The family dramas in the book of Genesis are a powerful example of the realness of the characters and stories of our biblical ancestors overall – they are not “teaching stories” with simple heroes and heroines whose qualities and actions are to be emulated wholesale, but instead they are human, complex, troubled, often inspiring and, yes, heroic. But even knowing this, I don’t think I’m the only one who often thinks I am supposed to find the stories more inspiring than troubling. This sometimes leads me to gloss over passages that disturb me, looking for the parts that are easier to quote without explanation, the chapters where insight shines clearly through to our own time and place.
But it is actually by reading the stories with attention to the parts that disturb us that we engage their full power. Can we relate to Rebecca’s distress at her twin children fighting in her womb – so much so that she asks why she exists? Can we look squarely at the agonizing experience of parental favoritism, how it impacts sibling relationships, and how we may have seen this play out in our own families? Can we ask each other whether Isaac is really fooled by Jacob’s costume into giving him his brother’s blessing, or if possibly he himself is unsure and not being honest with himself?
Our stories are meant not simply to be read and cherished but to challenge us and offer light and perspective. We can reap that reward when we read them closely and honestly, as with the stories of our own lives, allowing ourselves to be disturbed as well as inspired.
Toldot (Genesis 25:19-28:9) Torah Reading Nov. 22, 2025: Honest Reading
November 20, 2025 by Rabbi Julie Saxe-Taller • D'var Torah, Uncategorized
The family dramas in the book of Genesis are a powerful example of the realness of the characters and stories of our biblical ancestors overall – they are not “teaching stories” with simple heroes and heroines whose qualities and actions are to be emulated wholesale, but instead they are human, complex, troubled, often inspiring and, yes, heroic. But even knowing this, I don’t think I’m the only one who often thinks I am supposed to find the stories more inspiring than troubling. This sometimes leads me to gloss over passages that disturb me, looking for the parts that are easier to quote without explanation, the chapters where insight shines clearly through to our own time and place.
But it is actually by reading the stories with attention to the parts that disturb us that we engage their full power. Can we relate to Rebecca’s distress at her twin children fighting in her womb – so much so that she asks why she exists? Can we look squarely at the agonizing experience of parental favoritism, how it impacts sibling relationships, and how we may have seen this play out in our own families? Can we ask each other whether Isaac is really fooled by Jacob’s costume into giving him his brother’s blessing, or if possibly he himself is unsure and not being honest with himself?
Our stories are meant not simply to be read and cherished but to challenge us and offer light and perspective. We can reap that reward when we read them closely and honestly, as with the stories of our own lives, allowing ourselves to be disturbed as well as inspired.