The Deeds of Our Parents

The Deeds of Our Parents
D’var Torah for Parashat Toldot, Genesis 25:10—28:9
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Parenting. It’s the hardest job in the world. Not only is it full time, we also never get a day off. Even if we aren’t supplying their every need, picking them up, dropping them off, they are always in our thoughts. When we go shopping for food or clothes, for holiday or birthday gifts—we always think of what they might like or need. Even when they leave the house—in fact, especially after they leave home—they are never far from our thoughts, as we worry about their ability to take care of themselves in this wild and unpredictable world.

As parents, we are always on call. We jump to the phone ringing at midnight, our heart skipping a beat in fright. How wonderful to let out the caught breath when we hear a question having to do with how to defrost meat (best in the fridge overnight), and can it be frozen again (no).

What makes it even more difficult is that not only are we the first teachers for our children, we are actually the most influential teachers. Long after we find ourselves unable to help them with their math or physics, we still find ourselves in the role of mentors. We may exclaim in wonder how much a baby may resemble a father or mother, but what truly amazes us is how much they are like us in personality—and how much we, in turn, are like our own parents.

The wise Sages of the Talmud taught: Maaseh avot siman l’banim—“the deeds of the parents are the model for the children.” Children learn more from the example set by the behavior of the parents than from all the verbiage we can offer as explanation. The way we react to life, whether in silence, with a sneer, with a smile, with an excuse or a kind word—these are lessons our children learn wordlessly from us by simply watching.

The first family of the Jewish people was far from exemplary. The zealotry of Abraham, the jealousy of Sarah; the preferential treatment that Jacob will display toward his favorite child, Joseph—these seem to follow patterns established by prior generations, precedents set by ancestors who didn’t think twice about their behavior and the impact it might have on the future.

In this week’s Torah portion, Toldot (“generations”), Genesis 25:10—28:9, Isaac and Rebecca find themselves parents of twin boys, Jacob and Esau. They each choose a favorite—Isaac prefers Esau, the hunter, the wild outdoorsman; Rebecca chooses Jacob, a meek and mild homeboy who prefers cooking lessons to archery. Isaac might be forgetting the jealousy that led his mother, Sarah, to demand that Ishmael—Abraham’s and Hagar’s son—be sent out of the house. Rebecca recognizes in Jacob—or perhaps instills in him—traits she learned in the bosom of her own family: Manipulation, wheeling and dealing, even cheating and stealing.

As Jacob follows the behavior modeled by his mother, he sets up repercussions for years to come.

We first encounter the jealousy between the twin brothers as Esau comes home one day, tired, hungry and thirsty after a wearying hunt. He happens upon Jacob, who is busy cooking some good-smelling stew. “Gimme some of that red stuff,” Esau manages to grunt. Jacob, seeing an opportunity, agrees to sell his brother a bowl of the stew—but at a steep price: the birthright. Esau, thinking himself at the point of death, blows off the implications and agrees to the deal.

All this is seemingly forgotten until many years later, when Isaac is on his deathbed and wishes to bestow the final blessing—the spiritual legacy that goes along with the material inheritance—to his favorite son, his oldest son (even if by a few moments), Esau.

Rebecca, overhearing Isaac’s request that Esau go hunt food for him in return for the blessing (a tradeoff that seems to be a family trait), urges Jacob to pretend to be Esau and secure the blessing for himself. Not protesting the immoral nature of the deed, Jacob recognizes only the difficulty of the task—“My brother Esau is a hairy man, whereas I am a smooth man!” Rebecca helps Jacob cheat Isaac, and the blessing is bestowed.

The consequences of these actions aren’t late in coming. Esau, realizing he has been cheated out of both blessing and inheritance, swears to kill Jacob. Fearful of her first-born’s son impetuous and violent nature, Rebecca arranges to send Jacob out to her family in Aram, where he would be staying with her brother, Laban. Any semblance of a happy household is shattered, as Jacob prepares to leave his childhood home—his childhood, in fact. Has he learned his lesson? Hardly. He is just starting off on a path that will be filled with people cheating him, where—among his own children—brother will set against brother, where he will be manipulated by almost anyone he comes in contact with.

Jacob’s life will be filled with sadness and tragedy. Much of that will be the consequence of behavior he had seen at home and followed innocently. He is as much a victim of his own choices and deeds as of those of his parents.

So much like us.

So where does this chain of events stop? How do we end the spiral? Are we all doomed to simply repeat the wrongdoings of the generations that preceded us?

If that were so, the Torah would be remiss. The lesson will come, albeit further down the story. It will appear at a moment of reckoning for one of Jacob’s sons who, all grown up and now a father himself, will come to realize that at some point we have to take life’s reins in hand and acknowledge responsibility for our own actions and behavior. Yes, there are patterns we follow, models and archetypes that shape so much of our personality and our life. Yet these cannot become an excuse for further wrongdoing.

I have always wondered about the Rabbinic phrase, Maaseh avot siman l’banim—“the deeds of the parents are the model for their children.” The word siman doesn’t mean only “model.” More strictly, it also means “a sign.” As such, the deeds of our ancestors shouldn’t be only a pattern we follow automatically. They should be a road sign to consider and learn from. No one is perfect—not even the first family of the Jewish people. Even they were only human and as such subject to human frailties. But just as they learned from their mistakes, so must we—from theirs as well as from ours. We are not merely following in the wake left behind by those who came before us. We can shape for ourselves the direction in which our life goes. What makes our work as parents so difficult is that we must remember that each choice we make, each action we pursue, is a signal left for our children and grandchildren, an opportunity for them to learn from. We never do stop teaching them.

It’s a heavy responsibility, but one we have no choice but to accept. The future depends on what we do today.

©2010 by Boaz D. Heilman