Old Patterns, New Problems

Why seeing each other matters

By Rabbi Schneider | Parshah Toldot: Genesis 25:19 - 28:9

This week’s Torah portion, Toldot, offers one of the most memorable and relatable family sagas in our tradition: the story of Isaac, Rebecca, and their famously mismatched twins, Jacob and Esau. If your family has ever experienced tension, competition, or debates over inheritance (or even who stole whose leftovers), take heart, you are in excellent Biblical company.

Toldot begins with Isaac and Rebecca struggling with infertility. They pray, and Rebecca becomes pregnant with twins who immediately begin fighting in utero. The Torah doesn’t provide medical details, but every parent reading this portion nods knowingly: “Ah, yes, siblings.” Even before birth, these boys are wrestling, jostling and trying to establish dominance. The rest of their lives follow that same script.

Esau is born first — red, hairy, outdoorsy. If he lived in Arizona today, he’d be the one happiest about monsoon season, eager to hike, hunt, and grill something large. Jacob, the younger twin, emerges holding his brother’s heel — our first hint that he has ambitious plans and little patience. Jacob is quieter, thoughtful, a tent dweller. He’s the kid who stays inside during the 118-degree days and reads a book. We all know these two personalities.

Some of us are these personalities.

The drama intensifies when Jacob convinces Esau to sell him his birthright for a bowl of lentil stew. Were the lentils really that good? Was Esau really that hungry? Or was this a classic case of “I’d trade anything right now for lunch ?” The Torah doesn’t say, but it sets the stage for one of the most uncomfortable episodes in our tradition: the blessing deception.

Rebecca overhears Isaac planning to give Esau his blessing. She springs into action, instructing Jacob to disguise himself as his older brother — using goatskins, of all things — and present himself to Isaac. Jacob walks in sounding like Jacob but feeling like Esau. Isaac, whose eyesight has dimmed, hesitates, then decides that confusing voices and suspiciously furry arms are close enough.

And just like that, the wrong son receives the right blessing. Or perhaps the right son receives the destined blessing by way of a morally dubious route.

Scholars have debated this for centuries; siblings have reenacted it emotionally for millennia.

But what does a story of mistaken identity, complicated family dynamics and deceptive blessings have to do with Jewish life in 2025?

A lot, it turns out.

Today, stories of mistaken identities and algorithmic misunderstandings fill the news. Airline passengers discover strangers in their assigned seats.

Apparently, airlines still rely on the Isaac method: “The name seems right … the situation seems weird … let’s give a blessing anyway and hope for the best.” In an age of facial recognition, QR codes and boarding groups labeled with letters we never learned in school, even matching the right person with the right seat has become surprisingly complicated.

Toldot asks a timeless question: What happens when we don’t truly see each other? When we rely on assumptions? When we let old patterns, favoritism or incomplete information guide our decisions?

Isaac blesses the wrong son because he cannot see clearly. Rebecca manipulates the situation because she sees only one future. Jacob hides who he is because he fears he won’t be accepted as himself. Esau feels unseen entirely.

The remedy, then and now, is connection grounded in clarity, honesty and compassion.

We all have blessings to give — far more than Isaac had. Words of encouragement, gratitude, kindness and presence are not finite resources. They don’t require trickery, disguises or goatskins. They simply require that we take the time to see one another as we truly are.

As we read Toldot this week, may we learn to offer blessings generously, receive them graciously and build families and communities where everyone — hairy or smooth, indoorsy or outdoorsy, lentil-lover or not — knows they are valued.