We often hear about the big names – Abraham, Moses, David. But what about the seemingly quieter figures, the ones whose stories whisper rather than shout? Today, let’s delve into the life of Issachar, one of Jacob's twelve sons.
His story, as recounted in Ginzberg’s Legends of the Jews, isn’t one of dramatic battles or prophetic pronouncements. Instead, it’s a story of simplicity, of integrity, and of a "singleness of heart" that earned him divine favor.
Issachar’s very birth is intertwined with a fascinating tale. Remember the dudaim? Those "fragrant apples" (some say mandrakes) that Reuben, Leah's son, found in the field? The story goes that Rachel, Jacob's beloved but barren wife, desperately wanted them. Leah, in exchange for letting Rachel have them, bargained for a night with Jacob. As the story goes, she felt that since she was already married to Jacob, she was entitled to his attention. "Jacob is mine, and I am the wife of his youth!" she exclaimed (Ginzberg referencing the Midrash). And so, Leah conceived Issachar.
According to Ginzberg's retelling, an angel appeared to Jacob and explained that Rachel would only have two sons, because she chose continence, while Leah would bear six, because she desired to be with her husband, not because of evil inclination, but for the sake of children. Rachel did not even eat the dudaim, but put them in the house of the Lord, and gave them to the priest.
Later in life, Issachar followed a simple path: tilling the land, bringing the first fruits to the priest, and then sharing the rest with his family and the needy. He married late, at thirty years old, because his hard work consumed his strength. His father, Jacob, recognized his yosher lev – his "singleness of heart" – and blessed him. Why? Because Issachar’s sincerity was so complete that God aided him.
As Issachar felt his end approaching, he gathered his sons and imparted his wisdom. His message? Embrace simplicity. Shun greed. Avoid envy and lust. Focus on honest labor and acts of kindness. "Walk in singleness of heart," he urged them, "for upon it resteth the favor of the Lord at all times." He contrasts this with a warning about the future. A future where his descendants would abandon probity, pursue craftiness, and forsake the commandments of the Lord, as Ginzberg draws from tradition.
Issachar's final testament is a powerful declaration of his own blamelessness. "I am one hundred and twenty-two years old," he proclaims, "and I can discern no sin in myself." He had no relations with a woman save his wife, he avoided wine to prevent being led astray, and he never coveted what belonged to another. He loved the Lord with all his might and loved mankind as well.
He instructed his sons to bury him in the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron, alongside his forefathers. He then passed away peacefully, full of years and in possession of all his faculties.
What can we learn from Issachar's life? Perhaps it's a reminder that holiness isn't always about grand gestures or extraordinary feats. Sometimes, it's found in the quiet moments, in the simple acts of kindness, and in the unwavering commitment to integrity.
Issachar’s life challenges us to examine our own hearts. Are we striving for that "singleness of heart?" Are we cultivating simplicity in a world that constantly demands complexity? It’s a question worth pondering, isn’t it? A question that might just lead us closer to the divine favor that Issachar so beautifully embodied.