Parshat Toldot: Dualism and the Sons

I'm not one to blow my own trumpet but every now and again, a date comes along and makes me stop, think and consider its importance in my life. Today was such a date because, until this nightfall, the 29th Cheshvan constituted the fortieth anniversary of the day that I became a man, on 8th November 1980. The first day that I was eligible to be given my very first Aliyah and my opportunity to make up a minyan. Forty years ago, yours truly became a 'Barmitzvah Boy' on Shabbat 29th Cheshvan (which is quite wonderful, because I was born on a Friday night.)
Two days earlier, I had been blessed to recite the first part of my Barmitzvah Parsha of Toldot at the Kotel, the Western Wall. It still ranks as one of the most memorable days in my life. If anything, I appreciate it more now, than on that sunny November morning. As my ceremony was two days' early (due to it having to take place on the Thursday), I was unable to be called up, but it didn't matter. The ceremony sealed a very special and personal relationship between Jerusalem and me, which in turn led to a life-long love of the city that lasts to this very day. I know that, as Jews, Jerusalem is embedded in our DNA, but for me, as a result of my Barmitzvah and the story of how it came to take place, our holy city is so ingrained in my heart to the point that we are simply one and my connection with the city is part of my inner being.

I am under no illusion that one of the factors that must have aided in my parents' decision to take me to Israel for a two-week holiday in the middle of the autumn term was that, as an only child, this would their opportunity to grant me a dream trip. Had I been one of two or three children, I'm not sure they would have been able to afford it (considering that we spent the first week in a luxury hotel in Tel Aviv and the second in an equally opulent abode in Eilat). I believe that I have been very blessed and although the life of an only child can at times be quite lonely, it does at least have its advantages as I have never found myself in competition with another sibling.

If one wishes to view an example of the destructive quality of sibling rivalry, take a look at this week's Parsha which describes the relationship between the Torah's first twins, namely Jacob and Esau.
The conflict starts in utero:

We are told at the start of the Parsha that Isaac was forty years old when he took Rebecca as his wife (this being three years after the traumatic episode of the Akeida, the binding on Mount Moriah). After a tortuous twenty-year wait, Rebecca becomes pregnant and the twins are born, with Jacob literally clutching onto the heel of his brother.
The Hebrew word for a heel is "Ekev" and so Yaakov/Jacob's name is derived from his entry into the world. It's not the most auspicious start for either boys when you consider that their very first appearance in the Torah refers to their 'struggling' against each other, with Jacob being the hero and Esau the villain.

However, if you look at the Torah, taking the plain (pshat) reading, Esau's notoriety is not as clear-cut as we have been led to believe. Nevertheless, I held onto the belief until my opinion changed radically after I read a fascinating book in 2015.
In his masterful book 'Not in God's Name', Rabbi Sacks examines the age-old connection between the roots of religion and violence, focusing on the relationship between the three monotheistic faiths of Judaism, Islam and Christianity. I would strongly recommend this book to anyone who wishes to understand the ancient tensions that, though they have resurfaced in the last twenty years, have been present since the days of Abraham, Isaac and Ishmael.
He posits the concept of 'dualism', where two differing entities work either in harmony, such as the harmonious relationship between the mind and the body or in opposition, where:
"The Children of light were the German nation, more specifically the Aryan race. The children of darkness were the Jews. They were the destroyers of evil, the destroyers of Germany, the defilers of its racial purity, corrupters of its culture and underminers of its morale. Despite the fact that they were less than 1 per cent of the population of Germany, they were said to control its banks, its media and its fate: to be in secret conspiracy to manipulate the world" (pp 55-56).
This is but an extreme example of dualism in its worst form. However, using this idea, one can take the view, that in dualism, since there can only be one victor, the other entity must be the vanquished or 'rejected party'. Rabbi Sacks looks at sibling rivalry in the Torah through the prism of dualism.
Sefer Bereshit/Genesis is replete with such examples. Gd chooses Abel's gift over Cain's which leads Cain to feel that he has been rejected and as a result, commits the world's first fratricide. Abraham is told that Isaac will inherit his legacy and his descendants will be as 'numerous as the stars in the sky and sand by the sea'. Ishmael, though blessed with many descendants will not be privy to this promise. Now, we have the case of Jacob and Esau, who over the course of the Parsha grow apart to the point that by the end, Jacob 'steals' Esau's blessing from their father and has to run for his life as a result of the deception. It appears that Jacob has been blessed and by extension, Esau, cursed.
Rabbi Sacks looks carefully at the text and arrives a very different conclusion.
He states that, at no place in the Torah does the text state that neither Cain, nor Ishmael nor indeed Esau were rejected by Gd.
On the contrary, if we concentrate on Esau and his descendants and fast-forward a few hundred years, we find the Israelites on the verge of entering the Promised Land under the leadership of Moses. He is relating how they wished to traverse the kingdom of Edom, the beautiful red mountains that you can see to the east when you visit Eilat. Moses relates the following at the beginning of Devarim/ Deutoronomy:

Rabbi Sacks comments that "something of deep consequence is being intimated here. The choice of Jacob does not mean the rejection of Esau. Esau is not chosen, but neither is he rejected. He too will have his blessings, his heritage, his land. He too will have children who become kings, who will rule and not be ruled. Not accidentally are our sympathies drawn to him, as it to say: not all are chosen for the rigours, spiritual and existential of the Abrahamic covenant, but each has his or her place in the scheme of things, each has his or her virtues, talents, gifts. Each is precious in the eyes of God.' (p.142)

Rabbi Sack's reading of the relationship between Jacob and Esau as well as the other siblings in the Torah is deeply moving. It focuses on the idea that Gd loves all of his creatures equally and that each of us is as valued and treasured as anyone else. That we are given different tafkidim, divinely ordained purposes or assignments that we are to carry out is central to our having been given the gift of life in the first place. It behoves us to ensure that we make the most of the time we are allotted throughout our lives.
Being an only child meant that, I did not have to deal with sibling rivalry but at the same time, was given other challenges to overcome. Perhaps, a brother or sister might have influenced me to follow a different path in life, which though, just as fulfilling, would not have led me down the roads I took. Choosing one direction does not mean that we reject another. We are simply focusing our sights on a different goal.
Being an only child might be the reason why I was blessed enough to become a Rabbinic Graduate of Montefiore College. That I had wonderful mentors such as Rabbis Abraham Levy and Jonathan Sacks is as special to me as the few hours I spent reading the Torah in the early morning sun in front of Judaism's holiest site.
We were all blessed to have the wisdom, insight and deep love bestowed upon us by Rabbi Sacks. May his words bring us comfort in this extremely challenging times and may we all be blessed by his memory. Yehi Zichro Baruch.
Shabbat Shalom.