Hi, my name is Esav. (Some English speakers pronounce it Esau, mangling it to rhyme with “seesaw,” but I prefer my proper Hebrew name, ending with a “v.”) You may have heard some things about me, but you’re probably missing most of the details. I want to present my story, my life, the way I see it, and I hope you can use it to learn a lesson or two as well.

My Birth My career as a troublemaker started when I was but a mere fetus in my mother’s womb. Legend has it that my mother had a difficult pregnancy, and that it was me who was to blame. This won’t make sense to most of you, but I’ll try describe it anyway. You know that crazy adrenaline rush you have every time you see something that really excites you? Well, I had this thing about idolatry. Every time my mother would walk past a statue or a house of worship, my heart would beat like crazy, and I would literally kick to get out of her stomach. My twin brother, Yaakov (or Jacob, as I sometimes see it spelled), his thing was Torah study, and he’d get pretty aggressive about that as well. We spent a lot of time in religious debate inside there. He thought Saturday should be the day of rest, and I thought it should be Sunday; he thought the world to come was where it was at, and I thought it was this world. With all the kicking going on, I can almost forgive my mother for wondering why she was so desparate for kids in the first place. Mum was pretty distraught about all of this, so she sought the advice of her mentor, Shem. He delivered the good news: There’s not one child inside your belly, but two. And they’re both going to be great. And rich. And world superpowers. Oh, and if you think this kicking is bad, the two of them are going to be fighting forever. Very comforting news. We had gotten used to fighting already, and the day that we were born was no exception. Jacob was adamant that he deserved to come out first, something to do with him being the first to be conceived. I threatened to kill our mother if he would not let me out, and he finally acquiesced. It wasn’t without a struggle, though, and he ended up grabbing onto my heel on my way out. Dad found that amusing, I guess, and so he named him Yaakov, “heel.” I was an unusual baby. I was born fully developed, with a full head of hair, a full set of teeth, and even some facial hair! My skin was a strange tinge of red—something that got my father really concerned. He wouldn’t even have me circumcised, because he was scared I was unhealthy. Just in case anyone might forget how odd of a newborn I was, they decided to call me Esav, “the developed one.” Talk about parental sensitivity.

Growing Up I was a good kid growing up, and I pretty much stayed out of trouble. Come my 13th birthday, however, I got fed up with the whole religion thing and decided to drop it all. Hunting became my primary pastime, and I became known as the most ruthless and cunning guy out there. The Torah describes me as being “a man who understood hunting,” but let me tell you, it wasn’t just animals that I knew how to trap; I had my father pretty baited as well. I put on this whole religious facade for him, and, surprisingly enough he bought it—hook, line and sinker. I used to ask him all of these ridiculous legal questions regarding the intricacies of the laws of tithing, and he took me for some Torah scholar. Funnily enough, I got him to like me that way, and he even preferred me over my more placid twin, Jacob.

Birthright Sale Everyone knows that Esav sold his birthright to his twin, Jacob. Well, here’s the story with all the details. I’m assuming you’ve all heard of Nimrod. He was a big hotshot back then, and pretty much ruled over most of modern civilization. He had this little hunting trick he liked to use: Any animal that came within his sight was drawn towards him and would fall dead at his feet. Naturally, the fools in those days thought he had G‑dlike powers, and so treated him as some sort of deity. What they didn’t know was that these were not G‑dlike powers at all; they were the powers of a special cloak that he had. He had somehow gotten his hands on the clothing G‑d made for Adam and Eve, which had this miraculous effect on animals. I knew his secret, and I made it my business to get that cloak, no matter what. I’ll spare you all the gory details, but suffice it to say that by the end of that day Nimrod’s heart was no longer beating. And I had his cloak. Double victory. Exhausted from the day’s activities, I returned home to find my dear brother Jacob cooking lunch. It was some crimson-looking concoction that I didn’t recognize, but at that point it didn’t matter much. I could’ve downed anything. Jacob looked a little downcast, and when I pressed him, he informed me of the sad news: Grandpa Abraham had just passed. He was busy cooking lentils for our father, who was mourning. Apparently, lentils are the appropriate food for mourners: their shape represents the circle of life, and they are closed on all sides, just like a mourner, who cannot talk in such a state of despair. As upsetting as the news was, I could not get my mind off my rumbling stomach, and so I asked Jacob to hand over the food. Thinking he was all smart, he decided to cut me a deal: If I’d sell him my rights as the firstborn, I could have the lentils. Well, that was a no-brainer. What good was the birthright to me anyway? I wasn’t going to ever serve in the Temple, unless you believe in resurrection, which I most definitely did not. As for the potential double inheritance, I was a high-risk insuree at that point: hunting is not exactly a safe profession, and besides, I had a high price on my head after that day’s antics. A steaming bowl of lentil soup seemed like the better side of the deal. Life lesson:When you spend that much on a meal, make sure to do it right. I sat back, opened my mouth, and had Jacob pour the entire pot down my throat. A birthright well spent!

Life Goes On That was a defining day in my life. I finally decided to do away with any trace of my upbringing, and I firmly denied any belief in G‑d. Just to prove my rebellion, I became pretty active in the idol-worshipping community, and I personally founded many of the temples and shrines you see in archeological digs and museums today. I was seen as such a leader in this new world of mine that my portrait was put up in all the bathhouses and brothels around the country. I definitely wasn’t going to become this big of a celebrity studying Torah. Although I had grown up, my cunning personality had not changed. In my typical self-righteous nature, I decided to wait until I was 40 to get married. Dad didn’t marry until he was 40, so it seemed like a pretty saintly thing to do. Small difference: Dad had been celibate until then, while I had found plenty of ways outside of marriage to fulfill my desires—rape and adultery among them. Mum and Dad weren’t too fond of my wives. I don’t really blame them; my wives were pretty heavy idolaters back then, which got on my parents’ nerves. More than that, the incense they offered filled the house with smoke, which ultimately caused Dad to go blind.

Jacob Steals the Blessings For all those who say that my hatred for Jacob is unfounded, you should make sure to read this: Dad was getting older; he had just turned 123, and he was worried that his time was coming. Despite my rebellious and sinful life, I was still his favorite, and he decided to give me his blessings before he passed on. His instructions were simple: Go to the field, hunt some game and cook me a meal. He also mentioned that I should make sure not to steal, but I have been known to have selective hearing. Dad had made it clear that I was to hunt using my sword and bow, so I didn’t take my cloak with me this time. I used to store it in my parents’ home, so it would be handy whenever I would serve my father. Besides, I didn’t exactly trust my wives with my possessions, especially something of that value. Well, that ended up being quite a mistake. Later I found out that Jacob had worn my cloak and had fooled my father into thinking he was me. I wasn’t used to hunting without my cloak, and things didn’t go as smoothly as they usually did. Strange things kept happening: I would catch a deer and tie it to a tree, but as soon as I turned my back on it, the deer had disappeared. It was almost as if the Satan was out to get me! I finally had the food prepared and brought it home to Dad. I walked into his office, all excited, and announced my arrival. Dad suddenly tensed up, and after a short while I saw his face come to a slow, painful recognition: “It was Jacob after all,” he murmured. “He stole your blessings.” It didn’t take long for me to figure out what had happened. Outrage, as a description for my feelings at that moment, would have been a shocking understatement. I was outright furious. “That’s the second time he’s tricked me,” I tried explaining to my father. “First he steals my birthright, and now he steals my blessings.” Bad idea. I wasn’t supposed to let that slip. The cat’s out of the bag now, and Dad knows that Jacob had legal rights as the firstborn and was actually deserving of the blessings. I noticed him ease up a little after that revelation. After much coercion from me, Dad managed to find some blessings for me as well. His words were bittersweet: he warned me that Jacob would be in control, but that in his moment of weakness I would be given an opportunity to overcome him. Not much of a consolation, if you’re asking me, and it fueled my resentment for Jacob. It didn’t take long to make up my mind: Jacob had to go. Dad deserved to die as well, I decided, as he was an accessory to the crime. I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to kill my own father, so I planned on bringing Uncle Yishmael into the picture. I’d take care of Jacob, he’d take care of Dad, and together we’d split the assets. Or at least that’s what I’d tell Yishmael. My plan was to then eliminate Yishmael as well, so I could become the sole heir to the dynasty. Things didn’t go quite as planned. Jacob managed to slip away somehow—again, apparently, with my mother’s assistance. I tried chasing after him, but he seemed to have G‑d on his side. He was splitting rivers and pulling all sorts of tricks, so I eventually gave up the chase. His time will come, I comforted myself. His time will come.

The Final Meeting Much time had passed, and I almost forgot about Jacob. You can imagine my surprise when messengers arrive at my door bringing regards from my long-lost brother. It seems that Jacob had spent years at our cousin Lavan’s place, and had done pretty well for himself. He was looking to broker a peace deal, but I would hear none of it. His time had come. I came out all guns blazing, with 400 of my supporters following close behind. As we approached, we saw what looked like his camp on the horizon, and herds of animals spread over a distance that seemed to span miles and miles. Every herd had a shepherd tending it, each delivering the same message: “This is a gift from your brother, Jacob.” I must admit—it was quite an impressive sight. The great moment had arrived. I see a man approaching in the distance, and I know he must be Jacob. He’s being followed by what looks like a mini-tribe—a bunch of grown women and a lot of children. My heart is racing like never before. The time for retribution is finally here. Strangely enough, I find myself suddenly overcome with emotion. Old memories start surfacing in my mind, and all kinds of unwanted thoughts encompass me. I mean, we are brothers, right? We grew up together. Remember all those good times we had? Focus. Remain focused. This is your time. He’s here, prostrating himself by my feet. It’s time to move in for the kill. The next thing I know, I’ve got my arms wrapped around my brother in what appears to be a hug. My head is resting on his neck, and tears are pouring down my face. Big bad Esav has let his emotions get the better of him. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for this missed opportunity. I didn’t see much of Jacob after that incident. He refused to travel with me because his children couldn’t keep up, so we each went on our own way. Perhaps we’ll meet again sometime; perhaps we won’t.

My Passing There are two things that made my death so tragic: a. It was a relative of mine that was ultimately responsible; and b. I ended up being buried on the same day as my twin brother. I had gotten word that Jacob had passed, and that his coffin was being brought to Hebron to be buried with our parents and grandparents. There was no way that I was going to let that happen. He had buried his wife Leah there already, so the remaining spot was for me. When I arrived in Hebron, I found a huge crowd gathered, with all the top brass of the time present. All the kings and princes of Canaan had hung their crowns on Jacob’s coffin as a sign of respect, and the rumor was going around that the big crown in the middle belonged to the viceroy of Egypt, who just so happened to be my nephew Joseph. To make a long story short, I came and ruined the party. I began protesting against the burial, and a large commotion ensued. They claimed that I had sold my portion in Hebron to Jacob together with my birthright, and they sent my nephew Naphtali down to Egypt to retrieve the sale documents. Let me introduce you to a very dear great-nephew of mine, Chushim. He was the son of Dan, and to put it frankly, he was as deaf as a doorknob. Seeing that I was delaying the burial, and not being aware of the debate taking place, he decided to take matters into his own hands and get the show on the road. I think it was a sword that he used to sever my head. Either way, as I was left decapitated, my head rolled into the gravesite and rested by the feet of my father. It looks like it was destined that I should be buried there in the end.