When the Chabad Shaliach Met Esau
Toldot & Educating with Love
We are all reeling from the brutal kidnapping and murder of Rabbi Zvi Kogan (28), of blessed memory—a chilling reminder that antisemitism can strike anywhere, and has become alarmingly normalized worldwide. Amidst the horror, a unique kind of pain emerges. Rabbi Zvi wasn’t just anyone; he was a Chabad shaliach (emissary). Together with his wife Rivky, he embraced the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s mission to illuminate the world.
I am not part of Chabad, but like so many others, I love Chabad. That love grows from encountering people like Rabbi Zvi, who dedicate their lives to making every Jew feel at home no matter where they are. Rabbi Zvi symbolized something precious. As Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky, Chairman of Global Lubavitch Headquarters, writes: “The targeting of Rabbi Kogan was an attempt to destroy the sacred Jewish values that he represented: light, goodness, and kindness.”
To honor Rabbi Zvi’s life and understand the light he shone, I offer this thought experiment: Imagine if a Chabad shaliach met Esau. What would happen then?
Jews have long cast Esau—a protagonist in this week’s Torah portion, Toldot—as a villain. My son once brought home puppets of Jacob and Esau—Jacob was handsome and civilized; Esau, redhead, hairy and brutish. At first I laughed, but I quickly realized that these dolls mirrored centuries of oversimplified portrayals of Esau.
The plain text (peshat) of Genesis introduces Esau as a ruddy boy who loves hunting. Esau is impulsive and rough around the edges. Ravenous after a long day outside, he hastily trades his birthright for his brother’s bowl of lentil soup. As he matures, his decisions continue to disappoint—his choice of wives brings pain and distress to his parents.
The twins’ rivalry reaches its climax when Isaac, blind and nearing the end of his life, prepares to bestow his covenantal blessing. Rebecca orchestrates an elaborate deception, instructing Jacob to disguise himself as Esau and trick his father Isaac into giving him the blessing. Isaac, who loves Esau, unwittingly blesses Jacob instead.
The narrative is brimming with complexity and pathos. Yet in rabbinic tradition, it is often reduced to a caricature. Ancient rabbis and medieval commentators overwhelmingly portray Esau as a villain.
Consider: the rabbis interpreted Rebecca’s tumultuous pregnancy as proof of the twins' opposing natures even in utero—Jacob drawn to Torah, Esau to pagan temples (Bereshit Rabbah, 63:6). From the womb, Jacob was righteous, Esau, wicked.
Rashi, the most influential medieval commentator, describes how their distinct natures became evident as soon as they matured (Rashi on Genesis 25:27). Rashi explains that Jacob blossomed into a diligent scholar, while Esau became an idolater, hunter, and deceiver.
Of course, these interpretations are rooted in an exegetical methodology. But I believe, like many scholars, that the rabbis’ depiction of Esau was influenced by their historical context.1 Writing under oppressive empires they associated with Esau, including Rome and its Christian successors, the rabbis rendered Esau irredeemable.
My favorite commentary on Esau offers a fresh perspective. Writing in 19th-century Germany, an era of emancipation and enlightenment that brought greater openness and eased entrenched prejudices against Jews, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch (1808–1888) challenged centuries of Jewish exegesis. Esau’s downfall, he argued, was not inevitable. Esau wasn’t inherently evil - he was shaped by failure of education.2
Think about it. Esau was a boy drawn to the outdoors and the action—someone we might describe today as hyperactive. According to R’ Hirsch, Isaac and Rebecca didn’t know how to meet his unique needs. He points to the popular verse, "Educate a child according to their way" (Proverbs 22:6), arguing that had Esau received the right kind of guidance—what we might call differentiated instruction—his destiny might have been different.
Here’s the most audacious part of R’ Hirsch’s interpretation: he suggests that if Esau had been educated properly, he too might have received the covenantal blessing. Perhaps both twins would have been chosen, neither excluded. Imagine the Jewish people as a glorious mix of Esau’s primal strength and Jacob’s intellectual grace. Rabbi Hirsch’s Esau wasn’t born a villain; he represents a missed opportunity—a vision of what could have been the future of Judaism.
This week, I’ve been reflecting on the remarkable work of Chabad shluchim, who look at every Jew and see a soul—a soul seeking connection, seeking a mitzvah. Nothing stands in their way. They’ll show up anywhere— pro-Palestinian protests, film festivals, financial conventions—searching for sparks of opportunity in the most unexpected places. No circumstance, no demeanor, no “wrongness” deters them. When they meet a Jew who seems stereotypically “bad,” they don’t give up; they dig deeper.
I’ve been thinking: imagine Rabbi Zvi Kogan z’l had met a young Esau—the Esau that Rabbi Hirsch envisioned. He would have shown him love. He’d have run with him in the fields, teaching him that Torah can flourish even in the great outdoors. He would have praised him: “How amazing that you love to hunt and feed your father!” He’d have wrapped tefillin around his arm and reminded him that he too could continue the odyssey of his grandfather Abraham.
Of course, there’s no guarantee Esau would have turned out differently. But who knows how many Jews have been lost because no one showed them this kind of love? And who knows how many have returned, carried by the love the Rebbe preached?
My teacher Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z’l, who was profoundly shaped by the Rebbe’s teachings, said, “If Hitler had tracked down every Jew in hate, [the Rebbe] would search out every Jew in love.” As antisemitism rises, the Rebbe would urge us “not just to protest antisemitism, but to actively engage in Ahavat Yisrael. Actually to go out and tell Jews, you are loved, we are your family, we are not going to let you go.”
Even in a world darkened by rising hatred, we are privileged to live in a generation illuminated by the Rebbe’s teachings and sustained by Chabad shluchim like Rabbi Zvi Kogan z’l. To honor Rabbi Zvi’s legacy, let us recommit to spreading the light and goodness he so fiercely embodied, carrying forward his mission to brighten the world.
May his memory be a blessing.
From Scroll to Soul: The Rebbe taught that every mitzvah brings us closer to redemption. This week, in memory of R’ Zvi Kogan, of blessed memory, take on a mitzvah. Make a special effort to do good for another Jew—particularly someone different from yourself—and show them love.
Ex: Hacohen, M. H. (2019). Jacob & Esau Jewish European history between nation and empire (pp. 1–734). https://doi.org/10.1017/9781108226813
Growing up in Tel Aviv I have had little positive experience with “the” haredi community and the animosity I felt directed at my secular lifestyle and upbringing was all too palpable. However, once we moved to a sleepy town in the SF Bay Area with seemingly tiny Jewish community, that my biases were quickly dismantled. We’ve since had the privilege of growing our community, helping create and participate in a Chabad house, a Hebrew school, and dozens of holidays and relationships that made this town home. It’s become a refuge from some of the less welcoming communities of the Bay Area and we are so lucky to be a part of it.
Your d'rash this week is especially meaningful to me. As mother of twin sons with extraordinary challenges who are also both extraordinary, I grew up in a wonderfully intellectual but assimilating family. The fragmentation of family and community has been palpable for us for many reasons and I have long sensed how gutted American culture is from the most basic, most illuminating values that Chabad passionately seeks to activate every moment. What a beautiful tribute to the murdered shaliach. Thank you for illuminating all of this for me.