Toldot: Two Lessons the World Needs to Hear

What’s in a name? Well, in Judaism, and especially in the Hebrew Bible, the answer is quite a lot. The name you are given defines who you are as a person. It represents your identity. It captures your essence. In Hebrew, the word for ‘soul’ is neshamah. At the heart of that word, forming the middle two letters, is a shin and a mem, which together make the word shem, the Hebrew word for ‘name’. Your name is, in many ways, your soul.

A few weeks ago, we read one example of this. Back in the Torah portion of Lech Lecha, Abram (as he was known at the time) has his name changed by God to Abraham: “No longer shall you be called Abram. Your name will be Abraham, for I have made you father to a multitude of nations.” (Gen. 17:5) This change in Abraham’s name was not merely for show; in accepting the monotheistic nature of God, signified a change in Abraham’s very essence and the way he identified himself to others. And hence, God changed his name.

At the beginning of this this week’s Torah portion of Toldot, we read of two central characters of the Hebrew Bible – and, indeed, of Jewish history, right up until today – being given their names. Isaac, Abraham’s son, is married to Rebecca, but, despite him pleading with God on her behalf, she remained childless. Eventually we read:

The Lord granted his [Isaac’s] plea and Rebecca became pregnant. But the children clashed within her. She said, “If this is so, why am I living?” So she went to inquire of the Lord. The Lord said to her, “Two nations are inside your womb; two people are to part from you. People will overpower people, and the greater shall the younger serve.” When the time came for her to give birth, there were twins in her womb. The first came out red. His whole body was like a hairy cloak, so they named his Esau. Then his brother emerged, his hand grasping Esau’s heel, so he named him Jacob. (Gen. 25: 21-26)

Sibling rivalry is not a new phenomenon in the book of Genesis. We already encountered it with Cain and Abel, and Isaac and Ishmael. And over the coming weeks, we will encounter it again in the form of Rachel and Leah, and, most famously, Joseph and his brothers.[1] Yet in the case of Esau and Jacob, the Torah specifically tells us that even whilst in the womb, before they were given their names which represent their identities, the siblings were acting like rivals.

There are two commentaries I read on this passage that I found particularly insightful, one that spoke to a collective level and a second than spoke to an individual level.

The first commentary, which speaks to the collective level, was from Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-88) and it is fascinating. He writes that the two children inside Rebecca’s womb, were not just two individuals, but “represented two contrasting cultures. One nation will establish a state founded on principles of ethics and spirituality, paying attention to the supremacy of the human soul. The rival society will arise under the framework of deceit and power.”

If Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch focuses on what nations and societies as a culture and a collective can learn from the names of Esau and Jacob, then the Lubavitcher Rebbe (1902-94) offers us an insight into what these names can teach us about the way we act at an individual level. He suggests that the two names represent “the two souls that exist within each of us.” The first of these is “an inner Jacob” which represents “our divine soul with its Godly drives”. The second of these is “an inner Esau” which represents “our animating soul with its selfish drives.”

In Judaism, we call these two dimensions of a personality the yetzeh tov – our inclination to do good in the world akin to “an inner Jacob” – and the yetzeh harav – our inclination to do bad akin to “the inner Esau”. Whilst I’m not suggesting that one needs to be religious to be moral, the basic idea, universally applicable, is that there exists, deep within us all, an ongoing internal battle to decide between these two inclinations, whether to choose the right or wrong course of action at any given moment.

The good and bad inclinations are like an internal moral compass, one that helps us to recognise what is moral and just, or immoral and unjust. At times in our history, our collective and individual moral compass as nations and citizens has stood firm in the face of external threats. One can think of the First and Second World War, the Cold War, and many other occasions since not least of which the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine, when the West’s moral compass has remained steady, despite the associated and inevitable tragedies of war.

Whilst there have been many different interpretations about who Esau and Jacob might represent, my aim here is not to identify them with a particular culture or nation. As is well documented throughout history, nations and individuals can, at any time, exhibit both extremes: of embodying Jacob or Esau-like values. However, within the current context and ongoing war in the Middle East, I do think it is possible to view Jacob as Israel and Esau as Hamas and its sympathisers.

Israel was a nation “founded on the principles of ethics and spirituality” to use Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch’s interpretation. In the inspiring words of the Declaration of Independence, read out in Tel Aviv on 14th May 1948, David Ben-Gurion, soon-to-be Israel’s first Prime Minister, promised the world that the new country: “will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; [and] it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions.”

In the past seventy-five years, in times of war and times of peace, and often under the most challenging of circumstances, Israel has done just that. It has built a nation in the image of Jacob, one based on the principles of ethics and spirituality. Of course, Israel isn’t perfect. It has its internal challenges like every modern democracy does, and sometimes those debates are rather louder than elsewhere. But unlike any other country in the Middle East, Israel is a vibrant democracy, one that upholds basic human rights, and respects and represents its citizens, no matter their background or beliefs. It is the Jacob model of society-building.

By contrast, since Hamas took over Gaza and were granted sole control of the land following Israel’s unilateral withdrawal in 2005, time and again it has demonstrated that it operates “under the framework of deceit and power.” The Hamas leadership has used the Palestinian people as human shields for their terrorist activity, launched rockets at Israel from school playgrounds, massacred innocent Israelis, and hidden command centres, weapons, and hostages in the basements of hospitals. It has subjugated the Palestinian people, misspending the millions of dollars of international aid building a vast underground network of tunnels used for terror whilst depriving the Palestinian people of the economic prosperity that could so easily have been theirs under different leadership. Hamas reign in Gaza has been the epitome of the Esau model of society-building.

If we move from the collective to the individual and consider the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s interpretation within the context of the current situation then it at the individual level, in the face of rising levels of antisemitism and hostility, Israelis and Jews around the world are rightly asking the West today: Who will prevail in the fight for moral authority in the minds of the West, the “inner Jacob” or the “inner Esau”? As Rabbi Sacks wrote in his book Not in God’s Name: Confronting Religious Violence, who will win “the fundamental conflict within the human condition: the struggle between the will to power and the will to life”? So far, despite misguided calls for a ceasefire which would allow Hamas to rearm and reload, in the main, Western leaders led by the United States and the United Kingdom have remained mostly steady. Why? Because deep down those leaders knows that Hamas is fighting for the will to power whereas Israel is fighting for the will to life, and that the defeat of Hamas will not just be a victory for Israel, but for the West as well.

Continuing his commentary, the Lubavitcher Rebbe writes: “The divine soul overcomes the animating soul in the same way that light overcomes darkness. Light does not have to actively exert itself to disperse darkness – darkness simply ceases to exist in the same presence of light.” Similarly, he concludes, “as soon as we let the holiness and goodness of our divine souls shine by studying Torah and observing the commandments, the selfishness of the animating soul disappears.”

For those living through these most challenging times in Israel, and especially for those of us living in the Diaspora, one of the ways we can support those on the frontlines, beyond sending support in terms of financial or practical means, is by increasing our learning of Torah. We can supercharge our divine soul.

That is, to be honest, the purpose and reason that I have built time into my week to study the Torah portion and share these thoughts and ideas as to how they relate to the current conflict. It is my personal way of trying to make some sense of what is going on. It is also my very small contribution to the global effort of the Jewish people to support the State of Israel, and to elevate our prayers in the hope that they will grant strength to the brave soldiers of the IDF, that they will heal the physically and mentally injured, and that they will return the hostages safely to their families.

I know my contribution is only a single shimmer of light. But when joined together with others, shimmers of light become shining rays with the power, as the Lubavitcher Rebbe so inspiringly points out, to push back at least some of the darkness in our world.

Shabbat shalom.

[1] For a remarkable and counterintuitive exegesis on the Genesis stories of sibling rivalry, read Not in God’s Name: Confronting Religious Violence by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks.