Let’s be clear: When Esau comes home, famished from hunting, and his brother Jacob takes the opportunity to offer him stew at the expense of his birthright, this is not a fair trade. Jacob is taking advantage of Esau in a vulnerable moment. If that’s not initially obvious, it should become so when we see the lengths Jacob must go to to actually receive Esau’s birthright and blessing from their father Isaac. He puts on Esau’s clothing and disguises himself with fake body hair, taking advantage of Isaac’s blindness to take what’s “rightfully his” without a struggle. This is so obviously deceitful, so clearly manipulative and underhanded…right?
Apparently, our ancestors couldn’t really handle thinking about Jacob that way. Ibn Ezra wrote, “Esau was constantly practicing deception, for most animals are trapped through trickery. Jacob was his antithesis, because he was a man of integrity.” (Genesis 25:27) Excuse me? I feel for the animals Esau trapped, but what about Jacob tricking his blind father? Where’s the integrity there? Ibn Ezra isn’t the only medieval commentator full of apologetics for Jacob; they really were focused on sticking to the party line. Jacob got the birthright and blessing. That was important because it allowed us Israelites to kick-start our lives the way we needed to. Esau was a brute, anyway. (But was he, really? Think about later on, when the two of them reunite. Jacob is terrified Esau will get violent, but Esau just wants to embrace him. It’s pretty incredible, honestly.) These commentators can’t handle the narrative that Jacob, our hero, did something so wrong.
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I don’t think they’re the only ones. Today, we still struggle to recognize the gray within our heroes as well as within our ideological opponents. We jump to point out the hypocrisy, unethical behavior, and dearth of compassion in our enemies, while doing everything possible to underplay that of our allies — and, of course, ourselves. As we live through this excruciating time of grief and war, reality truly is too painful to bear. And so we point our fingers, trying to figure out whose fault it all is, or who isn’t responding correctly. We expect, we demand, wide open hearts from others, while our own hearts remain deeply bitter, resentful, and mistrustful.
I get it. I must be doing this, too. There is so much at stake. We feel like we need to preserve any power, any appearances, any upper hand that we can. Jacob must have felt that way, too, as did generations upon generations of his descendants who defended him without fail. It’s hard not to feel like the ends justify the means. But as we continue to push through with our narrative, what do we lose along the way? How much credibility are we willing to sacrifice? Are we partisans, or are we peace-pursuers, justice seekers, and lovers of humanity?
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Our ancestor Jacob’s story began with manipulation and deception, and he was never a perfect hero (who is?), but along the way, he managed to withstand, learn, and perform extraordinary things. He showed what it means to be patient for love. He showed what it means to lead one’s children with firm honesty in his final blessings (and admonishments) to them. He wrestled with a messenger of God, in courage and in vulnerability, and allowed that experience to change him and his name forever. We can acknowledge our own shortcomings, and those of the people we care about, and still hold fast to our belief in repentance, repair, healing, and growth. We can be honest, about ourselves and one another, and we can still move through the world from a place of compassion.
Rabbi Hannah Spiro is the rabbi of Hill Havurah, an independent congregation on Capitol Hill, and a 2017 graduate of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. When she’s not parenting her two little ones or serving her congregation, you can find her practicing aerial acrobatics, learning daf yomi, and watching “Survivor.”