avoid drawing its energy inward; we choose not to nourish ourselves with the forces that weaken clarity, distort desire, and cloud the awareness of Hashem. Rabbi Menachem Tziyoni teaches that this tendon has ten branches, five on the right and five on the left, corresponding to the ten crowns of impurity that encircle holiness. Eating it would draw these energies into the soul. By avoiding it, we nourish ourselves instead with holy boundaries, strengthening the supernal limbs that support inner purity and spiritual alignment (Sefer HaTziyoni, Parashat Vayishlach). 

Every food carries spiritual energy. When we eat with awareness, we elevate the sparks within creation. But when something cannot be elevated – when its spiritual root is too entangled in the forces of distortion – our elevation comes instead through abstaining. This kind of nourishment is quiet, hidden, almost inward: it is the nourishment of clarity, boundaries, and spiritual self-protection. 

In a world filled with constant stimulation, choosing not to consume – whether it is food, information, or emotional noise – can be profoundly liberating. This hidden mitzvah teaches us that restraint itself can become a form of healing, a way of realigning our spiritual posture and reclaiming our inner strength, just as Ya’acov reclaimed his name, his mission, and his inner wholeness. 

 

How does the Mitzvah of Gid Hanashe Realign us with Our True Mission? 

There are moments in life when something gnaws at our confidence or dims our inner light. Often it is an external challenge, sometimes an inner voice of self-doubt, and at times a shadow we cannot fully identify. In these moments, Ya’acov’s struggle becomes our own. The gid hanashe reminds us that holiness is not only about rising upward but also about knowing when to say ‘no’ – refusing to feed the very forces that strive to weaken us.  

By refraining from eating the gid hanashe, we bind ourselves not to the serpent’s realm of forgetfulness but to the memory of who we truly are. Each act of abstention becomes a quiet step toward healing the ancient wound, toward lifting the Shechinah from exile and restoring the harmonious flow that was fractured in that midnight struggle. As we enter Shabbat Vayishlach, may we taste the sweetness of this deeper nourishment – the nourishment that comes from remembering who we are and staying true to our spiritual center.  In this way, the mitzvah of gid hanashe becomes a nourishment of hope, boundaries, and redemption, guiding us gently toward the day when “Hashem will pour out a spirit from on high” (Yeshayahu 32:15), and all of Israel will walk with healed limbs and a whole heart.