Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes—not a fairy tale—& Toldot

I’m in the countdown—6 weeks until ordination.

I’m facing some exciting changes and opportunities.

There is much to do in preparation for my ordination, and also for a new venture I’m on (which I’m not ready to share just yet).

These coming weeks are also a time for me to go inward.

All this is to say, my blog writing is also going through some changes. I need to re-balance my priorities. We shall see what form it all takes. Bear with me as I figure it all out.

Speaking of changes, when we go through big ones (i.e. ordination), we often have a fairy tale version of how things will be once we’re done—that is, for the ones we’re yearning for and have worked hard to achieve.

The parsha begins with Rebecca finally pregnant. She and Isaac have been yearning for a child after 20 years of barrenness.

But this pregnancy and birth—and their life as a family—are no fairy tale to match the love that happened at first sight between Rebecca and Isaac.

Rebecca is in great physical pain; there are two sons crushing each other (וַיִּתְרֹֽצְצ֤וּ/vayitrotz’tzu) in her womb: the famous Esau and Jacob.

Rebecca cries out to God, wondering why she exists if she is to suffer so; אִם־כֵּ֔ן לָ֥מָּה זֶּ֖ה אָנֹ֑כִי/im ken, lama ze anochi?

God informs her that the boys are two warring nations, and one will dominate the other.

They even leave the womb fighting; Esau emerges with Jacob grasping his heal.

The rest of the story is full of decisions that are clouded by similar kinds of desperation, lack of trust—in one’s body, for instance—but also in a wider, longer perspective on life.

To further complicate matters, there is the common wish to lay blame on others for things going awry, as opposed to taking responsibility for one’s own actions.

Esau is famished after coming in from the hunt, and Jacob uses this to manipulate him into selling his birthright.

Esau’s anger at his brother grows as he blames Jacob for having given up his birthright—but was his life actually ever in danger?

Then Isaac, now old with poor eyesight, sends his favorite, Esau, to go hunt and cook for him. This is in preparation for bestowing Isaac’s innermost blessing upon him before he dies.

Rebecca overhears.

Wanting her favorite, Jacob, to receive the blessing, she devises a quick plan while Esau is out hunting.

Jacob approaches Isaac in disguise, and manages to fool him.

Isaac, though he does not recognize Esau’s voice, allows himself to be fooled; he gives his innermost blessing to Jacob instead.

Esau’s heart is broken.

And Isaac pretends to be helpless; he has given away his blessing already, and nothing can be done to undo it.

Esau’s anger flares and he swears he will kill Jacob as soon as the mourning period for their father is over.

Rebecca, to save both her sons, sends Jacob away. The brothers do not see each other for decades after that.

Hearts are broken all around.

How many of us have been in such a situation—where our suffering feels so great that we wonder at the wisdom of going on living, like Rebecca?

How many have made decisions out of desperation, or a wish to control a situation, thinking our way is the right way, the best way?

How many have given over our responsibility, and blamed others for our situation?

Did we think it would be easy just because we were in love when we started out?

The actions of all these characters show a lack of trust and faith on so many levels—for Rebecca and Esau in their bodies, and later, for wanting to control the outcome, but simultaneously a lack of willingness to take responsibility—and to see!

The lessons from this parsha are great. Life is never a fairy tale, though we may wish or imagine it could be.

But we can make it better.

We must be willing to seek clarity, see things as they are, take responsibility for our actions—and let go of control—at least a little: to trust, at least a bit.

May it be so.

And say Amen.