One of the dangers of social media for teens these days is the way it exploits a natural human tendency — the tendency to understand ourselves in comparison to others. When we compare the polished posts of influencers on Instagram and Youtube to the fullness of our messy lives, we feel less-than, knowing our own flaws and unable to view our bodies and our accomplishments through the filters which edit a typical Snapchat post.
But it goes deeper.
20th century philosopher Emmanuel Levinas goes as far as to understand that the phenomenon of self awareness, being able to say and mean the word, “I,” is fundamentally dependent on our relationship to an Other. There is no Self without an Other. We owe our existence as separate beings to the Other, not just physically, but even in our minds. Therefore, our obligation to the Other, he would say, is infinite.
For most human beings, it takes some time for self awareness to develop. Infants are famously un-self-conscious, known to stare in amazement at their own limbs, not recognizing their own reflections for over a year of life.
For our ancestor Jacob and his brother Esau, it seems that the awareness of Self and Other started even before they were born. The twin brothers torment their mother while yet in the womb, wrestling and wrangling till she cries out to God. They are born struggling, and Jacob is named for it – Ya’akov, like Ekev, which means heel, the heel of his brother which he was holding even as he emerged in childbirth (Gen. 25:26).
Torah describes them from the beginning in comparison to one another, creating a series of stereotypical binaries. Esau is hairy, Jacob is smooth. Esau becomes a hunter, Jacob stays near his tent (the rabbis like to imagine him studying). Esau is hedonistic and impulsive. Jacob is clever and deceptive. Each son becomes the favorite of a different parent.
For generations, scholars and rabbis have analyzed and imagined how these traits map on to Jews and other peoples. Whether through historical circumstance, DNA or some deeper cultural values, we, the descendants of Jacob, still tend to identify with intelligence over brute strength. Commentaries vary, as you might imagine, in their judgement of Esau, who later comes to be associated with our historical enemy, ancient Rome. Many make him into a terrible villain. Few are as sympathetic as the plain text of Torah itself.
In two memorable episodes, Torah tells the story of the rivalry between the twin brothers. In the first, Esau trades his birthright as first born for a bowl of lentil stew when he comes in hungry after a hunt (Gen. 25:27-34). In the second, Jacob and his mother Rebekah deceive Isaac, who is blind, into giving special blessing to Jacob, who pretends to be Esau (Gen. 27).
These vignettes define the character and destiny of the brothers, and again, always in relation to one another. Jacob is the trickster. Esau is the fool. Their qualities stem from what happens between them. By the end of Genesis 27, Jacob flees because Esau plans to kill him in revenge (Gen. 27:41). The brothers seem to embody their differences so completely that they can’t co-exist. Some midrash even goes as far as to say that Esau is planning to kill both Isaac and Jacob, continuing the villainization of the Other (Bereshit Rabbah 75:9). Texts like these are all too comfortable continuing to make Jacob the good guy, Esau the bad guy, and no one the complicated real kind of person who is somewhere in between.
But there is also another thread in the midrash. Midrash Rabbah 67:4 focuses in on Esau’s heartbreaking response when he learns that Jacob has stolen his blessing. He cries out with a za’akah gedolah umarah ad me’od – an exceedingly great and bitter cry – and says, “have you not saved any blessing for me, father?” (Gen. 27:34).
That phrase, za’akah gedolah umarah ad me’od appears in one other place in the bible. The story of Esther (Esther 4:1). It’s what Mordechai says when he learns of Haman’s genocidal plot.
Midrash Rabbah claims that Mordechai’s cry, generations and generations later, is evidence that God did not ignore Jacob’s sin when he wronged his brother and caused him such anguish. There is no such cry without consequence. Haman is punishment for the way that Jacob treated Esau all those generations before.
In other words, in this midrash, we start to see some sympathy for Esau, and some judgement about Jacob’s bad behavior. Even though the two brothers are still being defined by how they relate to one another, it seems that the rabbis see more than just a simplistic binary analysis, which makes one brother only virtuous and one brother only villainous.
Much later, Torah will tell the story of the brothers re-uniting after many years. The episode includes another round of wrestling, which many commentaries believe to be a rematch between either Jacob and Esau themselves or their representative angels (Genesis Rabbah 77:3). At the end of this wrestle, Jacob emerges with a new name, Israel, given to him by this mysterious wrestling opponent (Gen. 32:29). The next morning Israel encounters Esau with gifts, humility, and praise, and Esau seems to forgive him in a tearful embrace (Gen. 33:4).
This transformation — from Jacob the deceiver into Israel the Patriarch is all about how our forefather proves himself worthy through his relationship to his brother. As Jacob, he was willing to take advantage, to deceive, to run away. As Israel, he faces the person he wronged. Instead of seeing him as a means to some other end, he says, “seeing your face is like seeing the face of God,” (Gen. 33:10). Finally, finally, Jacob is able to see the full humanity of the Other, his brother, his twin, Esau. And it is only then that Israel achieves his potential for greatness. Not in subjugation, not in “winning” some fight, but in having the courage to come face to face with someone he hurt, and to come with respect and love.
Levinas was right.
There is no way to be a separate Self in the world without relating to the Other.
We define ourselves in comparison to Others. We form our character through our behavior towards Others. The stories of Jacob and Esau suggest that if we only think of who we are based on some kind of hierarchical competitive relationship with Others, we may be able to win birthrights and blessings, but we fail to achieve our fullest potential. Only when we can treat the Other with respect and humility do we rise to the best version of who we can be.
rabbikatiemizrahi 