Choosing the Right Pond
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Which, I believe, would have been really helpful advice to the first families of the biblical tradition. More than by parent-child relationships, more than by husbands and wives, the dramas of the book of Genesis are played out by way of sibling relationships and rivalries. We started with Cain and Abel, then Isaac and Ishmael, soon Rachel and Leah, and next month Joseph and his brothers. In each case, the stakes are far greater than a glass of juice at the breakfast table: the affection of parents, the love of a spouse, or the attention of God. After reading Frank’s book, it strikes me that in each case the root of the strife can be situated in the relative nature of status and happiness. “His sacrifice is accepted by God, but mine is not.” “He is the son of the favored wife, but I am not.” “She is the one blessed with children, but I am barren.” Each set of siblings is a case study for Frank’s research. And no two siblings are more at odds, more filled with enmity than this morning’s fraternal pair, Jacob and Esau. Yes, they were twins, but from the very first breath it was clear that these two would or should swim in different ponds. Their physical appearance was like night and day: Esau – rugged, red and outdoorsy; Jacob – a mild man who dwelt indoors. Jacob had the brains, Esau had the brawn. Esau had the birthright and the love of his father Isaac; Jacob had the love of his mother Rebecca and had the in-utero promise of greatness. Jacob and Esau are more than just people, they are archetypes; their story is a biblical phrasing of a philosophical or sociological question. Is it possible for two brothers, born of the same womb, but so clearly meant to swim in different ponds, to live full, satisfied lives of fulfillment and reciprocal love and affection?
We know, sadly, that the Bible’s answer will be a resounding “no.” The nineteenth-century German Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch explains that the failure of Esau and Jacob’s relationship did not just belong to them, but also, and perhaps even more so, to their parents. In Hirsch’s own words, “To try to bring up a Jacob and an Esau in the same college, make them have the same habits and hobbies, want to teach and educate them in the same way … is the surest way to court disaster…” Had Isaac and Rebecca appreciated the differences in Jacob and Esau’s characters and temperaments, had they nurtured each son according to his respective strengths and directed them each towards his own pond, then, Hirsch explains, “with their own totally different natures [they] could still have remained twin-brothers in spirit and life.” (Hirsch on Genesis 25:27) But this was not to be. In a passage no doubt reflective of what Hirsch saw in nineteenth-century family life, he marks out the road tragically not taken. There was the potential for Jacob and Esau to develop into their own selves, differentiate one from the other, celebrate each other’s achievements, soothe each other in life’s setbacks, and enjoy the richness of their respective circumstances. The potential was there, but it was never realized, and both Jacob and Esau lived with a feeling of perpetual dissatisfaction and resentment. What one brother had, the other perceived to be a slight; the blessing one received was understood to come at the other’s expense. Neither brother could ever be absolutely happy, because each brother believed his happiness had to be relative to the other. In their minds it was a zero sum game in which the increased joy of one necessarily meant a diminution in joy by the other.
Not for another twenty-some years would Jacob and Esau finally be able to reconcile. Each one needed the passage of time to cool off, each one needed to develop his own family, his own livelihood, his own sense of self in order to realize that they could, if they so chose, embrace each other, celebrate each other, and each be happy with what he had. As we will read in the coming weeks, the biblical story of Jacob and Esau, thank God, ends well. They grow up, they learn to be comfortable in their own skin, and they learn to embrace each other. But in this week before Thanksgiving, a festival that forces us to consider for what we are thankful, we know it is a story that is not just about our predecessors, but about each of us and our own families. Far too often our own family dynamics are marred by the same ruptures as we read about this morning. All too often, neither we nor our siblings have figured out a way to sit together, literally or figuratively, thankful for the blessings of our own lives while rejoicing in the blessings of our loved ones. It wasn’t easy for Jacob and Esau; it isn’t easy for us. But we dare not wait decades as they did. Life is too short, and the relationships are too precious and too few. Before it is too late, we must learn to say to each other, as Esau would one day say to Jacob: “I have enough my brother, let what you have remain yours.” It is easier to say than it is to do, it takes a conscious, active decision, but it is a task that is well within our reach if we commit to doing it. To be grateful for the blessings of our lives, to be grateful for the blessings of those we love, to choose our pond and to know the satisfaction of which our rabbis spoke: to be happy with our portion. (Pirkei Avot 4:1)