Yaakov and Esav Revisited: A Powerful Lesson on This World and the World to Come

In Yalkut Shimoni on Parashat Toldot it is taught that Yaakov and Esav divided the worlds between them. Esav took this world for his share and Yaakov took the World to Come, explains Rabbi Yaakov Galinsky. Many yeshiva students assume that they and the secular world have made a similar division. They imagine that they took the World to Come while others took this world. But Rabbi Galinsky challenges this idea and asks us to look closely at what kind of “this world” Esav actually possessed.

Yaakov in the Tents, Esav in the Field

Yaakov was a wholesome man, dwelling in tents, immersed in Torah and prayer. Esav, by contrast, was a man of the field, a hunter, constantly chasing the material world. When he grew tired and hungry, he knew exactly where to go and came to Yaakov. He assumed that his kollel learning brother would surely have food. Finding a pot of stew, he sold his birthright for it.

While Yaakov labored in Torah, Esav pursued a life of impulse and excess, taking one wife and then another. When he went hunting to secure the blessings, Rivka sent Yaakov instead, dressing him in Esav’s precious garments that were kept with her. Rashi asks why Esav entrusted these garments to his mother rather than his wives, and explains that he suspected their behavior. This, Rabbi Galinsky notes, is what Esav’s version of this world truly looked like.

When Jealousy Cannot Bear True Happiness

Later, when Yaakov returned to the Land of Israel with his family, Esav gathered his wives, children, livestock, and possessions and left. Why was there not room for both families in the land? Rabbi Galinsky explains that Yaakov’s genuine family happiness was unbearable to him. The message is clear: not only the World to Come belongs to Yaakov, but true fulfillment in this world as well.

A Personal Story from the War Years

Rabbi Galinsky then shared a personal story.

“I had a friend in yeshiva in Bialystok. During the war he endured tremendous suffering, even being sent to Siberia. Eventually he left the path of mitzvot. We lost contact, and I later heard that he had moved to Israel. When election season arrived, I located his name in the voter registry, searched the phone book, and finally found him.”

Rabbi Galinsky called him and invited him for Shabbat. Using the nickname from their yeshiva days, he introduced himself as Yankel Kriniker. The friend was deeply moved, though he tried to justify his distance from religious life. After some persuasion he agreed to come for the Friday night meal while staying with relatives in nearby Givatayim.

Rabbi Galinsky waited at home after prayers, but his guest never arrived. On Sunday he called him.

“Yankel, I kept my word,” the friend said, nearly in tears. “I walked through the streets of Bnei Brak. I saw young scholars hurrying to synagogue with their children around them, three, four, five. I saw mothers pushing strollers filled with children. My heart twisted with jealousy. I thought about coming to your home and seeing your large family, and I knew I could not bear it.”

His friend concluded with painful honesty: “Yankel, I knew I was giving up the World to Come. But I never imagined that I would lose this world as well.”

Through this story, Rabbi Galinsky revealed a deeper truth: the life of Torah is not only about eternity. It brings meaning, family, and genuine joy even within this world.