Jacob endured a far more turbulent life than his two predecessors. Though he was better suited to guide our destiny, biology placed him second, and he had to struggle to claim the role meant for him. He entered this world clutching the heel of his older brother. Twice, he was forced to dislodge Esau, who was unfit for leadership or for carrying the mission of our nation. Esau lived for immediate gratification and showed no interest in long-term purpose, public duty, or selfless service.
Jacob spent 20 years beyond the borders of Israel in the home of a deceitful father-in-law and later confronted tensions within his own family – conflicts that ultimately led him into exile in Egypt. His journey was marked by instability, pulled between external adversaries and internal turmoil.
His life unfolds in the shadow of struggle. From the moment he grasped Esau’s heel, both his name and his experiences reflect a lifetime of navigating conflict.
Unanswered questions
Perhaps no challenge was as mentally taxing for Jacob as remaining committed to his inner conviction when it was not affirmed by those around him. He was forced to secure the blessings through disguise, allowing his father to believe he stood before him as the older son. It must have been unsettling for Jacob to receive the blessing of Jewish leadership in such a fraught and morally complex manner.
Esau immediately cast Jacob as a deceiver and pursued him with threats of violence. In Esau’s narrative, Jacob was the criminal who stole the birthright and then compounded the offense by taking the blessings as well.
As Jacob arrives in the home of his relatives, his troubles only deepen. After working seven years to marry Rachel, he is deceived by his father-in-law, Laban, who swaps Leah in place of the woman he had labored for. This moment must have cut Jacob sharply. He now confronts the very pattern he once set in motion. Just as he had stepped into Esau’s place as the older brother, the older sister was now being slipped into the place of the younger, Rachel – the woman he loved.
The questions that must have flooded him are easy to imagine. Is this my punishment? Is this what comes back to me? Is God signaling that my earlier actions were tainted? Is this a measure of retribution?
Over the next 20 years in Laban’s household, the pattern repeats. Laban alters the terms of employment, shifting agreements and manipulating Jacob. Each time he is swindled, Jacob must have wondered whether he was encountering human deceit or a deeper accounting for the blessings he had secured.
When Jacob ultimately returns to the Land of Israel, he confronts discord within his own family. His sons wrestle over succession and status, and, once again, he is thrust into the painful dynamics that emerge when leadership is contested. The echoes of his own struggle with Esau must have been unmistakable – the same dangers and the same jealousy that accompany the question of who will carry the future.
Painfully, Jacob never receives explicit affirmation or validation from his father. Isaac never openly acknowledges that he has misjudged the situation or that Jacob’s actions, however difficult, were necessary for the future of the nation. Isaac dispatched Jacob to Aram with heartfelt blessings, yet the Torah records no further exchange between them.
Jacob is left without closure, forced to draw strength from the truth he knows internally – that he acted to secure the destiny he was meant to carry, even when that truth was not confirmed by the person whose approval he most longed to receive.
The quiet power of conviction
All these experiences could have left Jacob doubtful and unsteady. Yet out of this swirl of uncertainty emerges his strength: His courage lies in his faith and inner resilience. Even without his father’s endorsement, and even when circumstances seem stacked against him, Jacob holds fast to his conviction. His mother had instructed him, and the choice was clear: Esau could not lead a nation meant to live by divine command and carry a historical mission.
Jacob’s inner clarity sustains him, even when public validation is absent and the path forward is clouded with doubt.
Jacob’s ability to trust his inner truth becomes a blueprint for moments when a nation must stand firm without applause.
Our moment of conviction
Our people are facing a similar trial. As the war reaches its end – or even a temporary pause – the world has lined up to accuse us of fabricated claims. For some, Israeli hostilities began on October 8, before a single retaliatory shot was fired. For others, their anger toward Israel had been building for two years of manipulated images, false reports, and a global campaign that cast Jews and the Jewish state as criminals, even as we were confronting the most brutal assault imaginable.
As the military phase recedes, the struggle shifts to the diplomatic front and to the charged arena of public opinion. Here, too, our resolve is tested, as our principled defense of land and people is distorted and condemned.
We carry the rightness of our cause. Oct. 7 left no alternative. We have fought an excruciating urban war, doing everything possible to spare noncombatants while striving to return our hostages. If parts of the world refuse to acknowledge the moral clarity of that effort, we must still remain attentive to it ourselves.
History’s verdict will emerge in time. We stand on firm moral ground – and, ultimately, on prophetic ground as well. The task is to move forward with quiet certainty, holding fast to the truth we bear even when others cannot or will not see it.
What Jacob mastered in the realm of destiny, we face in the ongoing demands of ordinary life. His courage reminds us how hard it is to stay rooted in conviction without the comfort of public affirmation.
Modern identity is fragile
We live in a world that makes it difficult to follow our inner convictions when they aren’t popular. Social media has left many people increasingly dependent upon public approval and attention. By broadcasting private lives, we invite others to judge, affirm, or admire the choices we make and the way we live. The more we rely on feedback, the harder it becomes to hear the quiet voice of conscience.
This craving for external validation weakens our ability to remain anchored in our own convictions and values. We expend more energy shaping how we appear in the public square than nurturing the inner compass that guides us toward what is right.
When conviction erodes, identity becomes hollow and fragile. If we can no longer name the values we believe in, we lose the cornerstone of who we are. In that vacuum, people grasp for shallower forms of identity – especially political identity. Much of modern identity politics springs from a world in which conviction has been weakened and values diluted, leaving individuals to build identity not on belief or principle but on ideological affiliation and group alignment.
In our climate of noise and borrowed identities, Jacob’s story becomes a guide. He held fast to his truth without applause, without consensus, without the reassurance of being understood.
Jacob walked with conviction in silence; we must learn to walk with conviction amid the noise.
The writer, a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion (Gush), was ordained by YU and has an MA in English literature. His books include To Be Holy but Human: Reflections Upon My Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital. mtaraginbooks.com.