toldot
parasha Toldot, Genesis chapters 25—28
menu
…and thoughts
toldot
A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
So cried out King Richard lll in Shakespeare’s play of the same name.
Because, without a horse, Richard didn’t stand a chance of surviving the battle.
What would his kingdom be worth to him if he lost his life?
Spoiler alert: He didn’t survive.
A bowl of lentils, a bowl of lentils,
my birthright for a bowl of lentils!
We get it, Esav. You’re hungry. But you won’t die if you need to wait awhile for dinner. Is your birthright of so little value to you? Esav is ruled by his physical desires. He lives in the moment. He’s impulsive and doesn’t think things through. These are not the qualities that we need in the person who will carry the covenant of Abraham forward for the next generation. These are not the qualities of a great leader.
Sometimes it seems to me that the Torah reads like my history textbooks from my school days—we get names, places, events, and dates, but when it comes to the actual people, they come across as very one dimensional. Who are these people, really? What are their motivations? What do they think and feel? We don’t really get to know them personally.
But sometimes, with a little detective work and some logical thinking, we can start to figure them out.
Who is Yaakov?
He’s clearly still got a lot of growing up to do. His twin is a married man, but Yaakov still clings to his mother’s skirts—so much so, that she easily convinces him to deceive his father, even though he has misgivings and is uncomfortable doing so.
I think that before we can continue to consider these brothers, we need to examine their parents.
Rivka is inherently kind, both to other people and to animals. She’s a young woman, her own woman, deciding to leave her home and go with Abraham’s servant to marry a man she doesn’t know. To choose for herself is unusual for the times; one would expect that the men in her family would decide where she should go and whom she should marry.
And she’s clearly never met Yitzhak, because when they arrive at their destination, she needs to ask Eliezer who the man coming towards them might be. So why would she make the choice to marry him? I don’t think she was sufficiently seduced by a few bracelets and nose rings.
She must have known of Yitzhak. Her father, Bethuel, is Abraham’s nephew, son of Abraham’s brother, Nahor. Her mother is Milcah, Abraham’s niece—the daughter of Haran, also a brother of Abraham’s.
And Abraham’s father, Terah, is also Sarah’s father. They have different mothers, which means that they were not siblings in the legal sense in those days…but that doesn’t change the fact that Rivka is also genetically related to Sarah.
So, now we can re-visit the question of who is Rivka.
Rivka has inherited the “high priestess gene” from Sarah. Her mother Milcah, who was close with her Aunt Sarah, nurtured that part of her spirit. Milcah also had mystical leanings and a deep and personal relationship with God, and so she trained her daughter Rivka in the mysteries. She taught her the stories and taught her about the covenant. And so, when Eliezer gave her the opportunity to marry the man who would be the keeper of the covenant, she didn’t hesitate. She knew it was fate.
We know Rivka was the rightful heir of Sarah, because the miracles of Sarah’s tent disappeared at Sarah’s death, but returned when Rivka entered as Yitzhak’s wife.
And who is Yitzhak? He’s damaged goods. He’s got issues.
He’s had a traumatic life. First, his big brother was sent away. Having two sons who are thirteen years apart, I know how much the younger looks up to and adores the older.
Like many women who become mothers later in life, Sarah is over-protective. She keeps him close. His father loves him, but he’s a very busy man and probably doesn’t have a whole lot of time to have a catch with him in the backyard. His father is a powerful man and a great leader, and most likely Yitzhak is in awe of him—so much so that he goes along with what his father tells him to do, even if it means he will die.
But when the angel stays his father’s hand, something in his mind snaps. His god-like image of his father shatters. And when they descend the mountain, they are not together. They are both changed. And Yitzhak is left with PTSD.
Then, he hears that his beloved mother has died! And the word on the street is that she died of heartache, believing that her son has been slain by his father, her husband. (I have a theory on this, too…see above...) That means that in his mind, his mother’s death is on his head! If he’d resisted his father, she’d still be alive.
When Yitzhak marries Rivka, he finds a certain peace in his soul. The return of the miracles of Sarah’s tent tells him that his mother’s spirit still lives, and that it lives in this beautiful, strong, intelligent woman that he has just married. And the text tells us that he loves her.
And that’s all we know. His spirit is broken. He’s beaten. He just wants peace and quiet, to be with his wife and with his God. He spends the rest of his life in recovery. Perhaps Yitzhak feels ineffectual.
Yitzhak is seen as the most passive of the patriarchs. The stories about Abraham and about Jacob are many, and they’re engaging. We have almost no stories about Yitzhak. He’s a vehicle to carry the covenant and pass it to his son.
But which son?
This is not the first time this question pops up. Abraham also had two sons and only one of them would inherit the covenant.
Yitzhak sees himself in Yaakov. Yaakov stays close to the tents, to his mother. He’s devoted to God. He’s quiet and reserved.
Esav, we’re told, is a “wild ass of a man.” He’s strong. Virile. Loud, brave, commanding, a hunter, a man of the forests. And Yitzhak admires that, because Esav represents everything that he’s not. And he loves Esav.
So now let’s circle back to the text.
Yitzhak may have a lot of emotional baggage, but he’s not stupid.
Rivka knows—she doesn’t suppose—that it’s Yaakov who’s destined to carry the covenant forward. But she’s not one to sit around passively and wait for a miracle. Something needs doing, and she does it.
The question remains—why did she never discuss the oracle with her husband? There are many theories. Perhaps she originally thought that he would come to understand this truth on his own, and she didn’t want to burden him with it. Then, after much time had passed, she thought that if she were to mention it now, he’d be upset that she hadn’t told him at the beginning. And now, he’s old, he’s blind, and he’s physically weak. Best to get things done without upsetting him unnecessarily.
But here’s the question that’s plagued me since my mother read me bible stories at bedtime
Do you expect me to believe that Yitzhak was so easily fooled? That, even blind, he couldn’t tell the difference between an animal skin and a hairy arm? And he clearly states that the voice is Yaakov’s, but the arm feels like Esav’s. It makes me think of how one would humor a child who’s trying to play a clever trick on an adult and the adult pretends to fall for it. It’s a game.
But Yaakov is no child. I imagine that it occurred to Yitzhak that his wife put his son up to it. He trusts her. He knows that she’s a seer, a prophet, just like himself. And he may know in his heart of hearts that this is how it is meant to be. Perhaps he thinks that if it’s important enough to her to play this game, she must have a reason—and this way, if he gives the blessing away to the younger son because he was tricked, Esav won’t hold him accountable for it. Perhaps he’s even a little bit afraid of his impulsive, violent, bully of a son. And that part works. Esav holds it against his brother, not his parents.
Esav has lost the right to carry the covenant. And he’s already lost his birthright. Of course, that was his own doing, but a sociopath can’t ever see himself as having made a poor choice. Everything is always someone else’s fault.
But wait! There’s more!
It’s said that Torah may be understood on 72 levels.
Perhaps this is also an evolution story.
Esav, the hairy, wild man of the forests, the hunter-gatherer appears first. He’s the Neanderthal. He is purely physical.
Yaakov arrives after. Soft, refined, he’s an agriculturalist. He’s Homo Sapien. He sees the world through a spiritual lens.
It’s all about adaptability.
140,000 years ago, African drought made tropical areas uninhabitable. The neanderthals were headed for extinction. It was their adaptability that is responsible for homo sapien survival. They learned to live off the sea, eating berries, hunting in grasslands, and moving into caves. They made fire hardened tools specific to various purposes and began to decorate themselves with jewelry and body paint. They developed a sense of spirituality. They learned and they grew. In time, they learned to plant.
Does that not say something about the Jewish people? It’s our ability to adapt that has kept us from going the way of the Hittites and the Amelekites. It’s our spirituality, our Torah that has allowed us to flourish in every age and through every calamity.
So, what shall we eat?
There are two more questions—
Is a bowl of beans special enough to be the main focus of a Shabbat dinner?
Would you sell your birthright for a bowl of lentil stew?
One might at least entertain the idea for a stew that’s this delicious.
My guess is that if Yaakov had had these lentils, Esav might have given up hunting altogether.
So, what’s so great about beluga lentils? Brown lentils and red lentils break apart when cooked, and turn to a creamy mush. This is not a bad thing. In fact, it’s perfect for Indian dals, dips, and smooth soups. But beluga lentils have a stronger skin and they hold their shape when cooked. Their texture is wonderful in a hearty stew that’s chock full of vegetables. What’s more, they’re gorgeous. Shiny and black, they look like caviar when cooked, and they provide a great canvas for the many colorful vegetables, and for the optional fried egg on top, that are an integral part of this recipe.
If you’re cooking for vegans, omit the egg.
But—black lentils, white egg, golden yolk…it looks so dramatic. Finished with some snippets of fresh herbs, the presentation certainly has that wow factor.
And when the yolk is pierced it becomes part of the sauce, rendering it silky and rich.
Served with fresh challah and a crisp salad, it’s a complete and satisfying dinner.
No doubt, this is a lovely weeknight supper. But is it enough for Shabbat?
Sometimes (and this is me talking), simple is wonderful.