5 min read

Every Deer Esau Bound Got Loose and Jacob Took the Blessing

Abraham had already decided. He called Rebecca to his bedside and told her which grandson to watch, and years later a hunt in the hills went wrong.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Abraham's Last Instruction to Rebecca
  2. The Deer That Would Not Stay Tied
  3. The Hand That Would Not Let Go at the Ford
  4. Abigail on the Road at Night
Every Deer Esau Bound Got Loose and Jacob Took the Blessing Click for full size

Abraham's Last Instruction to Rebecca

Abraham watched his two grandsons grow up and made up his mind about them long before their father did.

He had seen what Esau did with his days. So he sent for Rebecca, because he knew where her heart already sat, and he gave her an instruction rather than an opinion. My daughter, watch over my son Jacob. He will stand in my place on the earth. He will be a blessing among the children of men and the glory of the whole seed of Shem, and the Lord is going to take him for a people of his own out of every people on the face of the ground.

Then the old man died, and the instruction sat in a woman's memory for years with nothing to do.

The Deer That Would Not Stay Tied

Isaac went blind and old and asked for meat. He wanted game, hunted and dressed the way his elder son knew how to do it, and then he would give that son the blessing.

Esau took his bow and went out. He was not careful about where the meat came from, whether he ran it down himself or lifted it off somebody else, but he went out.

God sent Ha-Satan out with him.

The prosecutor of heaven had one job on that hillside and it was not to tempt anybody. It was to waste Esau's afternoon. Esau brought a deer down, tied its legs, left it lying in the grass, and went off after a second animal. Behind him Ha-Satan (the Accuser) walked up to the deer, untied it, and let it go. Esau came back to an empty patch of flattened grass.

He ran it down again. He tied it again. He left it and went hunting, and it was gone again when he turned around.

The sun went across the sky. A man who could outrun anything in those hills kept catching the same kind of animal and kept coming back to bare ground, and every hour he lost was an hour Rebecca was using. She had the goats killed, the stew made, the skins on Jacob's arms and neck, and her younger son standing at his father's bedside with a dish in his hands while his brother was still out there kneeling over a knot that would not hold.

By the time Esau got home with his venison the blessing was gone and could not be called back.

The Hand That Would Not Let Go at the Ford

Twenty years later Jacob sent his wives and his children and everything he owned across the ford at Jabbok and stayed on the empty bank alone, because Esau was coming the next morning with four hundred men.

Somebody took hold of him in the dark.

It was Samael, the guardian of Esau, and he had not come to kill Jacob. He had come to spend him. A man who wrestles all night is not a man who fights well at noon. So they went at it in the mud by the water, and the angel could not put him down, and near the end he reached in and wrenched the socket of Jacob's hip so the leg would not hold.

Jacob still would not let go.

Let me go, the angel said. The day is breaking.

Not until you bless me.

He was not asking for himself. He was standing on one good leg holding the accuser of his brother's house at the exact moment when that accuser had to be somewhere else, and he made him bless the whole line that would come out of Jacob's body. Whatever heaven would later do for those children, Samael had signed it in the dark by the river and could never stand up and object.

The sun came up on him as he crossed over, limping.

Abigail on the Road at Night

Generations down that line, a young man who had been anointed and not yet crowned came down a road at night with four hundred men behind him and murder arranged in his head.

Nabal had insulted him. David intended to leave nothing alive in that household by morning.

Abigail met him on the road with the food, and then she did something stranger than bringing food. Her husband's life was hanging on the next few minutes and she asked David a quiet question about ritual law, as calmly as a student in a study hall.

David would not answer it. That is a question for daylight, he said. It cannot be settled at night.

Then neither can this, Abigail said. A sentence of death is also passed by day. Even if you are right about my husband, the law makes you wait for morning.

The man is a rebel, David said. A rebel gets no trial.

And she said the sentence that stopped him where he stood. Saul is still alive. You are not king yet, and the world has not called you one.

He turned the men around. In the morning Nabal was dead of his own heart and not of David's sword, and the throne came to David later with nothing on it from that night.


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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Book of Jubilees 19:22Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

Book of Jubilees turns to Trial of Esau of Jacob.

Abraham, nearing the end of his days. He's seen a lot, hasn't he? From leaving his home to almost sacrificing his son, he's lived a life of faith and testing. And now, he's looking at his grandsons, Esau and Jacob, and something is troubling him.

"Abraham saw the deeds of Esau," the verse says, "and he knew that in Jacob should his name and seed be called." He saw something in Esau, perhaps a lack of the spiritual depth he knew was needed to carry on the covenant. He understood that Jacob was the one destined to continue his legacy, to be the vessel for God's promise.

So, what does Abraham do? He calls for Rebecca.

Think about their relationship for a moment. Abraham, the patriarch, and Rebecca, his son's wife. There must have been a deep level of trust and respect between them. "He called Rebecca," the Book of Jubilees says, "and gave commandment regarding Jacob, for he knew that she (too) loved Jacob much more than Esau."

Abraham recognized Rebecca’s love for Jacob – a love that mirrored his own understanding of Jacob’s destiny. This wasn't just about favoritism; it was about recognizing a divine spark.

And what does he say to her? It's a powerful charge: "My daughter, watch over my son Jacob, for he shall be in my stead on the earth, and for a blessing in the midst of the children of men, and for the glory of the whole seed of Shem."

He's entrusting her with the future. He’s telling her that Jacob will be his successor, a blessing to all humanity, a source of glory for the descendants of Shem – one of Noah's sons, from whom Abraham's lineage comes. It's a huge responsibility.

Abraham continues, "For I know that the Lord will choose him to be a people for possession unto Himself, above all peoples that are upon the face of the earth."

Abraham believes – he knows – that God has chosen Jacob. Chosen him to be the father of a special people, a people set apart, a people dedicated to God. This isn't about superiority; it's about a unique relationship, a unique calling. A segulah people, as it's known in Hebrew (am segulah, עם סגלה), a treasured people.

What strikes me about this passage from the Book of Jubilees is the intimacy of it. We often focus on the grand narratives, the sweeping gestures of biblical stories. But here, we see a quiet, almost domestic scene. An aging grandfather, entrusting the future to his daughter-in-law, guided by his understanding of God's will.

And that sometimes, the most important decisions are made not on the battlefield or in the palace, but in the quiet corners of the human heart.

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Esh Kadosh p. 13Esh Kodesh (Rabbi Kalonymus)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria-hosted English translation · CC-BY

It's one of the most enigmatic scenes in the entire Torah (Genesis 32:24-30), and Jewish tradition has offered some pretty wild interpretations over the centuries.

One compelling idea, found in various midrashim (rabbinic interpretive commentary), is that Jacob wasn't just wrestling any old being. Oh no. It was Esau's guardian angel. And not just any angel, but Samael (the angel of death) himself! Samael is often identified as a powerful, even demonic, figure in Jewish mystical thought.

The Zohar tells us that Samael is a powerful figure with a lot of influence. So what was he doing wrestling Jacob? The idea is that by wearing Jacob down, exhausting him through this all-night struggle, Samael hoped to make him vulnerable for Esau's attack the next day. He wanted to ensure Esau would finally triumph over his brother.

Jacob, stubborn and determined as ever, held on. He didn't let Samael win. And here’s where the story takes another fascinating turn. Before letting the angel go, Jacob demanded a blessing. "Your name shall no longer be Jacob," the angel declared, "but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed" (Genesis 32:29).

Now, why would Jacob insist on a blessing from such a figure?

Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto – may his memory be a blessing – offers a profound and moving insight in Esh Kadosh. He suggests that Jacob wasn't asking for a blessing for himself. He was asking for it on behalf of his descendants, the people of Israel. The blessing from Samael, forced as it was, meant that this powerful adversarial angel couldn't protest when God decided to liberate Israel from oppression in future times. It meant that even Samael had, in a way, given his reluctant assent to the Exodus from Egypt!

As we find in Midrash Rabbah, everything said about Jacob can also apply to the people of Israel, especially after Jacob's name was changed to Israel. It’s all intertwined. This blessing, therefore, wasn't just for one man, but for the entire nation that would spring from him.

This ingenious interpretation casts the whole wrestling match in a new light. It transforms it from a personal struggle into a cosmic battle with implications for generations to come. Even the dark forces of the universe, personified by Samael, could be compelled to serve the ultimate purpose of redemption.

The idea that Jacob wrestled with Esau's guardian angel, Samael, appears again in another myth, "The Magic Flock," found in Tree of Souls (Schwartz). It's a recurring motif, highlighting the ongoing struggle between good and evil, between Israel and its adversaries, a struggle that continues to this day.

It’s a story about a nation's destiny, a cosmic battle, and the enduring power of hope, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. What does this story mean for us today, and our own struggles against seemingly insurmountable odds?

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Legends of the Jews 6:56Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

See, Isaac, nearing his end (or so he thought), wanted to bestow his blessing upon his elder son, Esau. All Esau had to do was hunt some game and prepare a tasty meal. Simple enough. Not quite. As Legends of the Jews tells it, God, in his infinite wisdom (and perhaps nudged along by Rebekah, who favored Jacob), decided to throw a wrench into Esau's plans. And that wrench? None other than Satan himself.

Esau, the skilled hunter, finally manages to catch a deer. He binds it securely, confident he's on his way to fulfilling his father's request. But as he chases after more game, Satan swoops in and… poof! The deer is gone. Free as a bird.

Esau, understandably frustrated, tracks down another deer. He captures it, ties it up even tighter this time, and resumes his hunt. But guess what? Satan strikes again! The deer vanishes into thin air. It’s like a cosmic game of hide-and-seek, with Esau as the perpetually frustrated seeker.

Ginzberg's retelling emphasizes the repetitive nature of this divine interference. Again and again, Esau captures, binds, and loses his prey. It must have been infuriating! You can almost picture him throwing his hands up in the air, yelling at the heavens.

But why all the trouble? What was the point of this celestial cat-and-mouse game?

Simple: to buy time. While Esau was busy wrestling with disappearing deer courtesy of Satan, Jacob, aided by his mother Rebekah's cunning plan, was able to step in and receive Isaac's blessing in Esau's stead.

Sometimes, the universe has other plans. Sometimes, those plans involve a little divine (or devilish) intervention. And sometimes, all you can do is laugh (or maybe cry a little) and wonder what on earth is going on.

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Legends of the Jews 4:85Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The familiar telling remembers the heroes, the kings, the prophets. but what about their wives, their mothers, the women who shaped their destinies? Let's

The Legends of the Jews, that incredible compilation by Louis Ginzberg, places Abigail among the four most beautiful women in history, alongside Sarah, Rahab, and Esther. Just She wasn't just physically stunning, though. Abigail possessed a rare combination of beauty, wisdom, and even prophetic gifts. Ginzberg tells us that just the thought of her could stir intense passion in men.

What really sets Abigail apart is her sharp intellect. We see it in her famous encounter with David, the future king. Her husband, Nabal – and let's just say his name, which means "fool," was rather fitting – had deeply offended David and his men. David, enraged, was on his way to exact revenge, and it looked like things were about to get very bloody.

Abigail, wise and quick-thinking, intercepts David. Even though she's understandably worried about Nabal's life, she maintains her composure. Ginzberg describes how, with "utmost tranquility," she poses a ritual question to David in the midst of his fury.

Nabal, in his arrogance, refuses to answer, saying it's a question for daytime, not nighttime. And here's where Abigail's brilliance truly shines. She immediately retorts that a death sentence, too, can only be passed during the day. It's a subtle but powerful move. Even if David's judgment was correct, she reminds him, the law requires him to wait until daybreak to execute it upon Nabal.

But Abigail doesn't stop there. David tries to argue that Nabal, as a rebel, doesn't deserve due process. And Abigail masterfully counters: "Saul is still alive, and thou art not yet acknowledged king by the world." It’s a powerful reminder to David: you're not king yet. You don't have the full authority to act in this way.

Think about the layers of meaning in her words. Abigail is not only saving her husband's life – even though he probably doesn't deserve it! – but she's also reminding David of the bigger picture, of his own destiny, and of the importance of acting with justice and restraint, even in the heat of anger.

Abigail’s intervention is evidence of the power of wisdom, diplomacy, and courage. She's a reminder that even in the midst of conflict, a clear head and a moral compass can change the course of history. She’s proof that the women in these stories are not just passive figures, but active agents shaping the narrative and guiding the destinies of kings.

So, the next time you hear the name of King David, remember Abigail, the wise and beautiful woman who dared to challenge him and, in doing so, perhaps helped him become the king he was destined to be. What would the story of David be without her?

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Tikkunei Zohar 99:20Tikkunei Zohar

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria-hosted English translation · CC-BY

Jewish mysticism wrestles with this very idea. The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a later expansion on the core Zohar, dives deep into these shadowy realms. It asks, who are these "dark ones" that seem to hold sway over us?

The answer, perhaps unsurprisingly, isn't a simple one. The Tikkunei Zohar 99 points to Samael (the angel of death), often considered the angel of death or a powerful adversary. And the snake, that ancient symbol of temptation and transgression. But here’s the kicker: what allows them to rule?

The text pulls no punches. It cites (Isaiah 59:2): "Because your sins have separated, between you and your God." Ouch. Our actions, our missteps, create a void, a space where these forces can gain influence. That our choices have cosmic implications.

King David, in (Psalm 119:18), seems to echo this sentiment. He cries out, "Reveal to my eyes, and I shall behold wonders from Your Torah." He's not just asking for knowledge; he's pleading for the ability to see beyond the darkness, to pierce the veil that our own actions have drawn.

But here's where the story takes a hopeful turn. The Tikkunei Zohar suggests that a transformation is possible. A reversal of fortune. A moment when "the lights are now transformed and rule over the dark-ones." Isn't that what we all yearn for? To tip the scales, to bring light into the darkness?

So, how does this happen? The text explores the mystical realm of ta'amei ha-mikra (טעמי המקרא), the cantillation notes used when chanting the Torah. These seemingly small markings hold profound secrets, the Tikkunei Zohar says. Think of them as the musical score for the soul.

Specifically, it mentions notes like shofar (שֹׁפַר֣), me-hupakh (מְהֻפָּךְ֚), qadmah (קַדְמָ֨), and zaqeph qatan (זָקֵף קָטָ֔). It connects these to Jacob's humble declaration in (Genesis 32:11), "I am made small (qatonti קָטֹנְתִּי), from all the kindnesses and from all the truth…"

It’s a powerful connection. Jacob, facing his estranged and potentially hostile brother Esau, acknowledges his own unworthiness. He feels small, diminished. But it is precisely from this place of humility, of recognizing our limitations, that transformation can arise. The smallness, the qatonti, is "straightened-up" and becomes zaqeph gadol (זָקֵף גָּדֹל֕) – the great upright.

And what is this "truth" that Jacob speaks of? The Tikkunei Zohar connects it directly to Torah, citing (Malachi 2:6): "The teaching (Torah תּוֹרַת) of truth was in his mouth.." Torah, in this context, isn't just a set of laws or stories. It's a pathway to truth, a guide to working through the complexities of life and overcoming the darkness within.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it’s a reminder that the battle between light and darkness isn't some abstract cosmic struggle. It plays out within each of us. Our choices, our humility, our willingness to seek truth – these are the weapons we wield. The Tikkunei Zohar invites us to embrace the smallness within, to learn from the cantillation notes of our lives, and to strive to transform the darkness into light. Isn’t that a worthwhile pursuit?

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