The Tents and the Fields

Two brothers, two human types: Esau, the man of action, and Jacob, the dweller in tents (Genesis 25:27-28). Jewish tradition seems to value the tent-dwellers more than the men of action. Tent-dwelling symbolises the

The Talmudic sages had many occupations: they built with their hands as well as their heads.

studious, contemplative life. The sages were tent-dwellers. The philosophers and poets, the writers and historians, sat at their desks, produced great ideas and stretched the human mind. The men of action ran, hunted and built. If the conventional story is true, then they left little impact on human thinking.

The contrast couldn't be greater. But it does not reflect the reality. There were indeed great thinkers who never left their tents, desks or firesides - but many were also men of action. The Talmudic sages had many occupations: they built with their hands as well as their heads. There were great doers who strode the stage of history, but also wrote books, composed music, painted great works of art. Rarely did the two halves of these human personalities dovetail. Frequently, tension pulled in two directions.

This is Rabbi Soloveitchik's polarity of the practical Adam I and the poetic Adam II. The true Adam is neither one nor the other, but both; he oscillates between the two sides of his being. He is the busy man of the field and the quiet dweller in tents. The tension never leaves him until he enters the next world. And maybe not even then, since the sages say that the disciples of the wise have no rest either in this world or in the world to come (Talmud, B'rachot).

The real problem is not which Adam I am, but how I am perceived. As a man or woman of action, did I devote my talents to raising the quality of society - or did I serve selfish or distorted ends? As a thinker, did I lift souls to God, goodness and holiness - or did I sin with my mind and twist the truth?

My Favourite Sidra

Everyone has a favourite Biblical story, psalm or sidra. I don't much like that game. I can plead the case for every chapter of the Tanach. So can almost every rabbi. One colleague tells his congregation every single Shabbat, "What a powerful parashah it is this week!" Another says, "What a really great sidra, with so many ideas that wash over our minds!"

Now that I have retired, however, I can allow myself a special fondness for this week's portion. Not so much because of the story, but by reason of the title, Toldot - generations, narrative, history.

I spend much of my time these days researching and writing history. I had a teacher who told us that "history" was two words - "his" and "story". In those days, I didn't realise how sexist he was. Did he ever think that there was such a thing as "her story" too? His etymology was wrong in any case, since "history" is from a classical root that means "to enquire" or "judge".

Nonetheless, I have been a history addict all my life. I have never been satisfied to accept things without delving into the factors that made them. Nor am I content to use tunnel vision and not see the wider context. But I have another agenda, another tense: not only what is and how it came, but what will be. History is the background; the present day, the arena; and destiny, the challenge. This is the thought which I ponder each year when I think of Toldot.

Isaac's Own Blessing

Blessings play a major role in today's sidra. The controversial blessing gained by Jacob understandably receives the most attention. However, the blessing given by God to Isaac also invites investigation.

The blessing given by God to Isaac also invites investigation.

"And Isaac sowed in that land," says the Torah, "and found in the same year a hundred-fold (me'ah sh'arim); and the Lord blessed him." (Genesis 26:12). Me'ah sh'arim has come to bear a different modern meaning, but at that time it denoted that Isaac harvested 100 times as much as he expected. This prosperity was obviously a great blessing, but logically the verse should have read, "And the Lord blessed him and he found... a hundred-fold." How could he have reaped such a wonderful harvest without God's blessing?

Rabbi Isaac of Vorki said that the word order in the verse emphasises how great a tzaddik Isaac was. An ordinary person, he says, expects things from God. He prays and he believes God will work a miracle for him. If he wants prosperity, he presumes that God will bless him and then he will enjoy a good harvest. But Isaac was a tzaddik, and he did not want to rely on miracles or to bother God too much.

He got to work by himself and decided that whatever his efforts produced would be enough. He earned his own abundant harvest and this attitude was in itself the Divine blessing.