Toldos – When Being Right Matters More Than Seeing the Truth

בֹקֲעַית־ֶא תֶבֶהֹא הָקְבִרְו יוִפְּב דִיַצי־ִּכ ושֵָׂעת־ֶא קָחְצִי בַהֱאֶּיַו
“And Yitzchak loved Eisav, because there was game in his mouth, while Rivka loved Yaakov.”
B E R E I S H I S 2 5 : 2 8
What does it mean that Yitzchak Avinu loved Eisav because there was game in his
mouth?
Rashi explains that Eisav deceived his father with his words, presenting himself as someone who was
exceptionally careful about mitzvos.
It goes without saying that we are speaking about Yitzchak Avinu, and we have to be careful about
attributing ordinary human failings to one of the Avos. Nevertheless, the Torah is telling us something
about Yitzchak’s relationship with Eisav. He loved him, believed in him, and intended to give him the
brachos.
But let’s look at what happened when Yaakov received the brachos instead of Eisav. When Eisav arrived
to receive his bracha, Yitzchak realized what had happened.
דֹאְמד־ַע הָלֹדְּג הָדָרֲח קָחְצִי דַרֱחֶּיַו
“And Yitzchak trembled with an exceedingly great trembling.”
B E R E I S H I S 2 7 : 3 3
W E E K L Y D V A R T O R A H • T O L D O S
When Being Right
Matters More Than
Seeing the Truth
4 G S E N I O R M E C H A N E C H
Rav Mordechai Burg
4 G · N A T I O N A L T O R A H N E W S L E T T E R · T O L D O S 4
הֶ יְ הִ י ְ ךּ ורָּ בם־ַּ ג
"He, too, shall remain blessed."
B E R E I S H I S 2 7 : 3 3

Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah 67:2) describe Yitzchak’s trembling as even greater than the fear he
experienced at the Akeidah. This is actually an astonishing comparison. At the Akeidah, Yitzchak was
facing the possibility of death. Certainly the bracha is a serious matter, but what was so frightening about
discovering that Yaakov had received the bracha instead?
And, as always, what lesson are we meant to learn from Yitzchak’s trembling? How does it impact our
avodas Hashem?
Perhaps, on our level, we can see that Yitzchak was confronting something that can be terribly difficult for
any of us. He had believed something for years, acted upon that belief, and now had to consider the
possibility that he had misunderstood what was happening in his own family.
There are few things more uncomfortable than discovering that we may have been wrong about
something in which we were deeply invested.
Think about a parent whose child tells him that something about the way he was raised was painful. The
parent remembers how hard he worked, how much he sacrificed, how desperately he wanted to give his
child a good life. He hears the criticism and immediately begins explaining himself. Doesn’t his child
understand how much he loves him?
But the child wasn’t questioning his love. He was trying to tell his father about his pain. The father is so
busy defending himself that he cannot hear what his child is saying. Why does this happen?
There is a fundamental difference between guilt and shame. Guilt means that I did something wrong.
Shame means that there is something wrong with me. When a person experiences his mistakes as
evidence that he is somehow inadequate, admitting that he was wrong becomes frightening.
A husband who has always thought of himself as a devoted spouse may find it almost unbearable when
his wife tells him that she feels lonely in their marriage. He begins listing all the things he does for her. And
the truth is, he probably does do those things. But she is telling him that she feels alone, and he is trying to
prove that he is a good husband.
We do this because our understanding of ourselves can be surprisingly fragile. When our worth depends
upon being a good parent, a loving spouse, a successful businessman, anything that challenges that
identity feels threatening. We become defensive, sometimes even angry, because we cannot bear what
the criticism seems to say about us.
But a person who feels secure in his own worth can listen to something difficult about himself without
immediately needing to defend himself. He can admit that he made a mistake without feeling that the
mistake defines him.
And perhaps this helps us appreciate something remarkable about Yitzchak Avinu. After he realizes what
happened, Yitzchak says: הֶיְהִי ְ ךּורָּבם־ַּג, He, too, shall remain blessed. Rashi explains that Yitzchak willingly
affirmed Yaakov’s bracha.
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Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah 67:1) connect this moment to a pasuk in Mishlei:
בָּגשְֻׂי ה׳ַּב ַ חֵטֹובּו ׁ שֵקֹון מֵּתִי םָדָא תַּדְרֶח
“Fear of man creates a trap, but one who trusts in Hashem will be elevated.”
M I S H L E I 2 9 : 2 5
The Medrash explains that Yitzchak could have cursed Yaakov. Instead, because of his bitachon, he
blessed him. What does bitachon have to do with Yitzchak’s willingness to affirm the brachos?
The Medrash is teaching us something about what it means to have a secure sense of self. When my
worth depends upon being right, I cannot afford to be wrong. Every criticism becomes a threat, every
disagreement something I have to win. I may spend years defending a decision that I know, somewhere
inside, I would make differently today.
But if I know that my worth comes from Hashem, that I am a neshama whose value is not dependent
upon my accomplishments or my mistakes, then I can afford to be wrong. I don’t have to protect an
image of myself at the expense of the truth.
Yitzchak was shaken by what had happened, but he did not need to insist upon his original
understanding simply because it was his. In fact, Yitzchak had such a secure sense of self, rooted in his
bitachon, that when he learned that Yaakov had purchased the bechorah, he recognized that he had
blessed him appropriately.
There is tremendous strength in being able to say, “I didn’t understand this before. I see it differently now.”
I think about how much pain we cause ourselves, and the people closest to us, because we are so
frightened of admitting that we were wrong. How many conversations become arguments because we
feel compelled to defend ourselves? How many opportunities to become better parent