From the Rebbetzin's Shabbat Table – Parashat Toldot

Dear friends,

Sometimes when you turn on the news, you think that what you are seeing is earthshattering. Most of the time it isn’t, but if you could take yourself back to Yitzchak’s tent when Yaakov handed him his dinner, you would be watching the moment when the future of Klal Yisrael, the continuation of the covenant of Avraham Avinu, is being determined.

To understand what happened, we have to go back to the beginning of the story, long before Yaakov entered his father's room disguised as Eisav. If you read the story the first time you might think that Yaakov was lying. Poor Eisov. If you go back a bit into the parshah another story changes everything about this one.

Eisav would ask Yitzchak questions that were frummer than frum – how do you tithe salt and straw? These are not the ordinary agricultural products to which the laws of maaser apply. The question itself was designed to create an impression of extraordinary religious conscientiousness. Eisav knew that Yitzchak valued mitzvah observance, and he knew precisely how to present himself as someone who was concerned even with details that others might overlook.

There is something particularly revealing about the choice of these examples. Eisav was demonstrating an apparent sophistication in religious observance. He understood the language of kedushah and knew how to use it to gain the confidence of someone whose spiritual values he did not share.

Yaakov’s words appear on the surface to be far from the truth, but Eisav’s entire life was far from the truth. Eisav had learned how to manipulate the very qualities that his father admired. Lying is an escape from Hashem’s art work, reality. Words can be used to redefine reality without being inaccurate.

For instance, if someone would ask you who was Hitler, and you would say, “A man who died at 56,” that would be accurate, but very far from truth. On Hashem’s canvas the answer would be, “One of the most evil men to have ever lived.” His age at death would be a detail, but far far from the whole picture.

But what did Yitzchak actually intend when he summoned Eisav to receive the brachos?

The Ramban (Bereishis 27:4) explains that Yitzchak intended to give Eisav the brachah of Avraham: to inherit Eretz Yisrael and become the bearer of the covenant with Hashem. His reasoning was that Eisav was the bechor, the first born, which is of course Hashem’s decision. He also knew that Eisav was drawn towards interacting with the material world, which seems to be a perfect match with his receiving the Land.

What he didn’t know was that Rivkah had been told prophetically via Shem that, two nations are in your womb, two peoples will emerge from you; one will be stronger than the other, and the older will serve the younger.

Rivkah had been given information that would determine the entire future of her family. These were not simply two sons with different temperaments or different talents. They represented two nations, two distinct historical destinies.

The covenant could not be carried by both unless Eisav would make a critical choice; he would devote himself to partnership with Yaakov and together the spiritual and material world would both be used to affirm Hashem’s unity and His will.

Yitzchak devoted himself to trying to draw Eisav closer to his true purpose, and failed. Eisav’s deception did its job. In fact, the more that Yitzchak drew Eisav close to him, the more Yitzchok loved him, because nothing brings about love the way giving does it. The more you give, the more you love, and Yitzchak gave Eisav himself, the ultimate gift.

When Rivkah heard Yitzchak's intention to bless Eisav, she faced an extraordinary dilemma.

Why did she not simply tell him what she had been told?

The Ramban suggests that she feared that because of his love for Eisav, Yitzchak would not bless Yaakov. Instead, he would leave the matter entirely in the hands of Heaven.

Here the Ramban makes a point that I find especially significant. Rivkah knew that Yaakov had to receive the blessing, given with a full heart. This explains why she was so determined to arrange matters as she did, even at the cost of placing Yaakov in such a difficult and frightening position.

Ramban's explanation helps us understand the significance of this moment. Yitzchak recognizes that what has happened is not simply a mistake that can be undone. After all, if you mistakenly said the brachah for wine on an apple, you would say baruch shem and then the correct brachah.

Yaakov realized that he was living in falsehood – accurate falsehood on the surface – but not truth. The brachah has been given, and Yaakov is indeed the bearer of the covenant.

The Ramban adds one more possibility that is particularly interesting. Perhaps these circumstances were arranged by Hashem so that Yaakov would receive the covenantal blessing, while Eisav would also receive a blessing appropriate to his own destiny, that of the sword.

Eisav would have a place in history, but it would be a very different one from Yaakov's. The distinction is fundamental. Yaakov would inherit the spiritual mission of Avraham, the covenant, and the destiny of Klal Yisrael. Eisav would develop into a nation whose power would be expressed through military strength and political dominion.

There is something extraordinary about the way the Torah describes this transition. The covenant of Avraham, which had begun with one individual, was now becoming the inheritance of an entire family.

Before Yaakov could become Yisrael, before the twelve tribes could emerge, the question of who would carry that covenant had to be resolved.

Perhaps this is why the Torah gives us so much detail about the events leading up to the blessings. The future of a nation can sometimes depend on decisions on knowledge that one person possesses and another does not, and willingness to choose truth over accuracy, and on the courage to recognize what is at stake even when the way forward is difficult.

If there is one lesson to take home, it is that while it may be hard to be truthful, truth lasts forever.

When my mother and her siblings went to public school over a hundred years ago, that was the only choice in America for girls in those years. The teachers were non-Jews, mostly Irish who didn’t particularly like Jews and wanted to turn them into standard Americans.

When the first girl went to school, the teacher asked her name. She said, “Faygale”. The teacher said, “That is not a name. From now on your name is Fay”.

The next girl, Raizaleh was told that her name is Rose, but when the third sister told the teacher that her name was Goldie and got a response, “That is not a name. That is a metal. Your name is Gussie,” she answered (at 6!), “My name is Goldie. I only answer when you call me Goldie.”

And so it was. Her children have the strongest Jewish identity of all of the siblings.

Love,

Tziporah