How many of you remember the Smothers Brothers? There was Tom—the dim and dopey one playing bass—and Dick—the smart, clean-cut one playing guitar—and they played music in between comedy routines that spiraled out of control like George Burns and Gracie Allen…how many of you remember…never mind…
Their heyday was a little before my time, but even I know their most famous running joke. It was often used as punctuation in their routines, a way to segue out of the bit. Tom would get confused and petulant while Dick stayed calm and tried to explain things until finally, in a fit of pique, Tom would pout, “Mom always liked you best!”
There’s a kernel of truth in that. Not that their mother liked one better than the other, but in siblings feeling that way. I know that from my own life—I’ve got a brother and a sister myself. And I’ve seen that with my own children over the years—I might be focused on one of them and another will try to get my attention any way she can. It’s not that we have favorites, but it can seem that way sometimes. And some parents…well, some parents may have a favorite, which doesn’t usually lead to a successful comic double act.
This brings me to Rebecca and Isaac and their sons, Jacob and Esau. Their favoritism lies at the heart of this week’s portion, Toldot, where we find one of the most heartbreaking lines in the entire Bible. Unlike them, we will focus on Esau, in Hebrew Eisav. Who was he? What motivated him? How did he become reviled? What of his treatment can we see in our own actions, our own relationships?
We first hear of Esau in the womb with Jacob, “And the children seemed to struggle within her.” (Gen 25:22). Rebecca’s wish to bear children has finally been granted, but right at the beginning, even before their birth, the text makes clear that these twins were not going to be close.
How do the rabbis later explain this with a midrash? In the plain reading of the text, we see that both were moving around equally, as babies do. But the rabbis, they twist this into a condemnation of Esau. They extrapolate that whenever Rebecca passed a synagogue or house of study Jacob struggled to eagerly get out, and every time they passed a place of idolatry, Esau struggled to get out. This is why we have to go back to the source.
So Rebecca asks the Lord what’s going on inside of her, and He tells her that two nations will emerge from her womb, and that the older will serve the younger. Because of this, Rebecca takes measures to assure Jacob will receive both Isaac’s inheritance…and his blessing.
As the boys grow up, the rabbis compare Jacob to a myrtle and to Esau as a wild rose growing side by side. Over time, the myrtle yields a lovely fragrance, while the rose grows unsightly and bears harmful thorns. For the first thirteen years, both boys attend school and return home. After that, Jacob chooses to continue his study, while Esau goes to a shrine of idolatry.
Note, this connection of Esau to false worship is nowhere in the plain text of the Torah. It was all added later through interpretation and assumption. In the Torah itself, Esau is simply described as red and hairy, “a skillful hunter, a man of the outdoors.” He’s physical, maybe somewhat animalistic. He is insatiably hungry, emotional and clearly passionate. Yes, he threatens to kill Jacob after the blessing is stolen by pretense, but when the brothers meet again decades later, he runs to Jacob, embraces him, and kisses him. He did not hold a grudge, he did not pull out a knife or a sword, he did not kill Jacob or his family. He appears to have found forgiveness and equilibrium in his own leadership.
On the other hand, Jacob is described as a mild man, “ish tam,” but he is not perfect either. In the words of Isaac to Esau, he “came with deceit and took away your blessing.” Jacob is not without his flaws—who among us is?—but as the future patriarch of Israel, it was impossible for the rabbinic imagination to explore his complexities the way we can and do today. For them, Jacob was about study and home life, Esau was unbridled and emotionally driven. His emotionality and passion were a problem for the rabbis.
Why were they so negative? Through their interpretation, Esau and his people, the Kingdom of Edom, become inextricably linked to Rome. After their reunion, Esau left Caanan and moved East towards what would become the land of the Edomites—the hill country of Seir, roughly Western Jordan. The next step is making Edom—also known as Idumea—from an area in Jordan which went over towards Ashkelon into the Roman Empire, one of the stronger connections simply being the color red which was also worn by Roman centaurians.
In the Talmud it was taught, Rabbi Yehudah bei Rabbi Ilai Baruch said: “Rabbi [Yehudah HaNasi] used to offer this homily: ‘The voice is the voice of Jacob but the hands are the hands of Esau’ (Gen 27:22): The voice is the voice of Jacob crying out because of what the hands of Esau did to him at Beitar.”
This passage refers to the catastrophic conflict between Rome and the people of Judea which took place in 132–135 C.E., popularly known as the Bar Kokhba rebellion.
This war resulted in the Romans razing Jerusalem to the ground, and the destruction of the city of Beitar, where the Romans believed leaders of the rebellion were stationed. In referencing Beitar’s destruction, this Talmudic legend clearly associates the Roman Empire with Esau, and presents Jews and Romans as eternal antagonists.
Putting aside the rabbinic links to Rome, if we strip away the midrash and look at the plain text—in other words, going back to the source—Esau becomes a tragic character…and a very relatable one. “Mom always like you best,” but literally. Like the rasha at the Seder Table, can we make a place for Esau? How do we love the unlovable or, at the very least, the hard to love?
In pop culture terms, we love Walter White, we love Darth Vader, even New Jersey’s own Tony Soprano who lives nearby…or died nearby, depending. The rise of the antihero has challenged our sense that “the protagonist must always be good, or they must become good by the end of the story.” Clearly, we are able to love these characters, but can we love the unlovable in our own traditions and our own lives?
The relationship of Isaac and Esau remains a close one. Quiet Isaac is drawn to this energetic son, this man of the field, perhaps admiring that which he himself lacks. When Isaac realizes that he’s been duped, his distress is real and physical, “Isaac was seized with very violent trembling.” (Gen 27:33)
Esau’s heart-wrenching replies echo down to all of us who sought love and attention only to find it unavailable. This was more than a momentary focus on one child over another. Not once but three times does Esau request a blessing—his tears and yearning are deep. “When Esau heard his father’s words, he burst into wild and bitter sobbing, and said to his father, “Bless me too, Father!” and later, “Is there no blessing for me?” (Gen 27:36) וַיֹּאמַ֕ר הֲלֹא־אָצַ֥לְתָּ לִּ֖י בְּרָכָֽה׃ Finally he cries out, “Have you but one blessing, Father? Bless me too, Father!” And Esau wept aloud.” (27:38)
And drawing deep, Isaac does find words for Esau at last. “See, your abode shall enjoy the fat of the earth, And the dew of heaven above. Yet by your sword you shall live, And you shall serve your brother; But when you grow restive, You shall break his yoke from your neck.” (Gen 27:39-40).
Do we only have one blessing to give? Is there a limit to blessing? Can we reserve blessings for those in our lives who are challenging, who aren’t immediately lovable? Can we see the strengths of Esau AND Jacob—let alone our own Esaus and Jacobs—or are we judgmental and limiting? Esau’s tears fall to teach us to remain open, to listen, to go back to the source and judge for ourselves. How much damage has been done through the generations by withholding…by favoritism…by willful ignorance?
Coming back to Tom and Dick Smothers, what we saw on stage was not the reality at all. Tom was the brains behind the duo, he wrote many of their routines and came up with the petulant running joke. Dick played along because he was good at the guitar and audiences loved the schtick. We can appreciate the surface, but we only learn the truth by looking more closely, by listening, by getting to know the source. Mom always liked them both.
In closing, I’d like to share a poem by Nicolette Sowder, a farmer, blogger, and founder of Wilder Child, which teaches and promotes Nature-based Parenting.
May we raise children
who love the unloved
things – the dandelion, the
worms and spiderlings.
Children who sense
the rose needs the thorn
& run into rainswept days
the same way they
turn towards sun…
And when they’re grown &
someone has to speak for those
who have no voice
may they draw upon that
wilder bond, those days of
tending tender things
and be the ones.