When Hope Meets Reality

People think about the future. They study events, follow developments, analyze trends, make predictions and form expectations. They invest hopes in people and causes, work toward certain outcomes, and convince themselves that if enough people understand what is at stake, things will turn out the way the people think they should.

Leading up to elections, people follow polls, read analyses, listen to political commentators and discuss the prospects of candidates and parties. They make calculations and develop theories about what voters are thinking and what they will do when they enter the voting booth. They become convinced that the facts are on their side, that the public will recognize what is at stake, and that the outcome we anticipate is not merely possible but inevitable.

And then reality intervenes.

The votes are counted, the winners are declared, and the results are not what they hoped for. The candidates they supported lose, the policies they feared gain momentum, and the people they believed would recognize the dangers confronting them make different choices. Suddenly, the future they envisioned looks very different from the one unfolding before them.

That is where we find ourselves following the recent elections in America and Eretz Yisroel.

In both countries, the results raised troubling questions about the direction of society and the future of issues that are important to us.

In Israel, the results brought disappointment to many who hoped for a stronger showing by the parties representing the Torah community and for a political outcome more favorable to the interests and values we cherish. The numbers were not what had been hoped for, and the implications left us concerned about what lies ahead.

In America, we see a political movement increasingly accommodating and supporting ideas that were, until recently, considered far outside the mainstream. Socialism is gaining acceptance, traditional moral standards are being challenged, and hostility toward Israel has become an increasingly prominent feature of political discourse. Antisemitism is now rationalized, excused, or ignored when it emanates from politically favored quarters. Openly antisemitic Democrats were elected, and when the extent of the Republican losses became clear, the vice president was quick to break with the president and throw Israel under the bus.

In Eretz Yisroel, the future of the Torah world, the ability of bnei yeshivos to devote themselves to learning, and the relationship between the state and those who live according to the dictates of the Torah have become central issues in a bitter political struggle. The election results have strengthened those who seek fundamental changes in the longstanding arrangements that have helped preserve the world of Torah.

Elections have consequences. Governments enact laws, appoint judges, determine policies, and shape the environment in which we and our children live. It is our responsibility to participate in the political process, support those who defend our interests, and do what we can to preserve a society in which Torah Jews can live according to their beliefs.

And now the question is how a believing person responds when events unfold in a way that he neither anticipated nor desired.

It is a question that has confronted Jews throughout the generations. We have lived through periods of great promise and periods of terrible disappointment. We have seen governments rise and fall, leaders emerge and disappear, and political circumstances change in ways that seemed impossible only a short time earlier. We have experienced moments when the future appeared bright and others when the darkness seemed overwhelming.

When the results go against us and the future appears less secure than it did yesterday, we are confronted with a question that goes beyond politics.

Where does our strength come from?

What is it that has preserved us through the centuries, through the rise and fall of empires, through periods of benevolent government and times of terrible persecution, through generations when Jews enjoyed relative security and generations when everything they possessed was taken from them?

The answer is found in this week’s parsha.

Parshas Toldos introduces us to a struggle that began before the birth of Yaakov and Eisov and continues until today. Rivkah felt that the children were struggling within her and went to seek an explanation. She was told, “Shnei goyim bevitneich,” that she was carrying two nations, two peoples who would follow different paths and whose relationship would be marked by conflict.

Yaakov and Eisov were not merely two brothers with different personalities. They represented two fundamentally different approaches to life, two competing understandings of what matters and what gives a person strength.

Eisov was the man of the field, the hunter, the person who understood the world in terms of physical strength and immediate gratification. He lived for the present, for what he could acquire and enjoy, for the satisfaction of his desires. When he returned from the field exhausted and hungry, he was willing to surrender his bechorah, his birthright and the spiritual responsibilities associated with it, for a bowl of food.

Yaakov was an ish tom yosheiv ohalim, a person devoted to Torah, to truth, and to the eternal values transmitted by Avrohom and Yitzchok. He understood that life is not measured by the pleasures of the moment or by the power a person can exercise over others. Its purpose is to fulfill the will of Hashem and to build something that endures beyond the circumstances of the present.

Their differences were not confined to their own lives. They established the paths that their descendants would follow.

When Yaakov entered his father’s room to receive the brachos, Yitzchok heard his voice and felt his hands. Confused by the contradiction, he declared, “Hakol kol Yaakov vehayodayim yedei Eisov.” The voice was the voice of Yaakov, but the hands were the hands of Eisov.

Chazal reveal the eternal significance of these words. The strength of Yaakov lies in his voice, in Torah and tefillah. Eisov’s strength lies in his hands, in the exercise of physical power.

As long as the voice of Yaakov is heard in the botei medrash and botei knesses, the hands of Eisov cannot exercise their full power against him. When that voice weakens, when Klal Yisroel neglects the source of its strength, the hands of Eisov gain ascendancy.

This is not merely a beautiful thought or a comforting interpretation of a posuk. It is a description of the history of our people and a guide to understanding our place in the world.

We live in a society that measures strength in terms of votes, money, influence, military power, and public opinion. Political parties celebrate when they win elections because they have acquired the ability to shape events. Nations measure their security by the size of their armies, the sophistication of their weapons, and the strength of their alliances. Individuals seek connections to powerful people because they believe that those relationships will protect them when difficulties arise.

And there is truth to all of this. We are required to act responsibly within the natural order that Hashem created. We must defend ourselves, cultivate friendships, and make use of the opportunities available to us. We cannot sit idly by while others determine the future of our communities.

But the mistake begins when we confuse the means with the source.

Political influence is a means. Military strength is a means. Wealth, connections, and public support are means. They can be valuable and even necessary, but they are not the source of our existence or the ultimate guarantee of our survival.

Our source is the Ribbono Shel Olam, and our connection to Him is maintained through Torah, mitzvos, tefillah, and emunah.

The nations of the world have had armies, governments, palaces, and the power to impose their will. They have controlled the lands in which we lived and determined whether we would be welcomed, tolerated, or persecuted. They believed that their power was absolute and that the Jewish people were at their mercy.

Yet those empires disappeared, their rulers are forgotten, and their once-mighty institutions became subjects for historians. The Jewish people remained.

We remained because the voice of Yaakov continued to be heard, not because we consistently possessed greater political influence or superior military strength.

It was heard in the botei medrash of Bovel, in the yeshivos of the Rishonim, in the communities of Ashkenaz and Sefarad, in the great centers of Torah in Lithuania and Poland, and in the humble homes of Jews who sacrificed everything to remain faithful to the Torah.

It was heard when Jews were prosperous and when they were impoverished, when they lived under governments that protected them and when they suffered under rulers who sought their destruction.

It was heard in the darkness of the ghettos and in the ruins of Europe, and it was heard again when survivors rebuilt the Torah world in Eretz Yisroel and America.

The circumstances changed. The governments changed. The maps changed. But the voice remained.

And because that voice remained, so did we.

This is the perspective we must bring to the events of the past week.

We are disappointed by the election results because we recognize the dangers they may bring. We worry about the growing acceptance of socialism and the erosion of the principles that helped make America a land of freedom and opportunity. We are concerned by the normalization of antisemitism, the weakening of support for Israel, and the increasing hostility toward traditional values.

We worry about what will happen in Eretz Yisroel if those who fail to appreciate the centrality of Torah learning gain the power to impose their vision upon the Torah community. We know that the preservation of the yeshivos and kollelim is not a peripheral concern but a matter that touches the spiritual foundation of Klal Yisroel.

But we must not allow those worries to overwhelm us or cause us to lose sight of what is truly important.

The results of an election can alter the political balance, but they cannot alter the eternal truths upon which our lives are founded. A political party can lose seats, but the Torah does not lose its authority. A government can enact laws, but it cannot change the obligations of a Jew. Public opinion can turn against us, but it cannot diminish the sanctity of a daf Gemara or the power of a heartfelt tefillah.

And no election can repeal the promise that Klal Yisroel will endure.

There is another lesson in Parshas Toldos that is particularly relevant to our times.

When Yitzchok experienced a famine, Hashem instructed him not to leave Eretz Yisroel. He remained in Geror, where he faced hostility from the Pelishtim. Despite the difficulties, he planted crops and was blessed with success. His wealth increased, and the Pelishtim became envious.

They filled the wells that Avrohom had dug, attempting to deprive Yitzchok of the water necessary to sustain his household and flocks. When Yitzchok reopened those wells, the local shepherds quarreled with his servants and claimed the water for themselves.

Yitzchok did not surrender his mission. He moved on and dug another well. When that, too, became the subject of conflict, he moved again and continued digging until he finally reached a place where there was no quarrel.

He called the well Rechovos, declaring, “Ki atah hirchiv Hashem lonu uforinu va’aretz.” Hashem had made room for them, and they would flourish in the land.

The Pelishtim could obstruct his efforts, fill his wells, and create difficulties, but they could not prevent the brocha that Hashem had decreed for him.

Yitzchok did not allow the hostility of others to determine whether he would continue his work. He did not abandon the path of his father because circumstances became difficult. He continued digging, continued building, and continued demonstrating his faith in the promise of Hashem.

We, too, must continue digging.

When one well is stopped up, we must dig another. When one avenue of influence closes, we must seek another. When the political climate becomes less hospitable, we must respond with greater determination to preserve and strengthen the institutions upon which our future depends.

Above all, we must recognize that the wells of Torah can never be abandoned.

The posuk emphasizes that Yitzchok reopened the wells that his father Avrohom had dug and restored their original names. He worked to preserve and perpetuate the legacy he had received.

That is our task as well.

We are the descendants of Avrohom, Yitzchok, and Yaakov. We have inherited a way of life that has sustained our people for thousands of years. Every generation faces its own challenges, and every generation must find the strength to overcome them, but the source of that strength does not change.

The temptation, particularly in a time of disappointment, is to believe that our future depends upon finding better strategies, more persuasive spokesmen, or more powerful allies.

Those things may have their place. We should be intelligent and effective in our public affairs, and we should not underestimate the importance of maintaining good relationships with those who exercise authority.

But if we devote more energy to analyzing election results than to strengthening our connection to Torah, we will have misunderstood the lesson of the moment.

If we have time to discuss political developments but struggle to find time to learn, something is out of balance.

We must ask ourselves what we are doing to strengthen the world of Torah and when we sense moral decline, we must ensure that our homes reflect the values our people have been faithful to over the ages.

The answer to the weakening of morality is to strengthen our own commitment to kedusha. The answer to the spread of sheker is to deepen our devotion to emes. The answer to a culture dominated by materialism and self-indulgence is to raise children who understand that the purpose of life is not to accumulate possessions or satisfy desires, but to become better people and serve Hashem.

The answer to the growing influence of Eisov is to strengthen the voice of Yaakov.

There is a profound difference between political power and spiritual strength. Political power depends upon circumstances. It can be gained in one election and lost in the next. It depends upon coalitions, personalities, public moods, and events that are often beyond anyone’s control.

Spiritual strength is built through consistency, sacrifice, discipline, and devotion. It is strengthened when a person learns another blatt Gemara, davens with greater kavonah, overcomes a temptation, speaks kindly to another person, or chooses to do what is right when doing so is difficult.

A person sitting in a bais medrash struggling to understand a difficult sugya of Gemara may appear to have little influence over world events. He does not command an army, control a government, or possess the ability to enact legislation. He may not have $2 million to spend on an antique sefer, but the Torah he learns is part of the spiritual foundation upon which the world stands.

The power of the kol Yaakov cannot be measured by conventional standards.

We must certainly oppose measures that threaten the yeshivos and the ability of bnei Torah to learn. We must speak out when Torah Jews are unfairly targeted or when the value of Torah learning is disparaged. But the most meaningful way to strengthen the world of Torah world is by filling the botei medrash and by supporting the roshei yeshiva and rabbeim who transmit Torah to the next generation. We strengthen the cause of Torah by encouraging our children to value learning, to respect talmidei chachomim, and to recognize that the greatness of a person is determined not by his wealth or public standing, but by his devotion to Hashem.

It is easy to speak about bitachon when everything seems to be going our way. The test comes when the results are disappointing, when the path ahead is uncertain, and when we cannot understand why certain things happened.

Then we must remember that Hashem’s governance is not limited to the outcomes we welcome or understand.

Yaakov Avinu’s life teaches us this lesson.

Although he received the brachos, his life was not one of uninterrupted comfort and tranquility. He was forced to flee his home, spent years in the house of the deceitful Lovon, struggled to build his family, and faced one difficulty after another.

The brachos did not exempt him from hardship. They accompanied him through hardship and enabled him to fulfill the mission for which he had been chosen.

We imagine that if we are doing what is right, the road ahead should be smooth. We expect our efforts to be rewarded with visible success, our tefillos to be answered in the manner we desire, and the forces opposing us to be defeated.

But the lives of the avos teach us that greatness is not measured by the absence of challenges. It is revealed in the way a person responds to them. Each of our avos faced many challenges and confronted many nisyonos, rising from each one.

Yaakov remained Yaakov in the home of Yitzchok, in the house of Lovon, and during the long years of difficulty that followed. His surroundings changed, his circumstances changed, and the dangers confronting him changed, but his essential identity remained intact.

We must remain the descendants of Yaakov, faithful to Torah, whether the political climate is favorable or hostile. We must continue building families, supporting yeshivos, strengthening our communities, and living according to the values that have defined us throughout our history.

There is no obligation to find a silver lining in every disappointment or to minimize the dangers that may lie ahead. We can acknowledge the setbacks, examine the reasons for them, and work to achieve better outcomes in the future. But we cannot permit disappointment to become discouragement.

Indeed, it should have the opposite effect.

When the world reminds us how little control we have over events, it should inspire us to deepen our relationship with the One Who controls them. When we see how quickly political fortunes can change, we should appreciate more fully the permanence of the Torah. When we discover that the people and institutions upon which we placed our hopes are less dependable than we imagined, we should renew our commitment to the source of strength that has never failed us.

Our mission is to live as bnei Torah, to sanctify Hashem’s name, to raise generations who remain faithful to His commandments, and to ensure that the voice of Yaakov continues to resonate.

We can spend our days worrying about what Eisov will do, or we can devote ourselves to strengthening the voice of Yaakov.

The answer to the power of Eisov is found in the bais medrash, in the siddur, in the Chumash, in the Gemara, in the Shulchan Aruch, and in the homes where parents raise their children to love Torah and live according to its teachings.

It is found in the determination of a bochur who refuses to be distracted from his learning, in the sacrifices of parents who make Torah education their highest priority, in the generosity of those who sustain the yeshivos, and in the unwavering faith of Jews who continue to serve Hashem despite the difficulties they encounter.

The hands of Eisov may appear powerful. They may control governments, command majorities, and shape the policies that affect our lives. We cannot know what challenges tomorrow will bring or how the political battles will unfold.

But we do know what has sustained our people through every generation, and we know what we must do now.

We must strengthen our devotion to Torah. We must deepen our tefillos. We must increase our commitment to mitzvos and middos tovos. We must build homes in which the voice of Yaakov is heard clearly and proudly, and communities in which that voice is not drowned out.

We must remember that the most consequential victories are not always recorded on election night. Some take place when a young man commits himself to another hour of learning, when a family resolves to bring more kedusha into its home, when a person overcomes his yeitzer hora, or when a community rallies to strengthen an institution of Torah.

Those victories shape the future of Klal Yisroel.

We do not know what challenges await us in America and Eretz Yisroel, but we know who we are.

We are the children of Avrohom, Yitzchok, and Yaakov. We are the heirs to a tradition that has outlasted every empire that sought to extinguish it. We carry a Torah that has remained unchanged while the world around us has been repeatedly transformed.

And we have been given the key to our endurance.

“Hakol kol Yaakov.”

As long as that voice is strong, as long as it continues to rise from our yeshivos, shuls, homes, and hearts, the hands of Eisov will not have the final word, for it is not the strength of Eisov that determines the future of Klal Yisroel, but the strength of the kol Yaakov.

Hinei lo yonum velo yishon Shomer Yisroel. And the kol Yaakov will continue to empower and sustain us until the coming of Moshiach very soon in our days.