The Torah’s most dramatic reunion has a message we still need today

By Rabbi Rocki Schy-Brunson, Temple Emanuel

Published December 4, 2025

Jacob has changed. Since absconding with a birthright and a blessing, fleeing into his uncle’s home, he has worked tirelessly. He has married both Rachel and Leah, and has begun building wealth to support a family of his own. His children are growing up, and his household has greatly increased in size. He has been able to leave his uncle’s house on peaceful terms and is determined to return to his homeland. As if to make Jacob’s growth indisputable, a lone and mysterious wrestler yanks his hip socket out of place, giving him a permanent limp, and grants him a new name. He is no longer “Jacob,” the youth who misleads and tricks his family. Now he is “Israel,” the man who strives with divinity and perseveres. The evidence of the change he has gone through is now made plain in his gait and title.

We get to watch Jacob change. We see him yearn for someone and set himself to seven years of hard work in order to win her, and seven years again after he is duped himself. We see his cleverness put to use as he tends to flocks and strengthens his household. We get to see this change taking place as, through the text in the Torah, we flee with Jacob, we fall in love with him, we make a name for ourselves alongside him.

We don’t see Esau changing.

We assume, with Jacob, that the anger that led to Esau threatening Jacob’s life all those years ago remains bubbling just beneath the surface. Despite the fact that Jacob has grown, changed, developed over the long years, he fears that Esau is not capable of the same growth, change and development. In Jacob’s mind, and therefore in ours, Esau is frozen in time, unable to move forward from this singular, fury-filled moment.

We watch as Jacob sends gifts ahead of him, hoping that it might cool Esau’s temper. We watch as Jacob prepares himself for the meeting, separating his family to ensure that some from his household might have a chance to survive if Esau attacks. We watch him bow low to the ground, offering appeasing words to his brother as he approaches.

And then, of course, we watch as the brothers embrace, tearful and relieved. Esau’s own family has grown, he has made his own way in the world. While we were changing and growing with Jacob, Esau has been on an odyssey of his own, facing his own challenges and growing from them. Esau, too, has changed. When Jacob finally recognizes the change he found it impossible to imagine in Esau for so long, he says, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God.” The evidence of change is painted across Esau’s loving expression, as clearly as it is displayed in Jacob’s limp.

When we assume that others are not capable of change, we do them an immense disservice. When we freeze others in time, and refuse to acknowledge that they might grow, change or develop, we cut ourselves, and each other, off from true community and relationships. Despite how stubborn and immovable we might imagine others to be, everyone is always capable of change. We are always capable of growth, of moving our lives in a positive direction. When we recognize that capacity for change in ourselves and others, it is like beholding the face of God.