In our current circumstance, though, I think the Sefer HaChinuch’s point becomes clear. At times, just like our forefather Jacob, we will be wounded. But we will survive – not only in spite of the injury but in some sense because of it. The wound is excruciatingly painful, it is crippling, and for a time it seems as though we can barely move ahead. Though we managed to squeeze some sort of a victory out of the last round of fighting, we wonder if we’ll win in the long run.
This is when the gid hanasheh comes and reminds us, first of all, that in the perspective of history, these setbacks – however painful they may be – are temporary (in the very next chapter, we read that Jacob’s injury was fully cured; see Rashi on 36:18). And as a mitzvah that is observed passively through the mode of shev v’al ta’aseh (sit and do nothing), it reminds us that this is also how Jacob achieved his victory:
“And he wrestled with him until daybreak. And when he saw that he could not defeat him, he touched the hollow of his thigh [wounding him]…. and he said ‘Release me, for the morning has come’, and [Jacob] said ‘I will not release you unless you bless me’… and he blessed him there.” (32:26-30)
Although he fought long and hard, Jacob didn’t manage to defeat his enemy. All he was able to achieve was a stalemate – a bitter night-long struggle that wore both sides down, with no winner. In that situation, he wasn’t able to actually do anything; just to absorb the blows, and persevere. But the gid hanasheh teaches us that sometimes, when there is no action to be taken, shev v’al ta’aseh is enough. Sometimes, the key to victory is just staying where you are and refusing to be knocked down, and to keep on going without paying too much attention to the pain.
After the long night of exile, the morning eventually comes. And when it does, the enemy melts away and asks for a release, which he receives only after issuing a blessing. Until then, we have to continue the struggle.