Parshas Toldos 5781
It is the most fateful bowl of soup of all time. So critical is this food to his identity, in fact, that Eisav actually becomes named for it. Forever more will the nation that he spawns be referred to as “Edom“, literally, “Red”, in a nod to the color of the lentils he sells his birthright for.
On the face of it, Eisav’s new monicker is a commentary on his devaluation of the birthright. Inheriting the mantle of Avraham and Yitzchak is so unimportant in his eyes that it is worth nothing more than a bowlful of legumes. Yet a careful reading of the pesukim yields something else entirely. Even before the sale of the birthright, Eisav is already branded as “Edom”:
וַיֹּאמֶר עֵשָׂו אֶל־יַעֲקֹב הַלְעִיטֵנִי נָא מִן־הָאָדֹם הָאָדֹם הַזֶּה כִּי עָיֵף אָנֹכִי עַל־כֵּן קָרָא־שְׁמוֹ אֱדוֹם׃
בראשית כה:ל
And Eisav said to Yaakov, “Pour into me please from this deeply red stuff, for I am exhausted.” Therefore, he is called Edom (Red).
Bereishis 25:30
The change in Eisav’s name is not a criticism of his subsequent sale of the birthright; he is called Edom even before that. He is captivated by the soup, mesmerized by its color, and demands to have his fill to it.
Eisav’s hedonism writes the rest of the story for us; there is no need to wait for his reaction to Yaakov’s proposal. Someone so spellbound by something as fleeting as a meal will not withhold the birthright. It is too ethereal, too other-worldly for someone who is anchored to finite existence by his stomach.
Rare is it that the Torah is so presumptuous about a future course of action. Quite recently, in Parshas Vayeira, the Torah highlights that Yishmael is spared from death because of the great principle that Hashem’s judgement considers a person only as he is in the moment, באשר הוא שם, as the Torah puts it, and not for a future course of action that he or his descendants will take. And yet in our parsha, future activities can already be discerned from Eisav’s behavior.
It is interesting that the one case in which the Torah does mandate judgment of an individual even before the most egregious of sins have yet to be performed is that of the Ben Soreir U’Moreh, the Wayward Son, who, upon engaging in certain acts of gluttony, is punishable by death. His life is to be ended before it fully goes off the rails, which is exactly where it’s heading. The Torah predicts this just as it predicts Eisav’s future behavior, upon seeing his hedonistic leanings.
Apparently, an obsession with physical pleasures creates such a warping of personality that no future reconditioning can be expected. An overindulgence of physicality results in a veering from spirituality. When we orient ourselves towards the physically pleasurable and instantly gratifying, it becomes so much more difficult to discern the value in experiences that don’t tantalize our nerve endings and that take so much more time to yield satisfaction. A hedonistic lifestyle doesn’t allow space for the spiritually uplifting.
Physicality certainly has its place in Judaism; we punctuate our celebrations, holidays, and each Shabbos with delicious food and drink. We take great pride in the fact that the holiest among us are not called to celibacy or a full retreat from the physical world. Still, Eisav is a demon that needs to be exorcised.
I don’t know precisely where the line between healthy indulgence and hedonism lies. But I do know that finding that line is an issue that is pertinent now more than ever. Throughout Jewish history, the question of where one’s next meal would come from was far more ubiquitous than what topping to order on one’s flatbread. The rise of affluence across the Jewish community—at least relative to generations past—has changed all that. The deli has been replaced by the artisanal bistro, sushi is as ubiquitous as gefilte fish, and a simcha is incomplete if pulled brisket has not found its way onto the menu in some form or another.
It is these areas of life—those not fully circumscribed by absolute halachic demands—that are the most challenging to navigate. Without pre-determined guardrails, it is up to us to self regulate and develop an inner compass for what’s within bounds, and what is inappropriately hedonistic.
As a baseline, perhaps it is worth questioning whether or not we have limits in the first place. Is excess determined solely by the limits of my bank account, or are there luxuries I will refrain from on principle despite their being affordable? Is kosher/non-kosher the only barometer I use for what I imbibe, or is there a self-imposed limit to embracing my material side in the interest of preserving my spiritual one?
According to the Midrash, Yaakov was cooking lentils in order to provide his father with round food, traditionally eaten by a mourner, as Avraham Avinu had just passed away. For Yaakov, food has meaning and purpose in its service of spiritual goals. For Eisav, food is a delight to be enjoyed purely for its own sake. In our times, the Eisav within has been awakened. How do we amplify the קול יעקב, the voice of Yaakov within us?