Towards the beginning of Parashat Toledot, we read of the "sale" of Esav's "bekhora" (birthright) to Yaakov. This incident raises many questions, which have been dealt with by both Biblical commentators as well as halakhists. For one thing, scholars have discussed the legal significance of this sale. The privileges associated with the birthright take effect only upon the father's death; as such, these privileges fall under the halakhic category of "davar she-lo ba la-olam" – something that has yet to come into one's possession. According to Halakha, one does not have the legal power to sell such an item, and such a sale is thus legally meaningless. Additionally, writers have had to grapple with the moral problem that arises from this sale. The Torah describes Esav as returning home weary and famished from the hunt, to the point where Esav exclaims, "Behold, I am going to die!" (25:32; see Rashi, however, for a much different explanation of this sentence). Does not Yaakov take unfair advantage of his brother's hunger, by demanding the eternal birthright in exchange for a bowl of lentils?

These and other questions concerning this episode are immediately resolved if we accept the approach taken by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch and Rav David Tzvi Hoffman to this entire narrative. Based on a passage in the Midrash referring to the brothers' conduct in this story as "mesachakim" – "playing," these commentators argue that this "sale" was never intended as a serious, legally binding exchange. Never do we find Yaakov pointing to this incident as a basis for his right to his father's blessing or to any other privilege. Quite to the contrary, later in the parasha, we find Yaakov initially refusing to go along with his mother's plot to seize his father's blessing from Esav, and he finally agrees only reluctantly, out of respect for his mother's wishes. The "sale" of the birthright is actually no more than childish games between two brothers.

Why, then, does the Torah bother recording this incident? This story reveals and exemplifies the different orientations that Esav and Yaakov began to develop as they reached adolescence. As Rav Hirsch writes, Yaakov's "demand" that Esav sell him the birthright in fact expressed his desire to inherit the legacy of Avraham and Yitzchak, a desire that paralleled Esav's craving for food at that moment. Rav Hirsch adds that this contrast between Yaakov because even more acute in light of Chazal's comment that Avraham had died that day (see Rashi, 25:30). As Esav spends the day hunting, Yaakov begins to ponder the future of Avraham's legacy and wonder what will happen when it is Yitzchak, rather than Avraham, who passes away. And thus when Esav returns home and asks for nothing but food, Yaakov has on his mind the future of Avraham's spiritual teachings.

The purpose of this narrative, then, is not the legal repercussions of this sale, but rather the fundamental difference in the brothers' orientation that it reveals.

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In Parashat Toledot the Torah informs us that after Avraham's death, the Pelishtim (Philistines) stuffed the wells of water that he had dug in the Negev, and his son, Yitzchak, now digs them anew (26:15,18). At first glance, this conduct of the Pelishtim seems totally irrational and self-destructive. We can easily understand the incident briefly recorded earlier, in Parashat Vayera (21:25), where servants of the Philistine king, Avimelekh, stole one of Avraham's wells and claimed rightful ownership over it. Yitzchak encounters similar trouble with the Pelishtim, as told in this parasha (26:19-21). But why would anybody stuff a well of precious water in the arid region of the Negev, denying themselves and the entire population such an invaluable resource?

Chizkuni explains that the Pelishtim sought to block Yitzchak from acquiring any permanent holding in the country. Having grown fearful and jealous of Yitzchak's agricultural success (see 21:14), the Pelishtim found it necessary to prevent Yitzchak from obtaining any real estate in their area. They therefore stuffed his father's wells with dirt, so that he could not claim legal ownership over them.

Still, the question remains, why would they resort to this tactic, which further depleted their already low water supply (recall this was a time of famine)? Are we to believe that their rage of jealousy led them to take such drastic measures?

The Radak similarly understood the Pelishtim's actions as a result of envy. He writes, "They therefore stuffed them, for they said: 'They shall be neither his nor ours'." The Radak here borrows the expression used in the famous story of "Mishpat Shelomo," the case that came before King Shelomo involving two women fighting over a baby. Shelomo resolved the case by ordering his servants to slice the infant into two halves. The real mother immediately protested, preferring to grant the other woman custody rather than witness her child's death, while the other woman responded, "It shall be neither mine nor yours." But this association implicitly drawn by the Radak only reinforces our question. After all, this is precisely how Shelomo solved the case: the real mother would certainly not have preferred killing the child to giving him to the other woman. Only a woman who had no feelings for the infant would have allowed her jealousy to reach such proportions. In our case, shouldn't the Pelishtim have acted like the real mother? Was it not in their best interest to leave the water accessible, albeit in Yitzchak's possession, so as to increase the region's water supply and thus lower prices?

We might add yet another difficulty in this approach of Chizkuni and the Radak, who claimed that the Pelishtim were driven by envy. The verse (26:15) indicates that the Pelishtim stuffed these wells after Avraham's death, not necessarily when Yitzchak moved to their area. The implication is that they stuffed these wells immediately upon Avraham's passing, without any connection to Yitzchak's residence in Gerar or his material success.

This problem led Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, author of "Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala," to a novel approach to this incident. As part of Avraham's incessant efforts to disseminate the awareness of God, he would give his wells names related to God. Since all people had to come purchase water from wells, the water business gave Avraham an ideal opportunity to reach large numbers of people. Anytime a person would come to one of Avraham's wells, he would automatically be reminded of the Almighty. In this way, Avraham hoped to instill within his contemporaries a keen awareness of God's presence. After his death, however, the effects of his efforts began to wane. The local population again reverted to idolatry, and thus felt compelled to erase the memory of these wells, which bore the Name of the true God.

For this reason, Rav Mecklenberg suggests, the Torah finds it necessary to inform us not only that Yitzchak dug his father's wells anew, but also that "he gave them the same names that his father had given them" (26:18). Yitzchak attempted to renew his father's campaign of religious instruction, and he thus sought to dig these same wells and assign them the same names referring to the Almighty.

Thus, it was more than jealousy that prompted the Pelishtim to act in such a self-destructive manner. Their goal in stuffing the wells was to obliterate Avraham's religious legacy and educational impact, so that they could continue worshipping idols without being haunted by the memory of Avraham's persuasive and influential teachings.

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In Parashat Toledot, the Torah describes Esav with two expressions: "ish yodei'a tzayid" – literally, "a man proficient in hunting" (or, "a man proficient in deception") – and "ish sadeh" – literally, "a man of the field" (25:27). Commenting on the Torah's second description, Rashi writes, "As iimplies – a man who is idle and hunts animals and birds with his bow." According to Rashi, then, the Torah here emphasizes Esav's "idleness," that rather than involving himself in constructive activity, he instead spent his days hunting for sport.

A similar approach emerges from Targum Onkelos' Aramaic translation of the term "ish sadeh": "nechashirkhan." (In the standard editions of Targum Onkelos, this translation appears as two separate words – "nekhash yirkhan"; Tosefot in Bava Kama, however, read it as a single Aramaic word.) Rabbenu Tam, as cited by Tosefot in Masekhet Bava Kama (92b), explained this Aramaic word to mean, "nach u-batel," that Esav would "rest and be idle." Tosefot there discuss the term used there in the Gemara, "kina de-sharkhi," referring to a fruitless tree, and they claim that this word relates to the word employed by Onkelos – "nechashirkan." Thus, the Torah here compares Esav to a fruitless tree; he spent his time relaxing and enjoying comfort, rather than working and contributing to the world.

It is in this sense, perhaps, that the Torah here contrasts Esav with his brother, Yaakov. This same verse describes Yaakov as a "yosheiv ohalim" – dweller of tents, which Rashi understands as a reference to his diligent Torah study in the "tents" (or study halls) of Shem and Ever. Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel likewise mentions Yaakov's diligent learning, and then adds that Yaakov was "teva ulfan min kadam Hashem" – he would seek God's teaching. This same Aramaic phrase appears in Targum Onkelos' translation of a verse in Sefer Shemot (33:7) – "whoever sought the Lord would go out to the Tent of Meeting." Onkelos there translates "whoever sought the Lord" ("kol mevakesh Hashem") with this precise phrase – "kol de-tava ulfan min kadam Hashem." It thus turns out that according to Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel, the Torah in Parashat Toledot describes Yaakov as a "mevakesh Hashem" – a person who sought out God.

Herein, it would seem, lies the point of contrast between Yaakov and Esav. Whereas Esav preferred to live a life of relaxation and comfort, Yaakov lived a life of exertion and toil. Esav pursued luxury, while Yaakov pursued knowledge and piety.

As the descendants and spiritual heirs of Yaakov, we must devote ourselves to this ideal of "mevakesh Hashem" – to the intense pursuit of spiritual greatness. The pursuit of comfort and leisure is the spiritual legacy of Esav, who represents the antithesis of the goals that should characterize the Nation of Israel. Our ideal must be not the easy, relaxing lifestyle of Esav, but rather the intensive yearning for growth and creativity displayed by Yaakov.

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Yesterday, we developed one approach to the precise difference between Yaakov and Esav based on the Torah's brief description of their personalities in Parashat Toledot. Today we will present the approach taken by Rav Soloveitchik zt"l, in a shiur transcribed by Ayton Holtzer and printed (in Hebrew translation) in the yeshiva's publication, "Daf Kesher" (available online at www.etzion.org.il/dk/1to899/522daf.htm).

The Torah (25:27) describes Esav with two expressions: "ish yodei'a tzayid" ("a man proficient in hunting") and "ish sadeh" ("a man of the field"). Rav Soloveitchik suggested that "hunting" in this context refers to aggressive ambition, the drive to work and achieve and continue working to achieve even more. More specifically, an "ish yodei'a tzayid" relies on no one other than himself and his own initiatives and efforts. He denies the concept of providence as the primary factor determining a person's successes and failures, and thus focuses exclusively on honing his talents and exerting himself to the utmost in pursuit of his goals.

While "ish yodei'a tzayid" describes Esav's approach to pursuing his goals, the second term – "ish sadeh" – tells us what his goals were. According to Rav Soloveitchik, an "ish sadeh" is a person driven by a passion for wealth, luxury and fame. The "field" – the workplace – is not only the place where he earned his livelihood, but the very essence of his life. He devotes himself tirelessly to the accumulation of wealth and luxury, and in this relentless pursuit, ideals such as compassion and sensitivity become obstacles, rather than limits. Esav, as Chazal describe, cared little for the needs of those around him, preferring instead to focus his energies entirely on his personal aggrandizement, rather than concern for others.

In this context, Rav Soloveitchik drew a parallel between modern, western man and the Biblical Esav. Like Esav, modern man also relies exclusively on his own efforts and refuses to acknowledge God's hand in his fate. Furthermore, 20^th-century man was guilty, Rav Soloveitchik claimed, of being an "ish sadeh," of allowing the pursuit of wealth, comfort and fame to overtake his life and define his very essence. The accumulation of wealth has become an end unto itself, and an end that justified virtually all means. People feel responsible only for themselves and their fortunes, and thus allow themselves to trample over others during their frantic pursuit of affluence.

Jewish tradition teaches us to instead follow the example of Yaakov, whom the Torah here describes as an "ish tam, yosheiv ohalim" – "a simple man, a dweller of tents." Yaakov's "simplicity," the Rav argued (citing his father, Rav Moshe zt"l), cannot possibly refer to simplemindedness or naivete. After all, over the course of his life he manages to outmaneuver both his murderous brother and his insidious uncle. Rather, Yaakov's simplicity manifested itself in the nature of his lifestyle, which was characterized by humility and contentment. In direct contradistinction to Esav, Yaakov felt no need to pursue luxury or prominence. He felt perfectly content dwelling in his "tents" of study, learning and practicing the laws of God, pursuing spiritual excellence rather than material excess. Understanding what his brother couldn’t, that our sustenance and very lives depend upon divine grace, Yaakov invested his energies in the service of God, rather than devoting himself exclusively to the pursuit of material gain.

Interestingly, Rav Soloveitchik noted that this difference between the two brothers is manifest in the different blessings they receive from their father. Although Yitzchak blesses both with "dew of heaven" and "fat of the earth" (see 27:28 and 27:39), in Yaakov's blessing, Yitzchak emphasizes the hand of God which bestows this blessing of abundance: "May God give you of the dew of heaven and the fat of the earth." In his blessing to Esav, by contrast, Yitzchak simply declares, "Your abode shall enjoy the fat of the earth and the dew of heaven above." Esav will not receive his bounty from the Almighty, but rather, as the blessing continues, "You shall live by your sword." Esav, the "hunter," insists on his ability to achieve with his personal efforts, dependent on no one. He therefore forfeited the unique blessing of providence granted to Yaakov, who receives his "dew" and "fat" from the outstretched hand of the Almighty, rather than "by the sword."

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Towards the beginning of Parashat Toledot, we read the account of Esav's "sale" of his birthright to his younger brother, Yaakov. The Torah tells that Esav returns home after a wearisome day in the field and asks his brother to feed him some of the lentils he was preparing. Esav's terminology in formulating this request has caught the attention of several commentators, including Rashi. Esav asks his brother, "Hal'iteni na min ha-adom... " Rashi, commenting on the term "hal'iteni," refers us to a mishna in the final chapter of Masekhet Shabbat (155b) that employs this word. The mishna discusses various forms of feeding animals that Halakha forbids on Shabbat due to the exertion involved. This particular form of feeding – "hal'ata," which is permitted on Shabbat, involves thrusting the food into the animal's mouth, but not deep enough that the animal would be unable to regurgitate it. Accordingly, Rashi writes, we must interpret this verse tmean that Esav asked Yaakov to actually shove the food in his mouth, rather than simply place it in front of him, as we would normally expect one to do. Rashi's explanation of "hal'iteni" originates from the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 63), which states explicitly that Esav asked Yaakov to feed him the food straight into his mouth. The Midrash comments, "That wicked man [Esav] stretched open his mouth like a camel. He said to him, 'I am opening my mouth – you go ahead and pour.'" (By contrast, Rav Sa'adya Gaon and Ibn Ezra interpret "hal'iteni" to mean simply, "feed me," presumably referring to the normal manner of feeding – placing the food in front of him.)

The Rebbe of Kotzk is cited (in "Pirchei Rashi") as pointing to this very expression – "hal'iteni," which generally refers to the feeding of animals, as the clearest indication in the Torah's narrative of Esav's base character. Chazal describe in great detail Esav's many crimes, which included rape and wanton murder. And yet, the Kotzker Rebbe remarked, the Torah made explicit reference to only one particular fault in Esav's character: his lack of self-respect. Not only did Esav conduct himself tactlessly, he had no qualms of explicitly asking his brother to feed him as he would an animal – "hal'iteni." When a person fails to recognize his own dignity and worth, he is very likely to turn into an Esav and commit the severe crimes described in the various Midrashim.

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," mentions in this context a halakha codified in the Shulchan Arukh (C.M. 34:18) disqualifying for testimony people who act in a self-degrading manner in terms of eating habits, dress, and so on. The reason behind this halakha, Rav Ginsburg explains, is that a person who has no concern for his own dignity doesn't hold himself to any strict standards of decency, and we therefore have little reason to believe that he will tell the truth. (See Rashi, Masekhet Kiddushin 40b.) Furthermore, as we see in this verse, self-degrading conduct stems from an approach that equates man and beast. A person who does not maintain basic standards of dignity denies the "tzelem Elokim" (divine image) within the human being, and thus sees no reason why a person should act any differently from an animal. In his eyes, human life means nothing more than animal life; it involves only the endless, unrestrained pursuit of gratification.

Rav Ginsburg adds that this attitude of Esav helps explain a different comment of Chazal (in Bereishit Rabba 63) concerning his theological approach. The Midrash tells that when Esav arrived home that day, Yaakov informed him that their grandfather, Avraham, had just passed away. Esav responded, "The [divine] attribute of justice affected that old man?" When Yaakov replied in the affirmative, Esav retorted, "If so, then there is no reward and no techiyat ha-meitim [restoration of life to the dead]!" Rav Ginsburg explains that naturally, a person who equates man and beast will deny the concepts of reward, retribution and the immortality of the soul. A person who cannot see beyond the physical properties of the human being, who does not acknowledge man's divine image and higher spiritual calling, cannot possibly entertain the notions of accountability and the soul's independence from the body.

Finally, Rav Benjamin Yudin (www.torahweb.org/torah/2000/parsha/ryud_toldos.html) suggested that it was this request of Esav, that Yaakov pour food down his throat like an animal, that prompted Yaakov to demand the birthright in exchange. Yaakov immediately understood that a man who conducts himself degradingly, with no concern for his own dignity, cannot possibly assume the religious responsibilities associated with the bekhora (birthright). This privilege is reserved for a person with spiritual ambition, which clearly requires an awareness of the human being's spiritual potential. Yaakov therefore ensured to first secure Esav's consent to relinquish the bekhora before agreeing to feed him.

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Parashat Toledot tells the famous story of Yitzchak's blessing, which Yaakov slyly snatches from Esav by posing as his brother and thereby fooling his visually impaired father. The Torah introduces this story by informing us of Yitzchak's loss of vision: "When Yitzchak was old and his eyes were too dim to see, he called his older son Esav… " (27:1). Rashi (in some editions of his commentary) cites a passage from the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 65:6) that traces Yitzchak's blindness back to the experience of the akeida, when his father bound him upon the altar to slaughter him in fulfillment of God's command. The Midrash, as cited by Rashi, comments, "When he was bound upon the altar and his father prepared to slaughter him, at that moment the heavens opened and they saw the ministering angels who were crying. Their tears descended and fell into his eyes, and they therefore dimmed." How are we to understand this connection between Yitzchak's loss of vision and the weeping of the angels at the time of the akeida?

Rav Ezra Bick, in a VBM shiur on this topic several years ago (available at the VBM archives, at www.vbm-torah.org/parsha.61/06toldot.htm), presented a thorough analysis of this Midrashic passage and suggested the following approach. For one thing, the Midrash clearly reads this verse as referring to an additional form of "blindness," beyond the actual loss of sight. The verse speaks here as well of Yitzchak's inability to properly perceive the situation before him, specifically with regard to his son whom he now wishes to bless. Yitzchak was "blinded" to Esav's ignoble character and thus found him worthy of his blessing. In fact, as Rav Bick notes, this "midrashic" reading of the verse actually has strong basis in the text. Certainly, on the level of "peshat" (the straightforward reading of the text), the Torah had to inform us of Yitzchak's physical blindness as necessary background information for the rest of the story, which tells of Yaakov's deception of his father. However, the location of this background information within the narrative requires explanation. Generally, when the Torah provides background information necessary for understanding the current narrative, it does so immediately prior to the place in the text where the background information is necessary. For example, in Parashat Vayera, the Torah tells that Sara laughed upon hearing her guest's prediction that she will bear a child the following year (Bereishit 18:12). The immediately preceding verse provides the background information necessary to understand her response: "Now Avraham and Sara were old, advanced in years; Sara had stopped having the periods of women." Similarly, in our context, too, we would expect to read of Yitzchak's blindness a bit later in the narrative, at the point when Rivka devises her plan to have Yaakov deceive his father by posing as Esav. Only at that point does it become necessary for the reader to learn of Yitzchak's impaired vision. The Torah, however, informs us of Yitzchak's blindness at the outset of the story, introducing Yitzchak's call to Esav to bestow upon him blessing. The Midrash therefore understood that Yitzchak's "blindness" involved not merely the physical loss of sight, but a loss of perception, as well, which led him to deem Esav worthy of his blessing.

The Midrash attributes Yitzchak's clouded perception to the experience of the akeida and the tears of the angels that fell into his eyes. To what does the Midrash refer with the image of the weeping angels? Rav Bick explains that Midrashim often portray angels as engaged in disputes against God, representing a voice that He ultimately refuses to heed. For example, one famous Midrashic passage tells that the angels protested God's decision to create man, arguing that God, the embodiment of absolute and pristine truth, cannot possibly bring into existence a creature that lives a life of deception and hypocrisy. God responded by taking "trut" and casting it down on the ground, so as to allow Him, so-to-speak, to create man. Similarly, the Midrash tells that when Moshe ascended Mount Sinai to receive the Torah, the angels objected, claiming that the Torah belongs in the heavens. In all these instances, the angels symbolize a certain objective reality that God must contend with, as it were, in deciding how to govern the world. God indeed had to sacrifice the purity of the ideal of truth in order to create man, and it could have been argued that the Torah's rightful place is in the purely spiritual domain of the heavens, rather than in the very imperfect realm of human life.

In the case of the akeida, the angels represent the undeniable, objective truth that a father must never kill his own son, most certainly not with the conviction and determination of Avraham. The angels' tears symbolize the absurdity of the entire scenario of akeidat Yitzchak, the sheer incongruity between this scene and the most basic laws governing human conduct. Of course, God ordained that Avraham prepare to kill Yitzchak for reasons discussed and debated by scholars throughout the ages. But the angels' tears – just like their initial protest to the creation of man at the expense of absolute truth – signified the opposite side of the coin, that Avraham's preparedness to kill his son defied all law and reason, as much as it demonstrated his limitless obedience to God. It was these tears, Rav Bick explains, that resulted in Yitzchak's inability to reject his son and deny him his blessing. The trauma of near death at the hands of his father prevented Yitzchak from seeing his own son's fundamental flaws. He remained unconditionally devoted to his sons specifically because of the experience of the akeida, where his father prepared to slaughter him. Having experienced firsthand the unthinkable scenario of his father preparing to kill him, Yitzchak could not bring himself to reject his eldest son, Esav, and therefore intended to bless him despite his unworthiness.

(Rav David Kaviat, in his "Sukat David," suggests a very similar approach to understanding this Midrash, only with a slightly different formulation.)

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Today we will conclude this year's series of divrei Torah for Parashat Toledot by presenting a particularly fascinating – and revolutionary – approach taken by one of the renowned 19^th-century commentators to the story of Esav's sale of the birthright to Yaakov. Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, author of "Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala," claims that Esav did not sell his birthright at all (not even as a "childish game," as Rav Hirsch and Rav David Tzvi Hoffman claim). He argues that we cannot possibly ascribe to Yaakov such an insidious ploy, of capitalizing on his brother's desperate hunger to seize his birthright. Even a person who would resort to such a scheme, Rav Mecklenberg claims, would not do so as openly and unabashedly as Yaakov does. Criminals try to conceal their devious maneuvers behind a veil of legality and decency. Yaakov, however, appears to openly take advantage of his brother's hunger to grab for himself what rightfully belongs to Esav.

Rav Mecklenberg therefore advances a revolutionary approach to this narrative, which he proves based on a syntactical subtlety in the text. Immediately after telling that Esav sold his bekhora to Yaakov, the Torah writes, "And Yaakov gave to Esav bread and lentil stew… " (25:34). Rav Mecklenberg notes that the Torah here does not employ the standard past-tense form generally used in Biblical narrative, which in this case would yield, "Va-yiten Yaakov le-Esav… " Instead, the Torah describes the action by first mentioning the subject, followed the predicate: "Ve-Yaakov natan le-Esav." This form generally indicates that the event described occurred prior to this point in the narrative. (The most famous example, perhaps, is the verse in Parashat Bereishit – "Ve-ha-adam yada et Chava ishto"; see Rashi to Bereishit 4:1.) Accordingly, we should translate this verse as, "Yaakov had given to Esav bread and lentil stew." Meaning, even before Esav "sold" the birthright to Yaakov, Yaakov fed Esav. We must conclude, therefore, that Yaakov gave Esav food even before the entire discussion concerning the sale of the birthright.

How, then, are we to read this narrative?

Rav Mecklenberg explains that immediately upon hearing Esav's request for food, Yaakov fed him without delay. How else should we expect a decent person with a full pot of food to react to his brother's hunger? Over the course of the meal, the conversation somehow moved onto the topic of the birthright. (According to the Midrash claiming that Avraham died that day, we can easily understand why Esav and Yaakov would begin discussing the issue of succession and what will occur with their father passes on.) At this point, Esav expressed his disinterest in the bekhora and belittled its importance. Yaakov then remarked, "Mikhra kha-yom et bekhoratekha li" (25:31). All commentators translate this phrase in the imperative form: "Sell to me as on this day your birthright." Rav Mecklenberg, however, argues that the imperative form of the verb "m.kh.r." is "mokhra" (with a "kamatz chazak" underneath the letter "mem"), rather than "mikhra." He therefore suggests that the word "mikhra" is equivalent to the Hebrew word "mekhura" – "it is sold." Yaakov here tells his brother that his indifference to the birthright renders it automatically transferred to his brother (Yaakov). If Esav has no interest in the privileges of the bekhora, then he ipso facto relinquishes all rights to this status and it is thus conferred upon Yaakov. And when the Torah writes, "va-yimkor et bekhorato le-Yaakov" (25:33), which we generally translate as, "he sold his birthright to Yaakov," it in fact means that Esav relinquished his claim to the bekhora, such that it naturally went to Yaakov. What transpired here was thus not an actual sale, but rather an agreement between the two brothers (over the dinner table) that the bekhora has been automatically transferred to Yaakov.

Clearly, however, Rav Mecklenberg represents a lone voice in this regard, and, as he himself acknowledges in his commentary, all other commentators understood the verses to mean that Yaakov demanded the birthright in exchange for the food he fed to his brother.