Toledot: Rivka the Grifta & Wild West Hero

I wasn't always shomer Shabbos (a keeper of the Sabbath in accordance with halacha, Jewish law).

"Don't say that!" say the FFBs (people who are frum -- religiously observant -- From birth). "You're not allowed to embarrass yourself." And I can't decide whether they're well-meaning or just indulging in a subtle from of self-praise.

Hey. I'm not embarrassed. I am a Bal Tshuva, someone who has either come or returned to Jewish observance later in life. And, although she was not a Baalat Tshuva herself, our Matriarch Rivka (Rebecca) is my Guiding Light (the soap opera notwithstanding), and role model in this regard.

I know that the Rabbis have said one must not throw someone's past in their face, i.e. to point out that they weren't always religious or, in the case of a convert, that they were not actually of the Jewish faith. But, in my opinion, the Rabbis have gone farther than needed on this issue, indeed, too far.

While it may be wrong to demean a person by referring to their background, the sin is in the attempt to demean the person, not specifically -- and this is the key -- in alluding to their background. It's a sin to demean anyone, for any reason.  Backgrounds are just facts.

The rule should simply be against  lashon hora (evil speech behind someone's back). The principle should simply be: Never attempt to wound anyone with your tongue.

If a person is not as tall as the average, you can't point to their stature and make fun of them for being shorter than most. If a person's skin colour is different than most, you can't demean them because of it.

Yet these things are inescapably obvious. The "short" person or the person with a skin of another colour cannot hide these facts about themselves. In our sensitivity, we must not allude in any negative way to these facts but the facts announce themselves, and are known. There is no concealing them even if we do not allude to them.

The problem is, if we avoid referring to these traits at all -- even in a benign way -- we are assuming that the person might be ashamed of their "condition," and we are quite possibly creating any shame they may undeservedly feel. By treating the topic as taboo, we may thus be stigmatizing the person, and, paradoxically, contrary to our intentions, making them feel bad about themselves.

When we avoid alluding to anything about a person, we are, in fact, paradoxically, conspiring to participate in a judgement of them that they are somehow deficient, and that they don't want this purported deficiency alluded to. Also, we may be assuming they have already suffered abuse from others about this supposed deficiency, thus we fail to give society at large the benefit of the doubt. And, we are presumptuously assuming that people may have doubts about themselves because of their "situations" -- which are, actually, perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed about.

Why should a person be embarrassed about what they are naturally? They really shouldn't, but if a person is black, and people around him scrupulously avoid any reference at all to black people,  the person will pick up on it, and may well feel self-conscious, and singled out.  The key, in my opinion, as stated above, is not to demean.  For instance, it's OK to say "Jewish people give a lot of charity, don't they?" to a Jewish person, or even "You're Jewish."   It's not OK to say, "You're Jewish, eh?  It's all about the money, isn't it?"

Likewise, if when reading aloud a Ketuba (wedding contract) during the marriage ceremony, we skip over the part where the father of a convert is listed on the contract as "Avraham Avinu," which means "Abraham the Father of All of Us," rather than a specific Jewish father, and we just say "Avraham," as if the person was born Jewish, and their Jewish father's real name was Abraham, we are sending a message to that person, and to society, that they are deficient in their origin.

With Balei Tshuva or converts, why should we assume there's any busha (embarrassment) about where they started out? The fact that someone came to be observant in the Jewish faith from "somewhere else" can just as easily be viewed as badge of honour, rather than a liability.

What are children taught about the author of the Targum (translation into Aramaic) of the Torah whose name was Onkelos? That he was a convert, of course. And when we say it, it's with great respect for the man who actually chose to be Jewish, unlike most of us. If it was an embarrassment to point out his status as a convert, teachers wouldn't teach it, and commentaries wouldn't feature it.

The other side of the same coin, of course, is "Yichus," as made famous by the classic Rechnitzer Rejects song, "Yichus Bells, Yichus Bells, Yichus all the way ..."

"Yichus" is, basically, awe and respect for someone not because of anything they may have accomplished but because of who their parents or grandparents or great grandparents are.  Here, one's genetic heritage is deemed to be very -- too much so -- important.

So I clearly disagree with the concept that one must hide one's past, ancestral or otherwise -- or overly venerate it, --  and it is my opinion that we already know this from the Torah itself, as taught by the story of Rivka, the wife of Yitzchak (Isaac), and the mother of Jacob and Esau (Yaakov and Eisav). She's my role model.

Why?

Rivka, of all the personages in the Torah, stands tallest, in my view, in the measures of honesty, pragmatism, love of G-d, and completeness as a human being.

This, after all, is one formidable woman. This is a woman who takes no prisoners, and who is nobody's fool. This is a woman who knows what G-d wants, is a fearless Tzaddekes (righteous woman), and who is a very well-schooled -- and gifted, -- grifter, or con artist, and quite possibly, in a subtle way, the prototype for Annie Oakley (a heroine of Westerns).

Not sounding like the Rivka everyone knows and loves?

The usual "book" on Rivka, the wife of Yitzchak (Isaac), emphasises her saintly qualities. As a young girl, she not only gives Abraham's envoy, Eliezer, water but also brings water for his camels, and she shows him respect by calling him "Master." She is a good, caring, respectful young lady. Forgotten, as some would like Bal Tshuvas to do with their prior life before becoming observant, is the den of thieves on the very wrong side of the moral tracks from which she came. Of course, most Bal Tshuvas do not come from dens of thieves but they are sometimes encouraged to forget their prior lives, possibly so they will not have to bear the "shame" of not being "perfect" from the outset.

Rivka remembers where she came from, though, and she has no compunction at all about showing it. When it looks like her husband Yitzchak is getting ready to confer the Big Blessing on their firstborn but ne'er-do-well son, Eisav (Esau), she says to her good son Yaakov (Jacob), "Let us deceive your father into thinking you are Eisav [they were twins, and their father was clinically blind], and if there are bad consequences, let them fall on me." Is this just the act of an heroically selfless woman, who doesn't really know what she's doing?  Or is there something going on here that we tend to miss year after year in reading this section of the Torah?

When we read the story of Rivka, we tend to assume that it's her wisdom and goodness which enable her to perpetrate this truly Earth-shaking fraud on her husband (note how he trembles greatly when he realizes there's been a switcheroo). We never seem to wonder where she gets such a diabolically clever idea, then plans it, and executes it in dazzling detail.

She puts wool on Yaakov's arm so when Yitzchack reaches out to touch him, his arm will seem hairy, like Eisav's. This is quite possibly the origin of the phrase "to pull the wool over someone's eyes." She dresses Yaakov in Adam's Garden of Eden jacket that his brother had Eisav killed King Nimrod for and which had the beautiful scent of Eden and the great outdoors radiating from it. She also cooks venison for Yitzchak just the way he likes it, and would expect it, from Eisav.

A very elaborate deception it was. Could any good and otherwise ordinary person have done such a thing?  I think not. What Rivka did, if we look with fresh eyes, took a lot of nerve, and imagination, but most importantly, savvy. She had a talent for this kind of thing.  She was a natural.  Because of her birth family.

In my view, we adopt a "don't ask" policy about her actions because we don't want to acknowledge who she really is. It is apparently uncomfortable for us to admit that she's really her father's daughter and her brother's sister, her dad Bethuel, along with her brother Lavan being the pre-eminent con artists, thieves -- and worse -- in the region.  The Midrash says, with reference to Lavan, that he was from Padan Aram, and, therefore, called "Lavan HaArami," but this should be rendered as "Lavan HaRama-i," i.e., "Lavan, the Swindler" because that's what he was.

One thing the Torah is telling us, if we look fearlessly, and closely, at the story of Rivka, is that you can take the girl out of her family of grifters but you can't take the grifter out of the girl. We may only want to see a one-dimensional, goody-goody, saint but Rivka is a much more complete person than that.  Rivka's got game.  It's in her blood from the crime family she was born into.

The kind of monumental deception she perpetrates on her husband comes easily to Rivka because it is part of who she is. This is the leopard showing its spots, the apple not falling far from the tree, the truth coming out, both nature and nurture asserting themselves. This is real life.

Yes, Rivka was a Tzaddekes. But was she, herself, more like Yaakov, her perfect son, who sat learning all day, or like Eisav, her handsome devil of a firstborn son?

The Torah makes it perfectly clear that Rivka was more like Eisav than Yaacov, and that Eisav was like Rivka. Hard as this is to accept, the evidence is there right in the Written Torah for us all to read.

How? One of the rules for interpreting the WrittenTorah -- and this is a continuing theme in my blogs because I seem to have an eye/ear for this sort of thing -- is that when similar uniquely striking words or phrases occur, they are meant to be connected, and a relationship inferred between the people or circumstances involved. Similitude ultimately invites comparison but first alludes to the actual likeness between the parties or situations in question.

Thus we see, right from the opening psukim (sentences) of this Parsha, the tell-tale hints in the Torah shockingly connecting Rivka with Eisav. As the late, great entertainer Danny Thomas, a"h, used to say, "Holy Toledo!" Toledo, of course, being an American town named after the original town in Spain, founded, according to an old Spanish tradition, by Jewish residents around 540 BCE who named it with the dual-purpose word used for both offspring and deeds often found in the Torah -- which also happens to be the title of this Parsha -- Toldot. You won't, however, find this on the web site for the city, Go-Toledo.com which propounds an alternative theory, that the word comes from "Tollitum," meaning "raised aloft"because the city was on a hill. The only problem with that is, "tollitum" is a latin word, the Romans coming around 193 BCE by which time the city was known as Toledo for nearly 400 years. Perhaps the latin word "tollitum" actually comes from the city's -- and Parsha's -- name, Toledot, to describe something raised high, as was the city.  But I digress ...

So, how do we know that Rivka is more like her roguish, charming, rough and tumble son, Eisav, than her good, quiet son, Yaacov?

The Torah tells us Rivka has been barren for the first twenty years of her marriage to Yitzchak, and he constantly prays to G-d for a child. G-d finally answers Yitzchak's prayers, and Rivka becomes pregnant. It is, however, no routine pregancy. Not knowing that she has twins who are already at war inside her womb, Rivka feels a terrible tumult inside of herself, and cannot settle down. Her pains are so great that she says, "Im kain, lama zeh anochi," and seeks out the wise men of her day for help.

There are ways to translate Rivka's statement to make it seem innocuous, i.e., "Why am I like this?" but the main opinion in the Midrash is that she's saying "If this is pregnancy, what do I need it for? I wish I had not gotten pregnant."

Here, the Midrash says, she lost her right to be the direct mother of the twelve tribes, an honour which then fell to her two nieces and daughters-in-law, Rachel and Leah, and the women in their households, although I'm at a loss to explain how,  if Rivka has been the Mother of the Tribes, how Yaakov's brothers could then be known as the Children of Israel (Yaakov's later name as conferred by Hashem). Maybe we'd all be called the Children of  Rivka?  Further analysis is needed on this drash but not in this blog.

The salient feature here, is that Rivka, as opposed to being a namby-pamby, goody-goody, helpless victim of her pain, speaks her mind, and does not sugar-coat the situation. She speaks frankly and openly about her having doubts about her pregnancy; she is human and in pain, and is not afraid to say so to the extent of doubting the value of it all even after having been without children for twenty years.

They say that, later on in the Torah, when Joseph's brothers hate him for [unintentionally but irresponsibly] telling false tales about them to their father, "Lo yachlu l'dabro l'shalom," they couldn't even bring themselves to be civil towards him. In this, they were righteous, says the Midrash, because they did not fake being civil when they could not feel like it;  they let the truth of their feelings prevail. And they were right to do so.

So Rivka is strong and forthright. Is this what we are to learn from her cri-de-coeur? Yes, but there's more. There's her connection to Eisav.

A mere ten psukim later, a very interesting linguistic coincidence occurs. In the space of these ten psukim, the boys are born -- Eisav first -- by a hair -- or two -- or three, -- and they are growing up. Yaakov, who got his name by holding on to the heel ("ekev") of his brother as they were born, has never reconciled himself to being second banana, and gets an opportunity to redress this error.

It is the time of Abraham's funeral. Mercifully, G-d has taken Abraham at the age of one hundred and seventy five, rather than at his full allotment of years, one hundred and eighty, in order to spare him the pain of seeing how his so-far seemingly exemplary grandson, Eisav, will turn out.

Eisav had been able to fool his grandfather, Abraham.  In the latter's presence, Eisav knew how to touch all the right buttons, and pull the right strings.  About Eisav there is a tradition that he indeed should have been the firstborn because he was so handsome and gifted, and that had he chosen to be righteous, he would have been a force for good in the world the likes of which are rarely, if ever, seen.

But ... he didn't. He enjoyed mayhem, to put it mildly. And true to his maternal roots, the masters of mayhem and trickery, his maternal grandfather Bethuel, and his uncle, Lavan, he conned almost all those around him into believing that he was a good boy. Except, of course, for his mother, Rivka.  No fool, she; you can't kid a kidder.

On the day of Abraham's funeral, Yaakov was cooking lentils. He did so as part of the practice of comforting the mourners, specifically, his father, Yitzchak. Lentils are round, and, like the egg given to the immediately bereaved to eat when they come home from a funeral, and, as often eaten at the Passover seder, round foods are presented to us to assure us that, though we may be grieving, things eventually will turn around, like a wheel, and that trouble, grief and suffering are only the downside of life which has an eventual upswing automatically built into it. In our time of grief, we take a little comfort, and have faith that much of the pain will subside, that there is hope, and a light at the end of the tunnel -- unless, as is usually the case with me, after I've entered deeply into a one-track tunnel, the light at the end turns out to be that of a huge train approaching at breakneck speed ...

Into this scene of Yaakov cooking lentils, straggles Eisav, all tired out from a day -- like most others --of creating mayhem and mischief, even as others, unlike him, have paused to mourn the passing of a Prince of G-d, his grandfather, Abraham.  Eisav sees what's cooking, and he cries out to Yaakov, "Give me some of that red, red stuff!" This is how his dominion came to be known as "Edom," a variation on the word he used, "adom," which means "red".

Yaakov sees an opportunity, and says to Eisav, "Sell me your birthright" as a condition for him doling out any of the lentil pottage.

At this moment in the story, it would be prudent to point out that Yaakov's motives were not self-serving. Although there are other traditions which vary from this [two Jews, ten opinions], we'll go with this one: Yaakov knew from his studying of G-d's ways that the firstborn of Yitzchak would be the bearer of the Torah, and the "ritual director" of G-d's service. He, like his mother Rivka, knew only too well Eisav's penchant for evil, and in seeking to secure the birthright, Yaakov was trying to protect the holiness of the Torah and G-d's services from the defilement to which Eisav and his descendants would surely have subjected them.

This is borne out by Eisav's response. Did Eisav say, "Are you kidding, dear brother?  Do you think I am going to give up the right to represent the holy Torah and G-d's services for a mess of lentil stew?  Surely, you jest, my junior by those few crucial, and thank G-d, divinely ordained seconds! I'll make myself an egg salad sandwich, instead. Nice try, but no sale, Yankele!"

Ah, but for Eisav, this was not his response. His response was, "Hine anochi holech lamut, v'lama zeh li hab'chora,"i.e., "Here I am, marching towards death; for what do I need the birthright of the firstborn?"

On the surface level, Eisav has focused on his physical pain, his hunger and exhaustion, and incredibly, has valued short-term relief of his temporary predicament over the long-term implications of the right of primogeniture. Alternatively, he knew he was unfit to conduct the rituals of service to G-d, and would have died from performing them improperly, or, as a hunter, he knew the risks of the wild might cut his life short, as would, I presume, his penchant for warfare.  In other words, he didn't think he was a good fit for it, anyway.

But there is something truly crucial in the way he said it.

When Eisav says, "Lama zeh li b'chorah," or "What do I need the birthright for?" it unquestionably echoes the words spoken by his mother a few sentences earlier regarding her painful pregnancy with him and Yaakov, "Lama zeh anochi?" Both are saying, "What do I need this for?"

Coincidence?  Not in the Torah.  In a few quick strokes, the Torah establishes a connection and similarity between the personalities, and outlooks, of mother Rivka, and her son Eisav. They think alike. They speak alike. They are alike.

Indeed, in these same psukim, the Torah tells us that Eisav, rather than his brother Yaakov, is  their father Yitzchak's favourite.  And the Torah tells us why: "ki tzayid b'pheev," because Eisav was a hunter and "prey was in his mouth." Eisav is described as "Ish yodaya tzayid, ish sadeh," a man who knows how to hunt, a man of the fields. We must remember that Yitzchak was a lover of the outdoors. When he met his wife to be, he was in a field, praying, communing with G-d in the great temple of Nature. There, the Torah says that Yitzchak went out "lasuach ba'sadeh," to pray in the fields. The echo of the word, "sadeh," "fields," in Eisav being called an "ish sadeh" by the Torah, shows the affinity between the him and his father.

The sages, however, tell us there is a subtle additional meaning to the passuk (sentence) in the Torah describing why Yitzchak liked Eisav. The phrase that Yitchak liked Eisav "ki tzayid b'pheev," is interpreted by commentators to mean not that Eisav had the prey of the hunt with him but that his father Yitzchak was the prey, i.e., that Yitchak had fallen prey, like his father, Abraham, before him, to Eisav's gifted deceptions in portraying himself as a model son. In other words, Eisav was such a calculated con artist that he knew exactly what ministrations to perform for his father, and ended up with his Yitzchak wrapped around his little finger.

Are we seeing more similiarities now between Eisav and his Mom? Neither is afraid to speak their mind, both are willing to question whether something important they have is actually worth the pain, both are excellent deceivers, and clearly, both are eminently capable of carrying out their deceptions, and both have Yitzchak wrapped around their respective little fingers.

Yaakov, though equally intelligent -- and strong -- didn't really inherit the guile from his mother's side of the family. With his sincere desire for learning, and sitting indoors in tents,  he may have  seemed a little distant from his father, who loved the outdoors, like Eisav.

And now that we see how much more of Rivka's personality was mirrored by Eisav, is it any wonder that Yitzchak preferred Eisav to Yaakov?  Eisav was a man after Yitzchak's heart regarding the outdoors but with his Torah-noted similarity in personality, aptitude, and temperament to Rivka, Eisav was a shoo-in. He not only reminded Yitzchak of himself, he reminded him of Rivka! Eisav had the vibe that reminded Yitchak of his beloved wife. Conversely, it becomes obvious, now, that the reason Rivka loved Yaakov was because, being without guile, he reminded her of, who else, but her husband, Yitzchak, who was so without guile his wife managed to trick him not once, but twice. We may infer, therefore, that Rivka, like Eisav, also had Yitzchak wrapped around her little finger, and, in fact, we see more proof of this with her second con at the end of the Parsha.

After helping her son Yaakov deceive her husband Yitzchak into giving him the Big Blessing, utilizing all her grifting skills, including cooking Yitzchak a meal just the way Eisav would have -- Rivka hears that Eisav will now try to kill Yaakov.

She needs Yaakov to "get out of Dodge" but she doesn't want him to just run away. She wants him to go away with her husband's blessing. So, being the ever resourceful grifter she is, she sets up another con.

Rivka goes to Yitzchak with a made-up story that she can't stand the local girls as potential wives for Yaakov. "Katzti b'chayai mipnei b'not Chait," she lies barefacedly, "I am exasperated
by the daughters of Chait." And then, she uses the trademark phrase, "If Yaakov takes one of them as a wife," "lama li chayim?," "what do I need my life for?"

Rivka is always saying this. She earlier tells her son, Yaakov, that if he doesn't leave, he and Eisav will probably kill each other, and "lama," why, should she lose them both on the same day?

This constantly asking the semi-rhetorical question "lama," or "what good is this?" shows that Rivka is a thinking person who consciously evaluates all the situations she finds herself in. The frank, pragmatic "what's in it for me," attitude is surely from her family background, her father and brother always looking to score in any given situation.

Her final con in Parsha Toldot succeeds, as so it should, coming from such a talented deceiver as Rivka. Yitzchak, not suspecting any subterfuge, swallows it hook, line, and sinker, and orders Yaakov to get out of town, and to find a bride (oy vey, but it worked out OK) by Lavan's family. And, naturally, he deems it proper to give Yaakov yet another blessing, as he sends him on his way. So Rivka has saved her sons from killing each other, and has secured an additional blessing for her favourite, designated heir to the Torah by, once again, conning her husband.

Now that we've established who Rivka really is, what can we learn from it all?

The moral of this story, as I see it, is: don't deny your background. Wherever G-d plants us has a purpose, and we should be careful not to try to forget it, to put it behind us, or to put on airs, even as we are trying to better ourselves. Rivka never forgot where she came from, and she did not try to change herself; she remained who she was. In fact, if Rivka had cut herself off from her instincts, and early upbringing, and tried to deny or forget them, she would have been in conflict with herself to the extent that she may not have had the nerve -- the confidence -- to bring about the important changes that she did.

So, interestingly, G-d needed Rivka to be the sainted fraud artist that she was. Likely, it was Hashgacha Proteus, Divine Providence. And this is the lesson for us. If you come from a family of thieves, do not reject your background, and don't try to deny it. Retain what you learned, and use it -- but, as Rivka did, for a G-dly purpose.

This, of course, is the difference between Rivka, and her son Eisav, notwithstanding their kinship.  As demonstrated by her solicitousness to Eliezer as a young girl, still at home, Rivka shows that there is a higher nature than one's genetic nature which can also supersede the environmental nurturing a person experiences. Her selflessness belies her upbringing. Yet, the nature/nurture a person receives as a child does inform their being.  In tricking her husband twice, Rivka performed a form of spiritual alchemy.  She used the guile she inherited, and learned at home, "leshaym shamayim," for a G-dly, not a selfish, purpose. But she never scorned the tools that G-d, and her family, had given her.

And, for those who like movies, since Rivka's talents involved breaking the laws of proper behaviour, she qualifies as a Wild West Hero, as found in western movies (see more below), where the Hero fulfills our desire to go beyond the confines of civilized behaviour by using outlaw skills (usually gunfire) to protect society.  She was like Annie Oakley, saving the townspeople who had made guns in their town illegal, from the outlaws, who used guns anyway.  On the side of Right, Annie got her guns, even they were illegal, and used them for Good, and Saved the Town.

Thus should we all honour our backgrounds, genetic and environmental, and never be ashamed of, or try to deny, them.  We should embrace them, for they are what G-d gave us in order to do our work in this world.  It is up to us to make sure that the work we do, is for the good.  Should anyone try to put us down for any reason relating to our past or even our present, all we have to say is, "That's who I am;  let's see what I can do."

Or lama --why, indeed,-- are we here?

P.S.
For those of you who are not afraid of a little "university learning," here's a broader exposition of the concept of the Hero.

I was going to end this commentary with the above line when a little birdie told me to remember my own background -- that of studying film, among other things. Upon doing so, I realized that Rivka may be the the first example of the heroic archetype prevalent in the genre of movies called Westerns, i.e., Horse Operas, Oaters, etc which I would say has morphed into the good old James Bond spy stories as well as many crime and adventure thrillers, even violence genres like the Terminator.

Sociologists who have studied film have come up with a formula for understanding those Wild West action stories, and the hero type seems to fit Rivka to a T. She may, in fact, be the Annie Oakley of the Torah. Or, rather, Annie Oakley might be the Rivka of the Western.

Here's how the formula works. The decent, law-abiding citizens of the frontier town have decided that, if they're going to be civilized, they have to give up carrying guns in the town.
Only the Sheriff, and his Deputies, can still pack heat.

Of course, the Outlaws, by definition, don't give a hoot for the law, and they come in and menace all the nice townfolk by riding in and shooting things up, robbing banks, killing people etc.

Now, hear this: the Sheriff and his Deputies -- unless they are the Heroes of the story -- can't handle the Outlaws because the latter are too wild and resourceful to be caught easily. And even if they were caught, their buddies can break them out of jail. The Law, then, can't completely control the Outlaws, unless, as I've noted, the representatives of the Law are the Heroes.

According to the sociologists, these groups of people represent major parts of the inner psyche of each and every one of us in society. The nice townfolk represent the limitations we put on ourselves in order to live peacably in society, i.e. by being law-abiding, by eschewing violence, and by having designated representatives of the Law protecting us. Gone from the civilized -- read, tamed -- members of society is all the wildness and abandon we supposedly still have within ourselves but which we have repressed in order to be civilized. And so, all of the urges and drives we have suppressed in order to live in society show up in the Western as -- who else? -- the Outlaws.

The Outlaws -- as their name suggests -- live beyond the restrictions of the law. They represent our desire to be free of the restrictions we place upon ourselves. They represent a primal urge to be wild and carefree. But of course, we dare not be that way, because we know we do not want to indiscriminately kill other people or create chaos in our world.

Enter the Hero, who saves the day. The Hero -- think James Bond in the spy version of the Western formula -- represents the Law -- and then some. The unique characteristic of the Hero is that he has all of the skills of mayhem that the Outlaws have but uses them in the service of the Law. Thus, James Bond upholds his country but he also has what is clearly an Outlaw function -- the -- licensed, in his case, -- willingness and ability to kill, as well as the finely honed outlaw skills he needs to carry out his mission.

In the Hero we see a fusion of our desire to be free of restrictions and yet a desire to remain civilized. The Hero fulfills that ideal for us, and we identify with them. The Hero gets to shoot guns in a non-packing society, and is exempted from keeping the laws of society, sometimes, as long as nobody innocent gets hurt.

So, Rivka was the first Wild West Hero. She was a Tzaddekes, a saintly woman who clearly upheld G-d's ways but like the Heroic character in the Western formula, she was allowed the licence to use Outlaw tactics which she had acquired through her birth and early upbringing, in order to save society, our society, the Children of Israel.

Aisav the deceiver is defeated by his own mother's equally expert deception. Good triumphs over Evil, giving it a taste of its own medicine, and we, by secretly identifying with Rivka's bold subterfuge, get a taste of being heroes, ourselves. Baruch Hashem, what a Torah G-d gave us! Maybe it should be learned while we munch on popcorn and gulp down large sized drinks!