Perhaps some of these are Ya’aqov and some of them are Yisra’eil. Perhaps that is the point: that the same life can be thought good or bad when twisted and turned different ways to emphasize different parts of it. That the very same thing can be a joy or an evil. Perhaps the best we can hope for here is for Ya’aqov/Yisra’eil to hold all of these understandings of his own words together at once, to dwell — to sojourn — in the ambiguity of language, the strangeness of it.