Toldot- Failure to Communicate
I always enjoy Harvey Mackay’s column in the Arizona Republic. He writes from a business perspective but incorporates meaningful life lessons that are good takeaways for all of us. Here’s how he opened his reflection on Nov. 2-
A husband was enjoying his pipe and reading his favorite magazine. His wife, working on a crossword puzzle, suddenly called out, “John, what is a female sheep? “Ewe,” replied her husband. And that’s how the fight began!
Communication is fundamental to all our relationships, but especially to our most intimate relationships. We spend so much of our lives talking to one another, yet how often do we truly understand what the other person is saying? Our Torah portion this week, Toldot, offers a painful example of what happens when communication breaks down—not between strangers, but within a family.
Isaac and Rebecca have waited twenty years for children. When Rebecca finally becomes pregnant, she experiences a difficult pregnancy. God reveals to her that she is carrying twins, two nations struggling within her, and that “the older shall serve the younger” (Genesis 25:23).
What is remarkable is what the Torah does not tell us. There is no indication that Rebecca ever shares this revelation with Isaac. In the words of Mackay, that’s where the fight begins.
Years later, when Isaac prepares to bless his sons, he intends to give the primary blessing to Esau, the firstborn. Rebecca has that revelation from God that the older shall serve the younger, so she orchestrates an elaborate deception. She persuades Jacob to impersonate his brother, tricking their nearly blind father into giving him the blessing. The consequences are devastating. Jacob becomes a liar. Esau threatens to become a murderer. Jacob flees from home, and the family is torn apart.
How much suffering might have been avoided if Isaac and Rebecca had simply talked to each other? Rabbi Jack Riemer offers a fascinating insight from the Netziv, Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin, the great nineteenth-century Torah commentator.
The Netziv traces the problem all the way back to the first moment Rebecca saw Isaac. When she approached her future husband, she saw him from a distance and covered herself with a veil (Genesis 24:64–65). According to the Netziv, this was not simply an act of modesty. Rebecca was overwhelmed by fear and shyness. From that moment forward, he suggests, a certain fear remained in her heart.
Unlike Sarah, who could challenge Abraham, or Rachel, who could speak openly to Jacob, Rebecca never felt entirely comfortable confronting Isaac. She could not bring herself to tell him what she believed he needed to hear. The Netziv’s evidence is precisely her silence about God’s revelation during her pregnancy.
Rabbi Riemer draws a powerful lesson: Women have not only the right, but the responsibility, to speak honestly and directly to their husbands, even when the truth may be difficult to hear. They need not resort to deception. They can tell the truth and still be loved. And, of course, the same responsibility belongs to husbands, to partners, to parents and children—to all of us.
What might have happened if Rebecca had said, “Isaac, I know how much you love Esau. I know you want to honor him as the firstborn. But I need to tell you something that has troubled me since the day our children were born”? Perhaps Isaac would have listened? Perhaps they would have disagreed? But at least they could have begun a conversation instead of a deception.
How meaningful that our most fundamental Jewish prayer begins with the word Shema—Listen! Three times in the Torah we encounter the expression Shema b’koli—literally, “listen to my voice,” or, more literally, “listen IN my voice.” Two of those occasions appear in Toldot, when Rebecca speaks to Jacob and when Isaac speaks to Esau (Genesis 27:8, 27:43; 27:4).
Not speak. Not argue. Not convince. Listen. How ironic! Both parents know how to ask their children to listen, yet they seem unable to listen to one another.
We often listen while preparing our response. We interrupt because we think we already know what someone is going to say. We assume we understand another person’s intentions, when we may have misunderstood completely. Good communication begins with the willingness to listen—not merely to the words, but to the feelings behind them.
One simple practice can transform a conversation. Before responding, try saying, “Let me make sure I understand what you’re telling me.” Then repeat what you heard. Sometimes the response will be, “Exactly!” Other times it will be, “No, that’s not what I meant at all.” Either way, we will have opened the door to understanding.
When I officiate at weddings, I often remind couples of the symbolism of breaking the glass beneath the chuppah. Relationships are precious and sometimes fragile. Words spoken carelessly can cause damage that is difficult to repair. But the lesson is not simply to avoid hurtful words. It is also to have the courage to speak honestly, and the generosity to listen lovingly.
Imagine how different the story of Toldot might have been if Isaac and Rebecca had created a home where difficult truths could be spoken without fear. Perhaps Jacob would never have needed to flee? Perhaps Esau would never have threatened his brother? Perhaps the family could have celebrated the unique gifts of both children? We cannot rewrite their story. But we can learn from it.
On this Shabbat, I invite each of us to think about one relationship in our lives. Is there something we have been afraid to say? Someone we need to listen to more carefully? A misunderstanding we might finally resolve? The Torah reminds us that even the families of our patriarchs and matriarchs struggled with communication. We need not be perfect. But we can do better. As Mackay reminds us, “The longest distance between people is misunderstanding.”
On this Shabbat, may we find the courage to speak truthfully, the patience to listen deeply, and the love to bridge that distance.