This week’s parsha, Toledot, offers few surprises—family dynamics are familiar to us for sure. We read about the births of Esau and Jacob, twins, though Esau was born first. Despite being raised by the same parents under the same roof, the brothers were very different. Anyone with siblings—or has more than one child—knows this well: same upbringing, different personalities.
A clear display of sibling rivalry, Esau was rugged, an outdoorsman who loved hunting—a classic “meat-and-potatoes” type of man, who was clearly Isaac’s son. Jacob, in contrast, was more like his mother, Rebekah—a homebody described as an "eish tam yoshev ohalim," a mild man of tents who raised livestock and enjoyed cooking. Jewish tradition also tells us that Jacob spent much of his time studying Torah, and even the stew he cooked was a “mourner’s stew,” as he grieved over the death of his grandfather, Abraham (Bereishit Rabbah 63:10–13). Because Jacob was more spiritually minded, the Rabbis depict Jacob as the one to carry forth the family's legacy.
But when Isaac grew old and knew his death was near, he intended to
bless his firstborn, Esau. This distressed Rebekah because God had told
her before the twins’ birth, “The older shall serve the younger”
(Gen. 25:23). Rebekah believed that the prophetic blessing belonged to
Jacob, who was destined for spiritual leadership, and not Esau. To
correct this error she devised a plan: Jacob would disguise himself as
Esau, deceive Isaac and receive the blessing (Gen. 27). Jacob hesitated,
but Rebekah persuaded him, saying, “Let your curse be on me, my son; only obey my voice”
(Gen. 27:13). She was ready to endure the fallout regardless of the
toll, let alone what it would add to the family drama. Knowingly?
Difficult to think she was oblivious to the impact of her choices.
Rashi (12th century) explains that Rebekah acted on divine knowledge
unknown to Isaac, confirming Jacob as the chosen spiritual heir.
Nachmanides (13th century), however, raises a moral concern: the
deception is ethically troubling and leads directly to Jacob’s later
exile and conflict with Esau, showing that good intentions do not excuse
harmful methods or consequences. Indeed, Rebekah’s plan fractured her
family. She never saw her sons together again, and the narrative records
no further conversation between her and Isaac, suggesting possible
estrangement. A Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 67:9) teaches that Rebekah’s
silence reflects her grief and the heavy emotional cost of family
disunity. These are family dynamics no one wants.
The Torah presents Rebekah’s cleverness as instrumental in fulfilling God’s covenant through Jacob, whose lineage became the people of Israel. Yet her story also underscores the importance of moral responsibility. By relying on deception and not talking with Isaac about her concerns, she achieved the divine plan but compromised her integrity as a wife and a mother, even though we hail her as a matriarch. Yet, Proverbs 12:22 reminds us: “Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are a delight.”
Is deception ever okay? There are Jewish teachings that say if telling someone distressing news will only cause more pain such as with a health related issue, then it is okay not to be fully disclosing. Still, you cannot apply that across the board, and certainly not here. So, as with the case with Rebekah, even when intentions align with God’s will, ethical choices can have lasting consequences that are not the best. Rebekah's reliance on manipulation fractured her family and caused unnecessary harm. Her story challenges us to consider the importance of honesty, how we communicate truths, and the value of nurturing open relationships within our families—blood or otherwise. This is a timeless Torah based lesson about dialogue and relational dynamics.
Shabbat Shalom and Rosh Chodesh Kislev,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky
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