S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT TOLEDOT

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Toledot we read of the birth of Esav and Yaakov, the twin sons of Yitzchak and Rivka.  Rashi and the Rashbam (25:25) explain the name “Esav” as derived from Hebrew word “asui,” or “readymade.”  As the Torah describes, Esav was covered with hair already at birth, just like a physically mature adult male.  The name “Esav” expresses the fact that Esav was born fully “made” and developed, as opposed to ordinary boys who grow bodily hair only much later, upon reaching adolescence.

            Many writers have noted the deeper significance underlying Esav’s name.  The notion of “asui” reflects stagnancy, a sense of completion and complacency.  People must never see themselves as “asui,” as fully grown and developed; we must instead constantly endeavor to grow, improve, and continue our development.  Esav’s name, which was given to reflect his unusually early physical maturity, reflects as well the kind of character for which he is known, his disinterest in growing and developing.

            Rav Menachem Bentzion Zaks, in his Menachem Tziyon, notes that this image of Esav is consistent with the Torah’s description of him as a “man who knows hunting, a man of the field” (25:27).  Esav emerges as a primitive, brutish man who spent his days much as animals do – hunting in the jungles.  The lifelong role of human beings is to struggle to rise above their animalistic nature, to refine and develop their characters.  Esav, however, saw himself as “asui,” and was content following his brutish nature without exerting any effort to grow.

            Rav Zaks further suggests that Yaakov’s name reflects the precise opposite quality, the concept of growth and development.  Yaakov’s name stems from the word “akeiv,” or “heel.”  The heel is first part of the foot that meets the ground as one walks, and is thus commonly employed as the symbol of beginnings, the incipient stages of a process (as in the famous expression, “ikvita de-Meshicha” – “heel of the Messianic Era”).  Whereas Esav entered the world “asui,” at the end of his process of development, Yaakov’s birth was just the “heel,” the beginning of a lifelong process of spiritual growth.

            It has been noted that the human being is called “adam” – from the word “adama,” earth – because the value of earth lies solely in its potential for production.  Dirt is intrinsically valueless, but holds the potential to produce life-sustaining food.  We, too, should never see ourselves as “asui,” fully complete, and should instead define ourselves as “adam” – full of unrealized potential.  Our true value lies not in what we are, but in what we can still become.  We must therefore live each day of our lives with the purpose of growing and moving closer to perfection, of bringing our full potential to fruition.

SUNDAY

            Parashat Toledot tells the puzzling story of Esav’s sale of the birthright to Yaakov.  Esav returned to the home weary and famished from the hunt, and noticed Yaakov preparing a stew.  Esav asked Yaakov to serve him, and Yaakov consented only after Esav first agreed on oath to transfer the rights of the firstborn to his younger twin (25:29-34).

            We might gain some insight into this incident by noting the glaring irony of the situation that arose that day in Yitzchak and Rivka’s home.  Earlier (25:28), the Torah relates that Yitzchak felt special affection for Esav, more so than for Yaakov, “because there was game in his mouth.”  A number of commentators (Onkelos, Rashi) explain this to mean that Esav regularly brought food from the hunt for Yitzchak to eat, and his success in hunting and bringing home food earned him the favor and affection of his father.  Esav’s success in hunting and competence as a breadwinner apparently made a greater impression upon Yitzchak than Yaakov’s “simple” demeanor (“ish tam” – 25:27).  It is perhaps significant that immediately after depicting Yitzchak’s affection for Esav, the Torah immediately proceeds to describe the scene of Esav helplessly begging Yaakov for food.  The son who would always bring tasty, nourishing field for his father suddenly found himself languishing from hunger as his brother, the “simple tent-dweller,” prepared a nourishing meal.  The valiant, courageous hunter was suddenly forced to feebly and desperately beg his “simpleton” brother for food.

            The situation revealed that although Esav’s lifestyle was far more adventurous than Yaakov’s, it was also far less secure.  Spending the day hunting game certainly afforded Esav a much wider range of opportunities and a broader selection of meat.  Hunting allowed him to bring meat of deer and other wild animals, whereas staying at home would limit his diet to foods such as the lentil stew that Yaakov prepared, and the meat of sheep and other domesticated animals, as Yaakov later prepared for his father.  At the same time, however, spending the day hunting ran the risk of returning home empty-handed, as indeed happened on the day Esav sold the birthright.  The opportunities of Esav’s lifestyle were greater, but so were the risks.  Yaakov, by remaining at home, was denied the opportunities made available by the hunt, but enjoyed the security of the ready access to food – albeit to a simpler, more limited diet.

            Possibly, the novelty of this situation is what led Yaakov to demand the transfer of the birthright.  If we assume, as some commentators did (see, for example, Shadal), that the birthright entailed general leadership and authority over the family and household, we can perhaps understand Yaakov’s thinking.  Esav’s sudden dependence on his brother revealed that he cannot be trusted with the position of family leadership.  He was recklessly ambitious and adventurous, irresponsibly exposing himself to risk.  Yaakov essentially told his brother, “If you must now come begging to me for food, then you must surrender your leadership rights.”  Authority cannot rest in the restless hands of Esav, who could not allow himself the security of simplicity, and instead needed the challenge and adventure of risky escapades.  The rights to leadership were therefore entrusted to Yaakov, who didn’t pursue overambitious adventures at the expense of his family’s security.

MONDAY

            Parashat Toledot tells of the birth of Yaakov and Esav, describing the latter as “admoni,” or “reddish” (25:25).  Rashi, based on a number of Midrashic sources, writes that Esav’s reddish complexion at birth reflected his violent nature, as red symbolizes bloodshed.

            A comment in the Midrash Ha-gadol perhaps sheds further light on the significance of Esav’s reddish color: “Rav Yehuda said: If you see a person whose face is red, he is either a completely wicked person like Esav, or a completely righteous man like David.”  The Midrash notes that David, like Esav, is described as reddish (“admoni im yefei enayim” – Shemuel I 16:12).  Accordingly, the Midrash establishes that a reddish complexion reflects either a sinful nature, like Esav’s, or a righteous nature, like David’s.

            It seems that both Esav and David were born with an unusual abundance of passion, energy and zeal, as reflected by their red color.  Esav channeled his passion toward sin, whereas David used his passion in the service of the Almighty, becoming a military hero who led Benei Yisrael to victory over its vicious foes, and through poetry and song which he composed and sang to give praise to God. 

This contrasting parallel between Esav and David is noted as well by a different Midrashic passage (Bereishit Rabba 63), which relates that when the prophet Shemuel first saw David, he observed his reddish complexion and presumed that he was a murderer, like Esav.  God then said to the prophet, “Esav kills based on his own decision, but this one kills based on the decision of the Sanhedrin.”  Indeed, David was born with similar tendencies to Esav’s.  The difference is that David succeeded in channeling that passion and energy into his service of God, rising to the occasion to rescue Benei Yisrael from the Philistine threat, killing “based on the decision of the Sanhedrin.”  Esav, however, applied his talents and passionate tendencies indiscriminately, wantonly murdering innocent victims.

The contrast between these two figures reflects not only the importance of channeling talents and energies toward the right direction, but also, more specifically, the need to exercise care when applying passion and zeal.  The Midrash emphasized that David ensured to act “based on the decision of the Sanhedrin.”  He succeeded in confining his passion to the “four cubits of Halakha,” to the areas where passion is warranted and even desirable.  Even when it comes to religious zeal, there is the risk of misapplying it outside the “decision of the Sanhedrin,” beyond the parameters established by Halakha.  It is perfectly legitimate – and even admirable – to display the “redness” of Esav, to live with strong fervor and passion, and certainly to live with religious enthusiasm and zeal – so long as it is used properly.  As reflected by the famous tragedy of Nadav and Avihu, a forbidden act performed as an expression of religious devotion is entirely illegitimate.  David was wise enough, and disciplined enough, to channel his “admoni” tendencies toward the areas permitted by the “Sanhedrin,” thus demonstrating the importance of keeping one’s religious passion within the accepted parameters of normative Halakha.

TUESDAY

            We read in Parashat Toledot of Esav’s “sale” of the birthright to Yaakov, his younger twin.  The Torah relates that Esav returned home famished and weary from the hunt, and found Yaakov preparing a lentil stew.  Esav begged his brother for some food, and Yaakov agreed only after Esav promised on oath to relinquish the birthright to him.

            In formulating his request to Yaakov, Esav said, “Hal’iteini na min ha-adom ha-adom ha-zeh ki ayeif anokhi” (“Please give me this red stuff so I can gulp it down, for I am weary” – 25:30).  Curiously, Esav did not bother to identify the food he requested, and simply called it “ha-adom ha-adom ha-zeh” (“this red stuff”).  The Torah then adds, “his name was therefore called ‘Edom’.”  It appears that Esav and his progeny became known by the name “Edom” (related to the word “adom” – “red”) because of his choice of words when expressing his request to Yaakov, referring to the lentils as “ha-adom ha-adom ha-zeh.”

            Why was this reference to the lentils worthy of perpetuation by the assignment of a new name for Esav?  Furthermore, Esav was born with a reddish countenance – “admoni” (25:25) – and it seems far more likely that this accounted for his being named “Edom,” rather than his comments to Yaakov requesting red lentil stew.

            In response to these questions, Abarbanel advances an entirely different interpretation of this verse, claiming that Esav’s name was not called “Edom” as a result of this incident.  Rather, the final clause of this verse (“al kein kara shemo edom”) serves to explain why Esav referred to the food Yaakov was preparing with the word “edom,” rather than specifying that it was lentils.  The reason, according to Abarbanel, is that, as Esav himself describes, he was “weary.”  Esav was simply too weak to pay attention to the kind of food Yaakov prepared, and took note only of its most obvious property – its color.  He therefore asked Yaakov for simply “this red stuff,” as he was unable to speak in specific terms.  Thus, according to Abarbanel, we should read this verse as, “‘Please give me this red stuff so I can gulp it down, for I am weary’ – and for this reason [because he was weary] he called it edom [instead of calling it ‘lentils’].”

            Be that as it may, one might wonder why the Torah found this point significant.  Whether we accept Abarbanel’s reading, or the conventional understanding, that Esav was named “Edom” because of his comments to Yaakov in this incident, why is it important to emphasize the fact that Esav called the lentils “red stuff” instead of specifying?  How does this lack of specificity on Esav’s part shed light on him or upon this incident generally?

            One explanation, perhaps, is that vague speech might be characteristic of Esav’s persona as depicted by Chazal.  Many passages in the Midrashim depict Esav as a crude, brutish, unrefined character.  He spent most of his time hunting for food and engaging in unrestrained violence and illicit, nonconsensual relationships – activities that, to a large extent, characterize animal life.  Indeed, the Torah’s description of Esav at birth as covered with hair (25:25) brings to mind an image of a human being who resembles a beast.  Chazal further developed this image through their vivid descriptions of Esav’s brutish conduct.

            Among the most obvious distinctions between the human being and the animal kingdom is in the area of communication.  Beasts communicate by producing vague, undeveloped sounds, whereas human beings are capable of using words to convey specific messages and information.  Using sharp, specific language as a means of expression thus perhaps signifies a more developed level of humanity, a further step away from the animal kingdom.  The more specific the language people use, the more they have developed their human qualities and raised themselves above the animal world, where simple noises are used to transmit general messages.  Possibly, then, Esav’s description of his brother’s food as “this red stuff” as opposed to “this lentil stew” was a reflection of his brutish character.  His speech, like his conduct, was crude and undeveloped.  He did not make a point to speak with clear, specific terms, and instead expressed himself with vague, nonspecific language.  This lack of linguistic development reflected the underdevelopment of his human character generally, and his resemblance to the animal kingdom.

WEDNESDAY

            We read in Parashat Toledot of the drought that ravaged Canaan during Yitzchak’s time, forcing him to relocate.  God appeared to him and instructed him to settle in the Philistine region of Gerar, in the southern part of Eretz Yisrael, commanding, “Gur ba-aretz ha-zot” (“Dwell in this land” – 26:3).  The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 64) explains this command to mean, “Establish residence in the Land of Israel – plant, sow, and set in the ground.”

            Why did God find it necessary to instruct Yitzchak to till the earth in Gerar?  In an agrarian society, how else could he have expected to survive?  And what exactly does God mean when He commands, “Establish residence in the Land of Israel”?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains that God impressed upon Yitzchak the need to “establish residence” even under the difficult and transitory conditions of exile.  Yitzchak, figuring that his settlement in Gerar would be temporary, may have assumed that he should live “out of the suitcase” and not settle down during this transient period.  Purchasing or leasing agricultural lands, and cultivating them, is a process generally reserved for conditions that are anticipated to endure over the long-term.  Yitzchak had perhaps planned to avoid establishing any kind of permanence, such as through the purchase and cultivation of land.  God therefore instructed, “Gur ba-aretz ha-zot,” admonishing the patriarch to establish himself in Gerar, even though his stay there was temporary and borne out of necessity.

            Rav Ginsburg added a further insight into this Midrashic passage based upon the Ramban’s famous comment (26:1) that the exiles of Avraham and Yitzchak serve as precursors to the exiles that their descendants would endure.  Avraham’s relocation in Egypt (chapter 13) alluded to Benei Yisrael’s subjugation in that country, and Yitzchak’s settlement in Gerar foretold the Babylonian exile that followed the destruction of the First Temple.  Rav Ginsburg notes that after the first stage of the Babylonian exile (“galut Yehoyakhin”), the prophet Yirmiyahu delivered a prophetic message to the communities brought to Babylonia, urging them to purchase property, till the land, marry off their children and propagate (Yirmiyahu 29:4-6).  In this respect, too, Yitzchak’s experiences serve as a model and precursor for the plight of his descendants in Babylonia.  Just as he was bidden to “settle down” despite the temporary nature of his stay in Gerar, similarly, the Judean exiles in Babylonia were urged to establish themselves in Babylonia, even as they anticipated the redemption seventy years later.

            God’s message to Yitzchak, as explained by the Midrash, emphasizes the need to make the most of less-than-ideal conditions.  Essentially, God was telling Yitzchak that he must not put his life on hold during his temporary stay in Gerar, but should instead live as complete a life as he could under the circumstances.  And this was also Yirmiyahu’s message to the Jews in Babylonia: life, and certainly Jewish life, should not stop in exile.  In our personal lives, too, we often find ourselves in situations that we would prefer to avoid, conditions that turn life into something different than we would ideally wish for.  During these “exiles,” we must heed the Almighty’s command of “Gur ba-aretz ha-zot,” to make the most of the difficult conditions.  Life cannot wait for all our problems to sort themselves out.  Just as Yitzchak was to proceed with his work of developing the land even under the harsh conditions of drought and exile, similarly, we must continue pursuing our goals and ambitions even during the frequent twists and turns of life, when things aren’t quite they way we want them to be.

THURSDAY

            The Torah tells in Parashat Toledot of Yaakov’s purchase of the birthright from his older twin, in Esav, after Esav had returned home famished from the hunt.  Yaakov agreed to feed Esav some of the lentil stew he was preparing, only after he swore on oath to relinquish the privileges of the birthright to Yaakov.

            Commenting on this incident, the Gemara (Bava Batra 16b) relates that on that day, before Esav returned home, he committed five grave transgressions: he engaged in relations with a betrothed girl, murdered, denied God’s existence, denied the belief in resurrection, and scorned the birthright.  The Gemara proceeds to find subtle allusions in the text to these five offenses.

            Interestingly enough, only the fifth of these transgressions is explicitly mentioned in the Torah.  Concluding the story of Esav’s sale of the birthright, the Torah relates, “Va-yivez Esav et ha-bekhora” (“Esav scorned the birthright” – 25:34), referring (at least according to the Gemara) to his disdain for the religious stature and responsibilities of the firstborn.  The other four transgressions, by contrast, are not made explicit, and are only alluded to through very subtle references.

            Rav Aharon Kotler (in Mishnat Rabbi Aharon) suggested that by specifying only this particular offense – the rejection of the birthright – the Torah conveys the message that cynical disdain for religious matters is deemed more severe than actual infractions.  In describing Esav’s character and personality, the Torah found it more relevant to inform us of his cynical attitude than to mention his grave violations of adultery and murder, or his heretical beliefs.  Apparently, the root cause of Esav’s sinfulness was his attitude of scorn and contempt, his a priori refusal to approach religious belief and practice as a serious matter.  Misconduct – even grave misconduct – can be corrected through repentance, and theological misconceptions can be corrected through study and analysis.  But none of this possible as long as a person’s attitude is one of “Va-yivez Esav et ha-bekhora,” disdain and disregard for religious matters.

            We might also suggest a different explanation.  The Torah perhaps recorded Esav’s contempt for the birthright not because of the particular gravity of this attitude, but rather because it reflected his unwillingness to acknowledge his mistakes.  Esav made a rash, impulsive decision to sell the privileges and stature of the birthright for a serving of food.  Afterward, rather than acknowledging his foolish misjudgment, he retroactively justified his decision by downplaying the value of the birthright.  Preferring to avoid the uneasy feelings of remorse, Esav chose instead to turn the transaction into a worthwhile exchange that worked in his favor.

            For this reason, perhaps, the Torah chose to record this mistake while omitting mention of Esav’s grievous transgressions.  People frequently make mistakes, but as long as we are willing to acknowledge them, we have the opportunity to correct them and move forward.  Esav’s critical flaw was not the sins he committed, but rather his stubborn refusal to introspect and scrutinize his behavior, as evidenced by his disdain for the birthright after the sale.  This arrogance denied him the possibility of positive change and growth, and consigned him to a sinful life.

FRIDAY

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Toledot, we read of the difficulties Rivka endured during her pregnancy, in response to which she went “to seek out the Lord” (“li-drosh et Hashem” – 25:22).  Rashi explains this to mean that she consulted with Shem, a prophet at the time, who told her that she had conceived twins, who will produce two large nations.  The Torah does not record any further measures taken by Rivka, indicating that she was satisfied with and consoled by the prophetic message she had received.

            The question, of course, arises as to why the prophet’s response satisfied Rivka and provided comfort despite the ongoing suffering she endured during the pregnancy.

            One simple explanation, as suggested by Rashi, is that Rivka did not seek comfort or an easing of the pain.  Rather, she simply wanted to know what the outcome of the pregnancy would be.  She was concerned not about the pain itself, but rather that they may indicate a serious complication that endangered the fetus.  The prophet reassured her that the pregnancy would be successful, and that she would in fact deliver healthy twin boys who would produce two powerful nations.

            Another possibility (suggested by Rav Shlomo Tzadok in his Shulchan Shelomo) is that Rivka indeed sought some kind of emotional comfort to help her cope with her pain.  The comfort came in the form of a prophetic vision of the long-term outcome of her pregnancy – she was shown that the difficult pregnancy she endured would produce two large nations.  Rashi (25:23) cites the Gemara (Avoda Zara 11a) as explaining that Rivka was shown the wealth and prominence that would be achieved by a descendant of Esav (Antoninus) and of Yaakov (Rabbi Yehuda Ha-nasi).  Meaning, God informed Rivka that the hardships she currently endured would result in the emergence of great nations that were destined for fame and that would shape the history of the world.  Rivka was comforted by the knowledge of the resoundingly successful outcome of her difficult pregnancy, that her suffering would ultimately be rewarded.

            In the absence of prophecy, we are not given any guarantees of the success of our hard work, toil and efforts.  Nevertheless, during difficult periods we could perhaps receive encouragement by contemplating the long-term results of our efforts, by trying to view in our minds the successful outcome to which we strive.

David Silverberg