Take the reunion of Jacob and Esau in Genesis 33. We read how Jacob arranged his family as he approached his brother, placing the maidservants and their children first, Leah and her children next, and finally Rachel and Joseph at the rear. Why this order?

The Midrash, specifically Bereshit Rabbah, dives deep into this moment. One interpretation suggests a surprising idea: "He placed the maidservants and their children first" implies that "the farther back one is, the more he is beloved." It's a fascinating thought, isn't it? Perhaps those who are seemingly less prominent, less favored in the eyes of the world, hold a special place in God's heart.

Then comes Jacob's repeated prostrations before Esau: "He passed before them and prostrated himself earthward seven times, until he reached his brother." (Genesis 33:3). Bereshit Rabbah connects this act to the verse "As a father has mercy upon his son" (Psalms 103:13). Rabbi Ḥiyya even suggests that Jacob was acting like the most merciful of the patriarchs.

But who is the most merciful patriarch?

Rabbi Yehuda argues it's Abraham. Remember Abraham's passionate plea to God in Genesis 18:25, "Far be it from You to do a thing like this," as he argued for the sparing of Sodom? He was willing to stand up to God himself, begging for mercy on behalf of others.

Rabbi Levi, however, makes a case for Jacob. "He passed before them," Rabbi Levi says, because Jacob thought, "It is preferable that he harm me and not them." Jacob was putting himself in harm’s way to protect his family. Talk about selfless love!

And what about those seven prostrations? Why seven? The Midrash offers a couple of explanations. One connects it to Proverbs 24:16: "The righteous man falls seven times and rises." Jacob, in his humility, acknowledges his own potential for falling, but also his resilience, his ability to rise again.

Another explanation is even more striking. Jacob is essentially saying to Esau: "May you consider yourself as though you are situated behind seven partitions and sitting and judging, and I am being judged before you, and you are filled with mercy upon me." He’s envisioning Esau as a judge, hoping to evoke Esau's compassion. He's pleading for mercy, acknowledging Esau's power in that moment.

Rabbi Ḥanina bar Yitzḥak adds a powerful layer to this interpretation. He suggests that Jacob "did not cease prostrating and progressing, prostrating and progressing, until he introduced the attribute of din, justice, into the attribute of rachamim, mercy." Through his actions, Jacob was softening Esau's potential judgment, tempering justice with compassion. He was ensuring "that the attribute of justice would be subjected to the attribute of mercy."

This image – Jacob, bowing repeatedly, not out of weakness, but out of a desire to transform a potentially volatile situation into one of reconciliation – is incredibly powerful.

What does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of potential conflict, humility and empathy can be powerful tools. Maybe it's a call to consider the hidden value in those who seem to be on the margins. Or maybe it's simply a beautiful illustration of the power of mercy to overcome judgment. Whatever your takeaway, the story of Jacob and Esau continues to resonate, offering wisdom and insight across the ages.