Saturday, November 29, 2025
Friday, November 28, 2025
The Unbearable Burden of Being Esav
Rabbi Ari Kahn
בראשית פרק כה
(יט) וְאֵ֛לֶּה תּוֹלְדֹ֥ת יִצְחָ֖ק בֶּן־אַבְרָהָ֑ם אַבְרָהָ֖ם הוֹלִ֥יד אֶת־יִצְחָֽק: (כ) וַיְהִ֤י יִצְחָק֙ בֶּן־אַרְבָּעִ֣ים שָׁנָ֔ה בְּקַחְתּ֣וֹ אֶת־רִבְקָ֗ה בַּת־בְּתוּאֵל֙ הָֽאֲרַמִּ֔י מִפַּדַּ֖ן אֲרָ֑ם אֲח֛וֹת לָבָ֥ן הָאֲרַמִּ֖י ל֥וֹ לְאִשָּֽׁה: (כא) וַיֶּעְתַּ֨ר יִצְחָ֤ק לַֽה֙' לְנֹ֣כַח אִשְׁתּ֔וֹ כִּ֥י עֲקָרָ֖ה הִ֑וא וַיֵּעָ֤תֶר לוֹ֙ ה֔' וַתַּ֖הַר רִבְקָ֥ה אִשְׁתּֽוֹ: (כב) וַיִּתְרֹֽצֲצ֤וּ הַבָּנִים֙ בְּקִרְבָּ֔הּ וַתֹּ֣אמֶר אִם־כֵּ֔ן לָ֥מָּה זֶּ֖ה אָנֹ֑כִי וַתֵּ֖לֶךְ לִדְרֹ֥שׁ אֶת־הֽ':
These are the generations of Isaac, son of Abraham; Abraham begot Isaac. Isaac was forty years old when he took Rebekah, daughter of Bethuel the Aramean from Paddan-aram, sister of Laban the Aramean, as his wife. Isaac prayed to the LORD on behalf of his wife, because she was barren; and the LORD granted his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived. But the children struggled together within her, and she said, "If so, why am I thus?" And she went to inquire of the LORD. Bereishit Chapter 25
The text begins: "These are the offspring of Yitzchak, son of Avraham; Avraham begot Yitzchak" (Bereishit 25:19). The opening emphasis is clear: Yitzchak is defined as the son of Avraham, a continuation rather than a rupture. Yitzchak's life consists of reenacting his father's actions rather than initiating radical departures. His challenge is not to pioneer new religious worlds, but to sustain and deepen an inherited path.
Unlike Avraham, who can be cast—as rebelling against his father and his culture, Yitzchak's trial is that of fidelity. His spiritual drama unfolds not in revolution but in continuity. There is, consequently, less narrative "excitement" around him; yet he is the first "from birth within the covenant," the first to grow up fully within the framework his father created, embodying the struggle of maintaining tradition and transmitting it intact to the next generation.
The text records that Yitzchak was forty years old when he married Rivka. Yet the Torah never discloses Rivka's age at the time of their meeting, their marriage, the birth of her children, or her death. Midrashic sources supply various possibilities, but these reconstructions rest on inferences rather than explicit statements.
What the text does make explicit is the couple's struggle with infertility, a period spanning twenty years. This number is derived from Yitzchak's age: he is forty when they marry and sixty at the birth of the twins. During this time, Yitzchak, raised in the spiritual atmosphere of Avraham's household, turns to God in prayer on behalf of his wife, "because she was barren" ([כִּי עֲקָרָה הִוא]), implying a natural incapacity for childbearing. The Torah underscores that God responds to his supplication, and Rivka conceives.
This depiction resonates with an earlier scene: Yitzchak praying in the field toward evening, immediately followed by Rivka's arrival. The narrative subtly parallels the servant who prays toward evening and then encounters Rivka at the well. In both cases, prayer and Divine response appear in close proximity, suggesting a pattern in which Yitzchak's prayers function as catalysts in the unfolding of providence. Yet here the pregency was twenty years later, years of infertilty, frustration and sadness.
Following the conception, the Torah describes a profound inner disturbance: "The children struggled within her" ([וַיִּתְרֹצְצוּ הַבָּנִים בְּקִרְבָּהּ]). Before turning reflexively to the familiar Rashi, which speaks of the fetuses "running" toward different destinies—one toward houses of worship, the other toward idolatry—it is important first to hear the stark, unadorned language of the verse. There is some intense, enigmatic turmoil within her, a violent, disquieting movement that elicits an existential cry: "If so, why am I thus?" ([אִם־כֵּן לָמָּה זֶּה אָנֹכִי]). This is more than a report of physical discomfort; it is a metaphysical question about identity, destiny, and the meaning of her suffering.
Her response is instructive: she "goes to inquire of God" ([וַתֵּלֶךְ לִדְרֹשׁ אֶת־ה']). She does not merely seek medical reassurance; she seeks religious significance. She joins a community of seekers, those for whom affliction and confusion become catalysts for spiritual inquiry.
From a biblical perspective, a difficult pregnancy should not surprise. The question could actually be inverted -what took so long? As Eve and Adam were expelled from Eden, she was sent with a burdern – which was the opposite of Eden (pleasure).
בראשית פרק ג פסוק (פרשת בראשית)
(טז) אֶֽל־הָאִשָּׁ֣ה אָמַ֗ר הַרְבָּ֤ה אַרְבֶּה֙ עִצְּבוֹנֵ֣ךְ וְהֵֽרֹנֵ֔ךְ בְּעֶ֖צֶב תֵּֽלְדִ֣י בָנִ֑ים וְאֶל־אִישֵׁךְ֙ תְּשׁוּקָתֵ֔ךְ וְה֖וּא יִמְשָׁל־בָּֽךְ: ס
And He said to the woman, 'I will greatly increase your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children. Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.' Bereishit Chapter 3
This is precisely where the primal curse reverberates. Consider the divine utterance to Chavah: "In sorrow you shall bring forth children" ([בְּעֶצֶב תֵּלְדִי בָנִים], Bereishit 3:16). From that divine utterance, echoing throughout Chumash, where do we first witness a woman in spiritual turmoil during pregnancy? The answer, unequivocally, is Rivka.
This transcends biological pain, unraveling a cosmic legacy of spiritual confrontation, human struggle, and the interplay of good and evil energies within the human soul. Rivka interprets her condition through the lens of tradition and covenantal consciousness. Her quest is not merely physical movement but spiritual seeking, questioning the divine purpose.
The subsequent verse reveals that "two nations are in your womb" and that "the elder shall serve the younger" (Bereishit 25:23).
(כג) וַיֹּ֨אמֶר ה֜' לָ֗הּ שְׁנֵ֤י גוֹיִם֙ בְּבִטְנֵ֔ךְ וּשְׁנֵ֣י לְאֻמִּ֔ים מִמֵּעַ֖יִךְ יִפָּרֵ֑דוּ וּלְאֹם֙ מִלְאֹ֣ם יֶֽאֱמָ֔ץ וְרַ֖ב יַעֲבֹ֥ד צָעִֽיר:
This begins to reframe the turbulence within her as a prefiguration of historical conflict, a prenatal prophecy of Esav and Yaakov. The narrative thus moves seamlessly from the intimate drama of one woman's troubled pregnancy to the cosmic drama of two civilizations struggling within a single womb.
Critically, the prophecy does not frame the twins in terms of moral polarity— of “good and evil” - tzaddik and rasha—but as divergent nations, a tension neither wholly virtuous nor malevolent. This underscores tribalism's primacy—from antiquity to modernity, defining the tribe remains central to identity and conflict. To be told that the brothers will forgo this primordial unity is a radical rupture.
Moreover, Rivka foresees that the younger son will prevail, a prognosis not yet infused with ethical judgment. Rivka's cognition reveals a crucial dynamic: she regards divine communication as destined solely for her reception, trusting that Yitzchak will be informed through appropriate channels if necessary.
To grasp Yitzchak's perspective, postulate that his understanding contrasts with Rivka's divine knowledge. Her awareness of the prophecy reflects a stark divergence in their comprehension of destiny. This perversity underscores the radical nature of their familial drama.
As Rivka gives birth, the text records the fulfillment of the prophetic announcement: twins emerge. The first-born is described as ruddy, enveloped entirely like a hairy cloak ([אַדְמוֹנִי כֻּלּוֹ כְּאַדֶּרֶת שֵׂעָר]). This redness invites multiple interpretations—be it red hair, blood, or a conflation of both. The term [אָדְמוֹנִי] resonates with [אֱדוֹם], intertwining his identity with the motif of redness, and the name Esav itself connotes completion—[עָשׂוּ]—signifying a level of maturity achieved at birth.
Emotional development constrained to the moment of birth suggests a tightly circumscribed affective existence. The text presents a striking asymmetry: while both parents name the first-born Esav, the second-born is singularly named by the text ([וַיִּקְרָא שְׁמוֹ יַעֲקֹב]). Such asymmetry pervades the parasha, demanding keen attention.
We recall the detail that Yaakov's hand clutches the heel—an act that shapes the naming of Yaakov. Though Rivka does not initially name him, Yaakov's identity is fundamentally linked to this act of holding the heel —the ekev (or in this case akev)—and foreshadows his later appellation, Yisrael, embodying the spiritual contest that defines his existence.
To comprehend this birth narrative fully, one must revisit the painful pregnancy itself, a continuation of the primordial curse pronounced upon Chavah post-sin, following consumption from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The ingestion of knowledge implanted within her womb a duality of good and evil. Thus, the division between the righteous and the wicked, implied in this narrative, finds deeper echo in the preceding Adamic story.
Moreover the word Ekev is in that narrative as well – in words of rebuke hurled at the sperant:
בראשית פרק ג פסוק יד - טז (פרשת בראשית)
(יד) וַיֹּאמֶר֩ ה֨' אֱלֹהִ֥ים׀ אֶֽל־הַנָּחָשׁ֘ כִּ֣י עָשִׂ֣יתָ זֹּאת֒ אָר֤וּר אַתָּה֙ מִכָּל־הַבְּהֵמָ֔ה וּמִכֹּ֖ל חַיַּ֣ת הַשָּׂדֶ֑ה עַל־גְּחֹנְךָ֣ תֵלֵ֔ךְ וְעָפָ֥ר תֹּאכַ֖ל כָּל־יְמֵ֥י חַיֶּֽיךָ: (טו) וְאֵיבָ֣ה׀ אָשִׁ֗ית בֵּֽינְךָ֙ וּבֵ֣ין הָֽאִשָּׁ֔ה וּבֵ֥ין זַרְעֲךָ֖ וּבֵ֣ין זַרְעָ֑הּ ה֚וּא יְשׁוּפְךָ֣ רֹ֔אשׁ וְאַתָּ֖ה תְּשׁוּפֶ֥נּוּ עָקֵֽב
And the LORD God said to the serpent, "Because you have done this, cursed are you above all livestock and all wild animals! You will crawl on your belly and eat dust all the days of your life. I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel."
The motif of sibling rivalry—the younger triumphing over the elder—permeates Bereishit, manifesting first here in this foundational generation. Returning to the curse of the serpent—an archetype of evil whose influence sparks universal affliction. The ekev emerges here as a cosmic principle, capturing the tension between good and evil, as manifested in the lives of the twins. Yaakov, holding onto the ekev, symbolizes the fragment of good enduring amid evil's pervasive challenge.
The curse states: "He shall strike at your head, and you shall strike at his heel (ekev)" (Bereishit 3:15). This invites a provocative question: Is Esav, in some essential way, allied with the serpent? A folkloric tradition once posited Esav bore a serpent tattoo—an imaginative symbol of his identification with the forces of evil that the serpent embodies.
Thus, Esav's figure may be seen as the corporeal incarnation of the serpent -Nachash, while Yaakov represents the divine struggle against evil. Rivka's pregnancy, carrying within her the duality of light and darkness, encapsulates the postlapsarian condition—the complex inheritance of good and evil.
The troubling implication emerges: Is Esav predestined for evil even before birth? Or does the shared burden of the tree's knowledge afflict all humanity, imbuing us with an ongoing moral struggle? The text teases this ambiguity—does God merely foretell future reality, or causally determine it? Esav, however, retains free will, an assertion that resists deterministic reductionism.
Yet one more dimension beckons: How much of Esav's trajectory is shaped by self-fulfilling prophecy? Was he deprived of maternal love owing to Rivka's foreknowledge of his fate, thereby precipitating his downfall? This psychoanalytic hypothesis invites consideration, yet must be tempered with humility born of our lack of knowledge of the relationship between mother and son, and son and mother. The Torah's silence on their interactions leaves us with inferences rather than certainty. We know Rivka loved Yaakov, but the text never explicitly states she withheld love from Esav—it simply records an absence, a negative space where maternal devotion might have been. Whether this absence reflects divine foreknowledge shaping maternal instinct, or whether Esav's own choices gradually alienated him from his mother, remains veiled in the text's reticence. What we can affirm is the devastating consequence: a firstborn who created motherhood yet experienced no maternal warmth, a wound whose origins—whether predetermined, psychologically inevitable, or tragically contingent—remain as mysterious as the relationship itself.
Notice the recurrence of the term ekev throughout Torah, consistently functioning as "because of." Immediately following the Akedah, we find: "I will greatly multiply your seed", granted because (ekev) "you listened to My voice" (Bereishit 22:17-18). The motif of blessing, coupled with (ekev) reverberates across the text, linking generations and land, including Eretz Yisrael.
Later, Yitzchak is counseled not to descend into Egypt but to sojourn in the land—a land-centric blessing ultimately realized through Yaakov (Bereishit 26:2-5). Thus, the blessing is rooted in obedience and land allegiance—(ekev) as cause and condition rather than condemnation.
And finally, Yaakov receives his new name: "Your name shall no longer be Yaakov but rather Yisrael, for you have struggled with God and with men and have prevailed" (Bereishit 32:29). Rivka's search for God ([לִדְרֹשׁ אֶת־ה']) finds its echo in Israel's destiny. The transformation moves from ekev-Yakov to Yisrael, with multiplicity—the fruitfulness of the land and the people—now residing with the new name.
בראשית פרק כה
(כז) וַֽיִּגְדְּלוּ֙ הַנְּעָרִ֔ים וַיְהִ֣י עֵשָׂ֗ו אִ֛ישׁ יֹדֵ֥עַ צַ֖יִד אִ֣ישׁ שָׂדֶ֑ה וְיַעֲקֹב֙ אִ֣ישׁ תָּ֔ם יֹשֵׁ֖ב אֹהָלִֽים: (כח) וַיֶּאֱהַ֥ב יִצְחָ֛ק אֶת־עֵשָׂ֖ו כִּי־צַ֣יִד בְּפִ֑יו וְרִבְקָ֖ה אֹהֶ֥בֶת אֶֽת־יַעֲקֹֽב:
The verse continues: "The boys grew up". Rashi comments that as long as they were young, they were not recognized in their deeds, and no one scrutinized what their character was. Once they reached thirteen years of age, one turned to houses of study and the other turned to idolatry.
Some Midrashim interpret this as an indication of their behavioral similarity, challenging the common perception of stark difference. Yet, the Torah then sharply delineates: Esav became "a man who knows hunting, a man of the field", while Yaakov is described as "a wholesome man, dwelling in tents" (Bereishit 25:27).
This contrasts with his father, a man devoted to cultivating the field—the act of planting versus the act of hunting. The former cultivates life; the latter engages in death. Esav’s identity as a hunter aligns him with Nimrod, described as "a mighty hunter before God" (Bereishit 10:9)—a figure whose legacy is ambiguous at best. Midrashically, Nimrod is identified as the nemesis of Avraham, having hurled him into a furnace from which he was miraculously saved. The archetype of Nimrod—a powerful, often rebellious hunter—resonates deeply with Esav’s persona, who is portrayed as a man of the field, an impulsive hunter grappling with the spiritual legacy of his lineage. This parallel frames Esav’s role within the broader biblical narrative as echoing the themes of power, conflict, and moral ambivalence embodied in Nimrod’s figure.
The Torah's stark portrayal of familial love raises critical questions: What does it mean that " Yitzchak loved Esav because game was in his mouth, but Rivka loved Yaakov" (Bereishit 25:28)? Does this verse indicate mere parental preference, or does it signify a deeper structural emotional imbalance or neglect?
One might ask whether Yitzchak's love for Esav was conditional, transactional, rooted primarily in provision—"because game was in his mouth", reflecting love contingent upon performance and external achievement. Conversely, Rivka’s love for Yaakov is described as unconditional—possibly grounded in spiritual kinship, prophetic destiny, or emotional intimacy.
Do we infer from this that Esav received paternal affection dependent on what he delivered, while perhaps being deprived of maternal warmth? The text does not explicitly say that Rivka disliked Esav; might it be that she loved Yaakov without necessarily rejecting Esav, thereby leaving Esav in a space of emotional ambiguity or absence?
These questions invite careful exploration rather than swift conclusions, recognizing the complexity and subtlety of the biblical narrative concerning parental love, sibling rivalry, and individual destiny.
Rashi, citing Midrash, explains "because game was in his mouth" ([כִּי־צַיִד בְּפִיו]) according to the Targum Aramaic translation: in the mouth of Yitzchak. But its deeper meaning is "in the mouth of Esav"—that he trapped him and deceived him with his words. Esav would ask his father, "Father, how does one tithe salt and straw?", causing Yitzchak to think that he was meticulous in observing commandments.
Though one might be tempted to interpret Esav’s alienation through modern psychological theories of abandonment, such readings risk imposing assumptions not explicit in the text and may create a self-fulfilling narrative. The classical rabbinic tradition guides us instead toward a different focal point: Esav’s rebellion, apostasy, and existential turmoil arise not primarily from maternal neglect but from the profound impact of Avraham’s death — a family member whom Esav likely loved and whose passing represents a catastrophic rupture in his world.
Avraham’s death marks a spiritual and emotional watershed that casts a long shadow over Esav’s life. The loss of this ancestral anchor precipitates a crisis that destabilizes Esav’s relationship with the covenant and his place within the family legacy. This reading respects the biblical narrative’s complexity and the subtleties of rabbinic interpretation, which highlight lineage, legacy, and bereavement as keys to understanding Esav’s tragic trajectory.
Thus, rather than locating the source of Esav’s spiritual malaise in familial affection alone, the text and tradition invite us to consider how profound grief and loss—especially the death of Avraham—shape the contours of his rebellion and estrangement.
בראשית פרק כה
(כט) וַיָּ֥זֶד יַעֲקֹ֖ב נָזִ֑יד וַיָּבֹ֥א עֵשָׂ֛ו מִן־הַשָּׂדֶ֖ה וְה֥וּא עָיֵֽף: (ל) וַיֹּ֨אמֶר עֵשָׂ֜ו אֶֽל־יַעֲקֹ֗ב הַלְעִיטֵ֤נִי נָא֙ מִן־הָאָדֹ֤ם הָאָדֹם֙ הַזֶּ֔ה כִּ֥י עָיֵ֖ף אָנֹ֑כִי עַל־כֵּ֥ן קָרָֽא־שְׁמ֖וֹ אֱדֽוֹם: (לא) וַיֹּ֖אמֶר יַעֲקֹ֑ב מִכְרָ֥ה כַיּ֛וֹם אֶת־בְּכֹֽרָתְךָ֖ לִֽי: (לב) וַיֹּ֣אמֶר עֵשָׂ֔ו הִנֵּ֛ה אָנֹכִ֥י הוֹלֵ֖ךְ לָמ֑וּתוְלָמָּה־זֶּ֥ה לִ֖י בְּכֹרָֽה: (לג) וַיֹּ֣אמֶר יַעֲקֹ֗ב הִשָּׁ֤בְעָה לִּי֙ כַּיּ֔וֹם וַיִּשָּׁבַ֖ע ל֑וֹ וַיִּמְכֹּ֥ר אֶת־בְּכֹרָת֖וֹ לְיַעֲקֹֽב: (לד) וְיַעֲקֹ֞ב נָתַ֣ן לְעֵשָׂ֗ו לֶ֚חֶם וּנְזִ֣יד עֲדָשִׁ֔ים וַיֹּ֣אכַל וַיֵּ֔שְׁתְּ וַיָּ֖קָם וַיֵּלַ֑ךְ וַיִּ֥בֶז עֵשָׂ֖ו אֶת־הַבְּכֹרָֽה: פ
And Yaakov cooked a stew; and Esav came in from the field, and he was tired. Esav said to Jacob, " Please feed me some of that red, red stuff, for I am exhausted." Therefore, his name was called Edom. Yaakov said, "Sell me your birthright now." Esav said, "Behold, I am going to die; and what good is the birthright to me?" Yaakov said, "Swear to me this day." So he swore to him and sold his birthright to Yaakov. Then Yaakov gave Esav bread and lentil stew; and he ate and drank and rose up and went his way. Thus Esav despised the birthright.
The narrative continues with Yaakov preparing a stew. Esav returns from the field, described as tired ([וְהוּא עָיֵף]). Notice that the text emphasizes Esav's fatigue, not hunger—[עָיֵף] rather than [רָעֵב]. This subtlety underscores his exhaustion.
Esav implores Yaakov, "Please feed me some of that red, red stuff, for I am exhausted" (Bereishit 25:30). This is a primitive, almost regressive mode of speech, focusing on the food's color rather than its nature. This red hue evokes Esav's own redness ([אָדְמוֹנִי]), reinforcing a visceral association.
The repeated phrase "for I am exhausted" ([כִּי עָיֵף אָנֹכִי]) highlights the primacy of exhaustion over appetite. Rashi notes: "weary—with murder", as it says, "for my soul is weary because of murderers" ([כִּי עָיְפָה נַפְשִׁי לַהֹרְגִים], Yirmiyahu 4:31).
Indeed, the lentils are red. Rashi explains: "On that day Avraham our forefather died, so that he would not see Esav his grandson go out to a bad way" ([שֶׁלֹּא יִרְאֶה עֵשָׂו בֶּן־בְּנוֹ יוֹצֵא לְתַרְבּוּת רָעָה]), and "Yaakov cooked lentils to comfort the mourner".
Midrashic tradition places Esav's moment of crisis—his return from the field exhausted, his statement "I am going to die" ([הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת]), and his sale of the birthright—all on the same day: the day Avraham dies (Bava Batra 16b; Bereishit Rabbah 65:16).
תלמוד בבלי מסכת בבא בתרא דף טז עמוד ב
כְּתַנָּאֵי {בראשית כ"ד:א'} וַה' בֵּרַךְ אֶת אַבְרָהָם בַּכֹּל ... דָּבָר אַחֵר שֶׁלֹּא מָרַד עֵשָׂו בְּיָמָיו דָּבָר אַחֵר שֶׁעָשָׂה יִשְׁמָעֵאל תְּשׁוּבָה בְּיָמָיו שֶׁלֹּא מָרַד עֵשָׂו בְּיָמָיו מְנָלַן דִּכְתִיב {בראשית כ"ה:כ"ט} וַיָּבֹא עֵשָׂו מִן הַשָּׂדֶה וְהוּא עָיֵף וְתָנָא אוֹתוֹ הַיּוֹם נִפְטַר אַבְרָהָם אָבִינוּ וְעָשָׂה יַעֲקֹב אָבִינוּ תַּבְשִׁיל שֶׁל עֲדָשִׁים לְנַחֵם אֶת יִצְחָק אָבִיו. [וּמַאי שְׁנָא שֶׁל עֲדָשִׁים] אָמְרִי בְּמַעְרְבָא מִשְּׁמֵיהּ דְּרַבָּה בַּר מָרִי מָה עֲדָשָׁה זוֹ אֵין לָהּ פֶּה אַף אָבֵל אֵין לוֹ פֶּה דָּבָר אַחֵר מָה עֲדָשָׁה זוֹ מְגוּלְגֶּלֶת אַף אֲבֵילוּת מְגַלְגֶּלֶת וּמְחַזֶּרֶת עַל בָּאֵי הָעוֹלָם מַאי בֵּינַיְיהוּ אִיכָּא בֵּינַיְיהוּ לְנַחוֹמֵי בְּבֵיעֵי. אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן חָמֵשׁ עֲבֵירוֹת עָבַר אוֹתוֹ רָשָׁע בְּאוֹתוֹ הַיּוֹם בָּא עַל נַעֲרָה מְאוֹרָסָה וְהָרַג אֶת הַנֶּפֶשׁ וְכָפַר בָּעִיקָּר וְכָפַר בִּתְחִיַּית הַמֵּתִים וְשָׁט אֶת הַבְּכוֹרָה. בָּא עַל נַעֲרָה מְאוֹרָסָה כְּתִיב הָכָא {בראשית כ"ה:כ"ט} וַיָּבֹא עֵשָׂו מִן הַשָּׂדֶה וּכְתִיב הָתָם {דברים כ"ב:כ"ז} כִּי בַשָּׂדֶה מְצָאָהּ הָרַג אֶת הַנֶּפֶשׁ כְּתִיב הָכָא עָיֵף וּכְתִיב הָתָם {ירמיהו ד':ל"א} אוֹי נָא לִי כִּי עָיְפָה נַפְשִׁי לְהוֹרְגִים וְכָפַר בָּעִיקָּר כְּתִיב הָכָא {ירמיהו ו':כ'} לָמָּה זֶה לִי וּכְתִיב הָתָם {שמות ט"ו:ב'} זֶה אֵלִי וְאַנְוֵהוּ וְכָפַר בִּתְחִיַּית הַמֵּתִים דִּכְתִיב {בראשית כ"ה:ל"ב} הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת וְשָׁט אֶת הַבְּכוֹרָה דִּכְתִיב {בראשית כ"ה:ל"ד} וַיִּבֶז עֵשָׂו אֶת הַבְּכוֹרָה.
The rabbis taught: "The Holy One, Blessed be He, blessed Abraham in everything... Another matter: that Esau did not rebel during his lifetime... The Gemara explains this because it is written: 'And Esau came in from the field, and he was weary.' On that day, our father Abraham died, and our father Jacob made lentil stew to comfort his father Isaac. What is meant by 'lentil stew'? Rabbi Abba said: It has no taste and no aroma; it resembles mourning food and symbolizes consolation over the dead.
Rabbi Yochanan said: On that day, the wicked committed five transgressions: He slept with a betrothed woman, killed a man, denied God, denied resurrection of the dead, and rejected the birthright. He attacked a betrothed woman and killed a man. It is written: 'And Esau came in from the field'; elsewhere it says: 'Because he found her in the field, he killed the man.' It is written: 'He was weary'; elsewhere it says: 'Woe is me, my soul is weary of murderers.' It is said: 'Why is this to me?' and it is written, 'This is my God, and I will exalt Him.' It is written: 'Behold, I am going to die,' and it says, 'Esau despised the birthright.'" Bava Batra 16b
Rather than attributing Esav’s spiritual collapse to attachment theory, maternal absence, or exclusively psychological motifs, it is more faithful to the classical sources and the Torah’s own narrative to see the death of Avraham as the central catalyst. Rabbinic tradition directly links Esav’s descent into transgression to the very day of Avraham’s passing. According to the sages, Avraham was spared the pain of witnessing his grandson’s decline, and Esav’s moral unraveling—his surrender of the birthright, his sins, and lapse into apostasy—began on the day Avraham died. The shock of losing Avraham marks a profound fracture in Esav’s world: the loss of a revered patriarch, a spiritual anchor, and the family’s living connection to God's covenant.
The Torah is silent about the exact emotional relationship between Avraham and Esav. Any theory regarding emotional or attachment dynamics must be stated with humility, acknowledging that we cannot know how Esav felt toward his grandfather, or what their day-to-day relationship was like. What the text and rabbinic tradition do make clear is the transformative impact of Avraham’s death—a catalyst that precipitates Esav’s existential despair. His declaration, "Behold, I am going to die", now echoes as a cry not only of physical exhaustion or nihilism, but also of bereavement and cosmic dislocation.
While some may be tempted to apply psychological labels or attachment theory, these remain speculative; the actual narrative, supported by rabbinic interpretation, points to the irreplaceable legacy of Avraham and the devastating consequences of his loss for Esav. In this trajectory lies the complexity and tragedy of Esav: not the abandoned child, but the grandson shattered by the end of an era, unable to bear the weight of covenant and loss.
So, on that fateful day Esav returns from the field. Remarkably, the biblical text does not record any successful instance of Esav returning from the field with game. When he arrives exhausted, he is depicted as empty-handed and reliant on Yaakov for sustenance. This inversion—that the hunter, traditionally seen as a symbol of strength and independence, depends on his brother—becomes a devastating psychological motif: the man of action must now beg from the contemplative, the provider must receive, and the rejected son faces the humiliation of pleading for food from the one who embodies the qualities he fails to realize.
Instead of viewing Esav’s distress solely through the lens of maternal absence, it is perhaps more accurate to consider his frustration rooted in his failure as a hunter—a role deeply intertwined with his identity and his father Yitzchak’s expectations. Esav’s return empty-handed, with his quiver unspent and his hunting knife untouched, stands as a tangible sign of his inability to fulfill the role on which his father’s love seems contingent. In the context of their family’s grief over Avraham’s death, Esav must also grapple with the looming presence of mortality—his father’s death and the possible loss of the last familial anchor—adding layers of existential dread and loss to his internal turmoil.
It is precisely during this crucible of loss and anticipation that Esav’s spirit collapses; in his mind, the future is a continuum of death and disappointment. The traditional symbol of future blessing—the birthright—becomes a hollowed-out relic, overshadowed by the transience and fragility of life itself. In this moment, his plea for “that red, red stuff” (lentil stew) transcends simple hunger; it is an act of surrender to existential fatigue, a momentary escape from the crushing weight of mortality.
Esav’s narrative here is a portrait of a man confronting not only physical exhaustion but deep spiritual despair—the retreat of hope, the surrender to despair. His failed hunt, far from being a straightforward failure of skill, becomes an emblem of his inner defeat and existential alienation. His dependence on Yaakov for sustenance then magnifies his sense of inadequacy, estrangement, and loss of agency, turning his life into an ongoing struggle with despair and disconnection.
A poignant tradition in Targum Yonatan (Genesis 27:31) heightens this psychological portrait. When Esav later hunts to prepare a meal intended to earn Yitzchak's blessing, the Targum states that Esav found no pure game but instead killed a dog—a ritually impure animal—and made a meal from it to take to his father.
This narrative detail symbolically captures Esav's internal and external deficit: his hunt to bring a blessing-worthy meal ends in failure, highlighting spiritual impurity and alienation; the dog, ritually impure, symbolizes Esav's compromised status and the brokenness of his covenantal role; and Esav's desperate attempt to secure his father's blessing with impure game reflects his existential and relational deprivation.
Thus, his hunting is no triumphant act of provision, but a flawed and desperate performance underscoring his emotional and spiritual poverty.
The failed hunter asks his brother for food. The food is vegetarian—lentils, mourning food, the opposite of hunted meat—provided by Yaakov, the tent-dweller.
Rashi highlights the term "feed me" ([הַלְעִיטֵנִי]): "Open my mouth and pour much into it, as we learned: 'We do not feed a camel, but we stuff it.'" The analogy to camels, known for their kosher status despite their method of eating, deepens our understanding of Esav's animalistic behavior.
Yaakov responds, "Sell me this day your birthright" (Bereishit 25:31). Rashi explains: "Sell me a clear sale, like the day that is clear". And Esav replies, "Behold, I am going to die, and of what use is a birthright to me?" (Bereishit 25:32).
Rashi elaborates: Esav said, "What is the nature of this service?" Yaakov said to him, "Many warnings and punishments and deaths depend on it." Esav said, "I am going to die because of it; if so, what benefit is it to me?"
Esav’s lament—"Behold, I am going to die"—is not merely an expression of physical hunger or momentary despair. Rather, it evokes one of the most profound existential cries in the Torah, resonating with the ancient awareness of death as a defining reality since the Garden of Eden. Far from being a modern imposition, this declaration captures the spiritual exhaustion and psychic collapse of a soul confronting loss and a fundamental rupture in its emotional and spiritual world. As we unwrap later in the essay, this cry may be read through the lens of existentialist philosophy, yet it originates in the timeless human encounter with mortality and abandonment.
This is the voice of the true self breaking through the false self’s defensive armor—the exhausted soul confronting the profound devastation of the death of a loved one. Esav, the hunter who kills without remorse, is shattered by death’s harsh reality. His exhaustion and collapse arise from the psychic trauma unleashed by the death of his sainted grandfather, Avraham.
Esav returns from the field empty-handed and weary. This failure to bring sustenance signals more than hunting ineptitude; it emerges against the profound backdrop of Avraham’s death. The passing of this foundational figure—often regarded as the greatest of men—raises timeless questions of theodicy and meaning: if even the righteous meet mortality, what incentive remains to pursue righteousness or hope for a blessed future? The once-promised birthright, emblematic of continuity and divine favor, appears hollow beneath the shadow of inevitable death.
In this crucible of bereavement and existential reckoning, Esav’s plea for —“that red, red stuff” (lentil stew)—transcends physical hunger to become an emblem of surrender to overwhelming spiritual and emotional fatigue.
This psychological and spiritual crisis frames Esav’s subsequent choices and struggles, including his fraught relationships and the narrative that unfolds later. Esav’s actions here express a desperate effort to assert identity and agency within a fractured cosmos of loss and divine destiny. His crisis is born of this confrontation with mortality, setting the stage for the upheaval involving his marriages to the daughters of Het.
Philosophers of existentialism illuminate this condition: Cioran writes of the "clarity of despair," a lucid recognition that life's suffering is transparent and overwhelming; Kierkegaard's notion of despair as the refusal or incapacity to be oneself maps perfectly onto Esav's nihilistic withdrawal from symbolic life; and Camus' absurd man who confronts and embraces the meaninglessness of life without hope or rebellion parallels Esav's embrace of immediacy and fatalism.
The text concludes: "Yaakov gave Esav bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and he arose and went, and Esav spurned the birthright" (Bereishit 25:34). Rashi notes: "The text testifies to his wickedness, that he despised the service of God".
Rashi further explains that the birthright involved the Temple service. Yaakov said, "This wicked one is not worthy to offer sacrifices to the Holy One, Blessed be He".
The Talmud in Baba Batra 16b elaborates on the blessing of Avraham as encompassing "all" ( בַּכֹּל), linking this with the abundance and covenantal promise extended to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. Later, in the confrontation between Yaakov and Esav, Yaakov declares he possesses "everything" ( כֹּל), while Esav admits to having "much" ( רֹב). This correlation ties into the rabbinic discussion that one aspect of Avraham's "everything" was an early death: Avraham died at 175 years old, five years before Yitzchak, who lived until 180.
Calculating the timeline: Avraham was 100 when Yitzchak was born, and Yitzchak was 60 at the twins’ birth, making Avraham 160 years old when the twins were born. Avraham’s death at 175 means the twins were 15 at that time. Thus, the scene where Esav returns from the field tired and receives lentil stew from Yaakov occurs when the twins are adolescents, confronting the death of their grandfather, the spiritual and familial anchor.
This early death spared Avraham from witnessing Esav's moral decline, leading the sages to say Esav “killed Avraham” figuratively through his actions. Avraham's passing sets the stage for Esav’s religious and existential crisis—a loss of the greatest man he knew—propelling him into despair and grappling with questions of theodicy: if the righteous perish, what meaning remains in righteousness?
In stark contrast, Yaakov responds to this loss through active mitzvah and acts of chesed, channeling grief into loving-kindness, thereby filling the void left by Avraham. The text’s portrayal of Yaakov’s tenderness stands opposed to Esav's failure even to bring his father food despite his prowess as a hunter.
The Gemara explicitly traces Esav’s failings: taking a forbidden woman, murder, denial of God and resurrection, and relinquishing his birthright. This theological and moral reckoning occurs after the defining loss of Avraham, framing Esav’s trajectory in terms of absence, fracture, and spiritual collapse.
In addition to Esav’s impulsive and almost vacuous pursuit of immediate gratification in the lentil stew episode, there is another brief but essential statement that testifies to Esav’s abandonment of the Abrahamic tradition. This moment signals not only a physical transaction but also a spiritual and existential rupture—a turning away from the covenantal legacy embodied by Avraham.
The Torah records a more nuanced portrait of Esav's descent: "when Esav was forty years old, he married Yehudit the daughter of Beeri the Hittite, and Basmat the daughter of Elon the Hittite" (Bereishit 26:34), and later, "Esav took his wives from the daughters of Canaan: Adah the daughter of Elon the Hittite, and Oholibamah the daughter of Anah and granddaughter of Zibeon the Hivite" (Bereishit 36:2). These marriages cause profound grief to Yitzchak and Rivka: "They were a source of bitterness of spirit to Yitzchak and to Rivka" (Bereishit 26:35), and Rivka later laments, "I am weary of my life because of the daughters of Het" (Bereishit 27:46).
Avraham had warned his servant not to allow his son Yitzchak to marry a local Canaanite. At the time this instruction was given, Avraham had just interacted with the Hittites—Het being a son of Canaan. This instruction, however, was ignored by Esav. It was not a single spontaneous act, perhaps born from a tumultuous love affair; rather, Esav married not one, but two daughters of the Hittites. But there is another key to understanding this rebellion: geography.
The geographic context deepens our understanding of these marriages. Yitzchak and his family primarily resided in the south, and the only recorded journey of Yitzchak to Hebron prior to Esav’s marriages was to Avraham's funeral. Since the inhabitants of Hebron were the Hittites—the sons and daughters of Het—it is plausible that Esav first encountered these women at that profoundly traumatic moment: standing at his grandfather’s graveside, mourning the greatest man he had known, and confronting the inevitability of mortality.
This setting offers a powerful lens to view Esav’s marriages not simply as acts of defiance but as deeply entwined with the emotional and spiritual crisis precipitated by Avraham’s death. The Talmud enumerates Esav’s sins on that day, including taking relations with an engaged woman—a double transgression in Torah law. This resonates more powerfully when we consider that Esav and Yaakov likely accompanied their mourning father to Avraham’s funeral in Hebron.
As Yaakov prepares lentil stew to comfort his father, Esav seeks consolation elsewhere—in the arms and bed of a Hittite woman, who was doubly forbidden: both engaged and a Hittite. This act of rebellion finds further expression in Esav’s subsequent marriages to two Hittite women—Judith, daughter of Beeri the Hittite, and Basemath, daughter of Elon the Hittite (Genesis 26:34-35). These unions, deeply troubling to Isaac and Rivka, symbolized a spiritual and familial rupture, underscoring Esav’s departure from the Abrahamic covenantal tradition.
Geographically, these encounters were framed by the migration to Hebron for Avraham’s funeral—the heartland of the Hittite people. In this poignant context, Esav’s choices become more than mere marriages; they are acts suffused with grief, rebellion, and existential dislocation.
In this context, Esav's attraction to the daughters of Het becomes more than simple rebellion or lust. It reflects a desperate search for vitality and connection in the face of overwhelming death and spiritual emptiness. The young women of Het, present at the funeral rites, may have offered warmth, physical presence, and an immediacy of life that contrasted starkly with the cold finality of the grave. Esav, unable to process his grief through the covenantal framework that sustained Yaakov, sought solace in the embrace of foreign women who represented otherness, sensuality, and escape from the unbearable weight of loss.
Years later, when Esav formalizes these marriages, he enacts a choice made in the shadow of death—a choice that reveals the coldness in his heart and his inability to channel grief into sacred purpose. Where Yaakov responds to Avraham's death by cooking lentils for mourners and engaging in chesed, Esav seeks fleeting comfort in relationships that distance him further from the covenant. His conclusion remains tragically unchanged: he too will die, and the future holds only further loss. Thus, his marriages to the daughters of Het become emblematic of his existential despair—grasping at life through relationships that ultimately deepen his alienation from sacred destiny.
Esav is a man defined by power and passion, yet these qualities are often harnessed for expressions of helplessness, self-loathing, and attempts to compensate for his failures. None of this was predetermined—every person has the capacity to channel their rage, sadness, and depression in different ways. Esav’s theological diagnosis is of a man trapped in the present moment, prone to poor decisions driven by the need for immediate gratification. He chooses not to delay gratification or invest in the construction of a brighter future—thus, he sells his birthright for a bowl of beans.
It is illuminating to compare Esav with other biblical characters who share, at least potentially, similar complexities in their sibling relationships—such as Yosef and David. The potential within Esav’s nature—his strength and vigor—could have been channeled toward greatness, akin to Yosef’s visionary leadership or David’s kingly virtues. Yet, Esav’s superficiality and death-shadowed nihilism instead come to define his tragic trajectory.
Yosef, the dreamer who lost his mother early, embodies resilience and hope grounded in visionary faith. The Torah records his prophetic dreams: "וַיְהִי יוֹסֵף חֹלֵם וַיַּחֲלֹם חֲלֹמוֹת וַיַּגֵּד לִאחָיו וַיִּשְׂנְאוּ אֹתוֹ עוֹד יוֹתֵר" (“Now Yosef had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers, they hated him even more. He said to them, ‘Listen to this dream I had: Behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and behold, my sheaf arose and stood upright. And behold, your sheaves gathered around mine and bowed down to it’” Genesis 37:5–7). These dreams not only foreshadow his future rise but sustain him through betrayal, slavery, and unjust imprisonment.
Unlike Esav’s despair and withdrawal, Yosef resists seductive temptation—most famously when he rebuffs Potiphar’s wife ("וַיְהִי בְּהָבֹאוֹ אֶל־בֵּית אֲדֹנָיו וְאֵין אִישׁ בַּבַּיִת הַיּוֹם" Genesis 39:11)—maintaining fidelity despite suffering unjustly (Genesis 39). Yosef’s strength is disciplined and directed toward realizing prophecy and redemption. His life exemplifies transforming maternal loss and abandonment into a redemptive narrative of divine partnership and continuity.
This narrative highlights not only Yosef’s personal faith but the wider covenantal theme of hope amidst suffering. It offers a striking counterpoint to Esav’s existential fatigue and rejection of the future. Esav cynically transacts his birthright with the refrain, "הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הֹלֵךְ לָמוּת מַה־לִּי בְּכֹרָה" ("I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?"). Yet even confronted with death, there remains an ethic to pursue—mitzvot, kindness, and compassion—which Esav spurns, encapsulating his profound alienation. In contrast, Yosef, even in dungeon and pit, searches for ways to fulfill his dreams—the future is Yosef’s birthright.
Rashi articulates this contrast in Bereishit 30:25, where with Yosef’s birth, Yaakov tells Lavan that the adversary of Esav is now present in the world, removing the fear that Yaakov once held of Esav ("וַיְהִי כַּאֲשֶׁר יָלְדָה רָחֵל אֶת יוֹסֵף וַיֹּאמֶר יַעֲקֹב אֶל לָבָן שַׁלְּחֵנִי וְאֵלְכָה אֶל מְקוֹמִי וּלְאַרְצִי").
בראשית פרק ל פסוק כה (פרשת ויצא)
וַיְהִ֕י כַּאֲשֶׁ֛ר יָלְדָ֥ה רָחֵ֖ל אֶת־יוֹסֵ֑ף וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יַעֲקֹב֙ אֶל־לָבָ֔ן שַׁלְּחֵ֙נִי֙ וְאֵ֣לְכָ֔ה אֶל־מְקוֹמִ֖י וּלְאַרְצִֽי:
רש"י בראשית פרק ל פסוק כה (פרשת ויצא)
כאשר ילדה רחל את יוסף - משנולד שטנו של עשו, שנאמר (עובדיה א יח) והיה בית יעקב אש ובית יוסף להבה ובית עשו לקש, אש בלא להבה אינו שולט למרחוק, משנולד יוסף בטח יעקב בהקב"ה ורצה לשוב:
עובדיה פרק א פסוק יח
וְהָיָה֩ בֵית־יַעֲקֹ֨ב אֵ֜שׁ וּבֵ֧ית יוֹסֵ֣ף לֶהָבָ֗ה וּבֵ֤ית עֵשָׂו֙ לְקַ֔שׁ וְדָלְק֥וּ בָהֶ֖ם וַאֲכָל֑וּם וְלֹֽא־יִֽהְיֶ֤ה שָׂרִיד֙ לְבֵ֣ית עֵשָׂ֔ו כִּ֥י ה֖' דִּבֵּֽר:
At the moment of temptation, Yosef embodies moral resolve, while Esav embraces lawlessness. Midrash relates Yosef’s awareness—some sources attributing to visions of his parents—that fulfillment of Torah inheritance and leadership requires resisting pleasurable but destructive temptation, a challenge Esav ultimately fails.
The comparison between Esav and David reveals profound contrasts in the biblical narrative, illuminating the spiritual and moral dimensions of power and destiny. Both men share notable physical traits: Esav is described as red-haired and rugged (אָדְמוֹנִי), while David too is termed ruddy (אָדְמוֹנִי) and “handsome” or possessing “beautiful eyes” (Shmuel Aleph 16:12). This physical similarity invites reflection on their divergent moral paths.
Esav embodies what the biblical tradition often associates with unchecked passion and impulsivity. His life trajectory moves toward violence, existential despair, and rejection of covenantal destiny. His relinquishment of the birthright symbolizes a failure to harness his strength within a sacred framework, resulting in estrangement from family and divine blessing.
שמואל א פרק טז פסוק יא - יג
(יא) וַיֹּ֨אמֶר שְׁמוּאֵ֣ל אֶל־יִשַׁי֘ הֲתַ֣מּוּ הַנְּעָרִים֒ וַיֹּ֗אמֶר ע֚וֹד שָׁאַ֣ר הַקָּטָ֔ן וְהִנֵּ֥ה רֹעֶ֖ה בַּצֹּ֑אן וַיֹּ֨אמֶר שְׁמוּאֵ֤ל אֶל־יִשַׁי֙ שִׁלְחָ֣ה וְקָחֶ֔נּוּ כִּ֥י לֹא־נָסֹ֖ב עַד־בֹּא֥וֹ פֹֽה: (יב) וַיִּשְׁלַ֤ח וַיְבִיאֵ֙הוּ֙ וְה֣וּא אַדְמוֹנִ֔י עִם־יְפֵ֥ה עֵינַ֖יִם וְט֣וֹב רֹ֑אִי פ וַיֹּ֧אמֶר ה֛' ק֥וּם מְשָׁחֵ֖הוּ כִּֽי־זֶ֥ה הֽוּא: (יג) וַיִּקַּ֨ח שְׁמוּאֵ֜ל אֶת־קֶ֣רֶן הַשֶּׁ֗מֶן וַיִּמְשַׁ֣ח אֹתוֹ֘ בְּקֶ֣רֶב אֶחָיו֒ וַתִּצְלַ֤ח רֽוּחַ־ה֙' אֶל־דָּוִ֔ד מֵהַיּ֥וֹם הַה֖וּא וָמָ֑עְלָה וַיָּ֣קָם שְׁמוּאֵ֔ל וַיֵּ֖לֶךְ הָרָמָֽתָה: ס
1 Samuel 16:11-13:
And Shmuel said to Yishai, "Are all the young men here?" And he said, "There remains the youngest, and behold, he is tending the sheep." Samuel said, "Send and bring him, for we will not sit down until he comes here." And he sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy - אַדְמוֹנִי with beautiful eyes and good appearance. And the LORD said, "Rise, anoint him, for this is he." Then Shmuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers. And the spirit of the LORD came mightily upon David from that day forward. Then Shmuel arose and went to Ramah.
בראשית רבה (וילנא) פרשה סג סימן ח (פרשת תולדות)
וַיֵּצֵא הָרִאשׁוֹן אַדְמוֹנִי – אָמַר רַבִּי חַגַּי בְּשֵׁם רַבִּי יִצְחָק בִּזְכוּת: וּלְקַחְתֶּם לָכֶם בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן (ויקרא כ"ג:מ'), אֲנִי נִגְלֶה לָכֶם רִאשׁוֹן, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: אֲנִי רִאשׁוֹן וַאֲנִי אַחֲרוֹן (ישעיהו מ"ד:ו'), וּפוֹרֵעַ לָכֶם מִן הָרִאשׁוֹן, זֶה עֵשָׂו, דִּכְתִיב: וַיֵּצֵא הָרִאשׁוֹן, וּבוֹנֶה לָכֶם רִאשׁוֹן, זֶה בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ, דִּכְתִיב בֵּיהּ: כִּסֵּא כָבוֹד מָרוֹם מֵרִאשׁוֹן (ירמיהו י"ז:י"ב), וְאָבִיא לָכֶם רִאשׁוֹן, זֶה מֶלֶךְ הַמָּשִׁיחַ, דִּכְתִיב בֵּיהּ: רִאשׁוֹן לְצִיּוֹן הִנֵּה הִנָּם (ישעיהו מ"א:כ"ז).
....אַדְמוֹנִי, אָמַר רַבִּי אַבָּא בַּר כַּהֲנָא כְּאִלּוּ שׁוֹפֵךְ דָּמִים, וְכֵיוָן שֶׁרָאָה שְׁמוּאֵל אֶת דָּוִד אַדְמוֹנִי, דִּכְתִיב: וַיִּשְׁלַח וַיְבִיאֵהוּ וְהוּא אַדְמוֹנִי (שמואל א ט"ז:י"ב), נִתְיָרֵא וְאָמַר אַף זֶה שׁוֹפֵךְ דָּמִים כְּעֵשָׂו. אָמַר לוֹ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא: עִם יְפֵה עֵינַיִם(שמואל א ט"ז:י"ב), עֵשָׂו מִדַּעַת עַצְמוֹ הוּא הוֹרֵג אֲבָל זֶה מִדַּעַת סַנְהֶדְרִין הוּא הוֹרֵג
And the first one came out ruddy" – Rabbi Chaggai said in the name of Rabbi Yitzchak: "And you shall take on the first day" ( וּלְקַחְתֶּם לָכֶם בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן, Leviticus 23:40) – I reveal to you the first, as it is said: 'I am the first and I am the last' (Isaiah 44:6). He who exacts punishment from the first is Esav, as it is written: 'And the first came out', and the first that is built for you is the Temple, as it is written: 'A throne of glory, exalted from the first' (Jeremiah 17:12). And I will bring to you the first, which is the King Messiah, as it is written: 'The first to Zion, behold, behold them' (Isaiah 41:27).
... Ruddy (Admoni) – Rabbi Abba bar Kahana said: 'As one who sheds blood.' When Samuel saw David as ruddy ( אַדְמוֹנִי, 1 Samuel 16:12), he was afraid and said: 'Is this also a blood-shedder like Esav?' The Holy One Blessed be He said to him: 'With beautiful eyes,' (1 Samuel 16:12) Esav kills knowingly, but this one (David) kills by the Sanhedrin’s decree
In contrast, David's narrative marks the exemplary subjugation and redirection of raw power toward holy ends. Though he, too, committed grave sins, including adultery and associated violence, these acts are framed within a broader arc of repentance and divine favor. David’s strength is ultimately oriented toward justice and leadership—the establishment of a resilient kingdom aligned with God’s covenant. His “beautiful eyes” symbolize an inner vision and sensitivity that temper his formidable physical power.
Where Esav’s power alienates and isolates, David’s strength becomes a vehicle of redemption and communal stability. Their life stories present a rich dialectic about the ethical use of power: power left to its own devices leads to ruin; power subjected to the discipline of law and love becomes sanctified.
This comparison deepens when we consider Esav’s marriages to the daughters of Het, likely first encountered during the poignant moment of Avraham’s funeral in Hebron. This geographic nexus accentuates Esav’s isolation and search for vitality outside the covenantal fold, contrasting sharply with David, whose relational narrative centers on covenantal loyalty and an active engagement with the requirements of Torah and kingship.
Ultimately, Esav and David personify the tension between chaos and order, impulsivity and discipline, alienation and integration—between power as ruinous force and power as sanctified stewardship. Their stories urge contemplation of the moral imperative to temper human passions with sacred purpose.
Unlike David, who even in his darkest moments expresses his anguish through poetry—composing psalms that wrestle with tragedy yet never relinquish faith in God—Esav’s existential crisis is stark and unadorned. His declaration, "I am going to die", vividly illustrates the profound psychological and spiritual collapse of a soul deprived of foundational attachments and hope.
While David channels his strength into seeking closeness with God, embracing repentance and the redemptive power of faith, Esav’s despair reflects a retreat into nihilistic fatigue, overwhelmed by loss and alienation. When David yields to urges for immediate gratification, he admits guilt, prays for forgiveness, and accepts Divine judgment as deserved—transforming even failure into catharsis and growth.
This juxtaposition highlights not only their divergent spiritual trajectories but also the existential choices facing every human soul: to harness strength for sanctified purpose or succumb to despair’s consuming shadow.
This crisis situates Esav in the continuum of biblical existential struggle, highlighting his experience as one of nihilistic fatigue rather than mere physical or moral failure. From a biblical perspective, Esav's crisis is not just personal despair but an expression of cosmic alienation between two divergent worldviews—represented by Esav's impulsive, present-focused, sensory-driven existence versus Yaakov's future-oriented, covenantal path.
Biblical apocalyptic and theological frameworks underscore this tension as a fundamental motif of good versus evil, life and death, hope and despair. Philosophically, Esav's condition resonates with existential themes: the unbearable weight of a meaningless future for one emotionally unheld in the past (Kierkegaard's despair), the choice between absorption in immediate experience or acceptance of absurdity without hope (Camus), and the somatic collapse of spirit described by Cioran's nihilism rooted in emotional exhaustion.
Esav's life narrative challenges simplistic notions of fate and free will. His existence embodies the tension between human choice and divine foreknowledge—a foundational paradox in Torah theology. The Kabbalistic worldview emphasizes that Esav personifies the cosmic duality born from Eden's original fracture: the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil introduced radical bifurcation into the soul's trajectory.
Esav carries the "other face" of humanity: the shadow necessary to define light, the "evil" that sharpens and strengthens the covenantal good. Divine omniscience includes full knowledge of Esav's eventual choices—not predetermining but encompassing possibilities that emerge within spiritual dialectics. Esav is the existential embodiment of the "other," juxtaposed to Yaakov's spiritual mission but not outside divine purpose.
His struggle and failure highlight the consequences of existential collapse, yet his role is essential within divine balance. This understanding softens harsh judgments, inviting empathy and awe at the complexity of the human-divine interplay. Esav is neither thrown arbitrarily into tragedy nor predestined to fail; rather, he is a living symbol of the soul's vulnerability within the cosmic plan.
The Midrash notes that the firstborn ([הָרִאשׁוֹן]) connects to multiple dimensions of redemption: "In the merit of 'You shall take for yourselves on the first day' (Vayikra 23:40), I will reveal Myself to you first, as it says, 'I am first and I am last' (Yeshayahu 44:6), and I will exact punishment from the first one—this is Esav, as it says, 'The first one came out'; and I will build for you the first—this is the Temple, as it says, 'Throne of glory, exalted from the first' (Yirmiyahu 17:12); and I will bring you the first—this is King Mashiach, as it says, 'First to Zion, behold, behold them' (Yeshayahu 41:27)".
The contrast between Esav's redness ([אַדְמוֹנִי]) and David's redness is instructive. When the prophet Shmuel saw David, who was also described as ruddy ([אַדְמוֹנִי]), he was afraid, saying, "This one too will shed blood like Esav." The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him, "With beautiful eyes" (Shmuel Aleph 16:12)—"Esav kills of his own volition, but this one kills by the authority of the Sanhedrin".
בראשית רבה (וילנא) פרשה סג סימן ח (פרשת תולדות)
וַיֵּצֵא הָרִאשׁוֹן אַדְמוֹנִי – אָמַר רַבִּי חַגַּי בְּשֵׁם רַבִּי יִצְחָק בִּזְכוּת: וּלְקַחְתֶּם לָכֶם בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן (ויקרא כ"ג:מ'), אֲנִי נִגְלֶה לָכֶם רִאשׁוֹן, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: אֲנִי רִאשׁוֹן וַאֲנִי אַחֲרוֹן (ישעיהו מ"ד:ו'), וּפוֹרֵעַ לָכֶם מִן הָרִאשׁוֹן, זֶה עֵשָׂו, דִּכְתִיב: וַיֵּצֵא הָרִאשׁוֹן, וּבוֹנֶה לָכֶם רִאשׁוֹן, זֶה בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ, דִּכְתִיב בֵּיהּ: כִּסֵּא כָבוֹד מָרוֹם מֵרִאשׁוֹן (ירמיהו י"ז:י"ב), וְאָבִיא לָכֶם רִאשׁוֹן, זֶה מֶלֶךְ הַמָּשִׁיחַ, דִּכְתִיב בֵּיהּ: רִאשׁוֹן לְצִיּוֹן הִנֵּה הִנָּם (ישעיהו מ"א:כ"ז).
This reveals that redness, strength, and even the capacity for violence are not inherently evil—they become sanctified or profane depending on their direction and moral framework. Thus, Esav’s tragedy lies not merely in his nature but in his failure to subjugate and channel his formidable powers toward sacred purpose.
Esav stands as a profoundly human figure shaped by spiritual fatigue and existential struggle. His story captures the anguish of a soul wrestling with despair and disorientation—the firstborn who created motherhood yet perhaps was denied its warmth, the hunter who never brought home game, the exhausted spirit who could only declare, "I am going to die", and the man who spurned the birthright because he could not envision a future worth inhabiting.
His narrative warns of the catastrophic costs of existential collapse and moral failure, yet it also invites compassion for a soul caught between divine decree and human choice, between the serpent’s shadow and the heel that grasps it, between the redness of blood and the redness of sacred destiny yet unrealized.
Every human being, tragically, must endure the loss of loved ones. The alternative—a premature death—is even less fortunate. When death arrives, especially in the figure of an elderly grandfather who died having lived "with everything"—including preparing a child to assume his covenantal role and a grandson poised to continue the legacy—one faces a choice. One can dwell on loss, viewing the world as unfair and life as meaningless, as Esav did. Or one can embrace the reality of mortality—the ticking clock—and rise to fulfill one’s own unique roles and responsibilities, as Yaakov did.
To be trapped in the present, shackled by an ancient past, or to believe in and work toward creating a glorious future—this is the crucial existential fork illuminated by the tales of Yaakov and Esav alike.
Postscript - Esav emerges as a protagonist whose complexity demands rigorous exploration. The present endeavor approaches him with nuanced understanding, integrating Midrashic tradition while tracing these interpretations back to their foundational source in the verses. This methodological rigor acknowledges the multivalent layers of transmission and interpretation that characterize our sacred texts.
A crucial caveat: Esav as presented in the biblical narrative must be distinguished from later historical and symbolic incarnations. There is the Esav of the Torah itself; Esav as he evolves into Edom within the historic trajectory; and the transformative conflations found in Jewish tradition where Esav becomes emblematic of Rome, and subsequently, Christianity. These fluid identities often infiltrate rabbinic exegesis, blurring the boundaries between text and later historical experience. The harsher characterizations of Esav within Chazal may reflect the trauma and ideological struggles of generations witnessing the Temple's destruction, projecting contemporary realities back onto the patriarch.
In this discourse, such later accretions are deliberately set aside. The focus remains firmly fixed on the Esav of Parashat Toldot—the primordial figure in his biblical context alone.
The Goldwater Rule and Biblical Hermeneutics
Consider a modern parallel: the "Goldwater Rule." This ethical dictum in psychiatry arose in response to the 1964 presidential campaign of Barry Goldwater, when mental health professionals publicly speculated on his psychiatric fitness based solely on his public persona. The American Psychiatric Association consequently forbade diagnoses absent a personal examination, underscoring the perils of armchair psychoanalysis.
This prohibition has scarcely deterred the amateur diagnostician, as evidenced by relentless scrutiny of current public figures. This dynamic invites reflection: might there be a tacit "Goldwater Rule" governing our approach to biblical personalities? To what extent may or should we analyze figures like Esav through psychological or sociological lenses, or consider them as archetypes beyond human frailty?
This question penetrates deeply into theological and hermeneutic debates within the religious Zionist milieu. Some invoke what is termed "Begovah Einayim"—viewing biblical characters as accessible human beings, subject to the same psychological impulses and relational complexities as ourselves. Others argue for their transcendent singularity, emphatically resisting any attempt to humanize them in a manner that diminishes their sanctity or inscrutability.
As intriguing as the parallel to the Goldwater Rule may be, it serves primarily as a heuristic device, framing the tension between accessibility and transcendence. Within this framework, Esav's relationship with his mother offers a critical focal point.