Very often, despite real and valuable accomplishments, a person feels inadequate because they know their own failures. "Yes, I was kind, but I don't always act this way. I'm a bad person." Or: "Maybe I'm a good friend, but I'm a bad son/father/husband/employer."
This attitude can drain any self-esteem and motivation needed to keep doing good. "What's the point of trying? I know myself; sooner or later I'll fall again."
What can we say to someone so disheartened by their own shortcomings?
An answer appears in this week's Torah portion, Toldot, in an episode that contains the secret of the greatest conflict in human history: the internal struggle between a person and themselves.
The Torah describes the pregnancy of our matriarch Rebecca. She sensed something unusual and sought guidance. Every time she passed by a place of idol worship, she felt as if the fetus wanted to emerge — and the same thing happened every time she passed a house of Torah study. "What kind of divided soul do I carry?" she wondered.
The answer she received from the prophet Shem reassured her. "Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples shall be separated from your bowels."1 This was not a conflicted individual, but two distinct people, each drawn toward a different reality, each striving to prevail.
And indeed, when the twins were born, Esau, who emerged first, devoted his life to the hunt (in every sense), while Jacob, who came out holding Esau's heel, devoted himself to Torah study. One gravitated toward the earthly; the other, toward the spiritual.
According to Chassidic thought, each of us is the battleground where two souls meet: the first is the "animal" soul, driven by instinct and self-interest; the second is the Divine soul, oriented toward G‑d and others.2 This is not simply a struggle between wanting to do good versus wanting to do evil; it is a contest between living according to material, ego-driven criteria versus spiritual and altruistic ones. Sometimes one wins; sometimes the other. The inconsistencies we see in ourselves are not signs of failure or instability. They are simply the human condition. We are built this way by design.
"Alright," one might say. "I'm reassured that this tension isn't my fault and isn't something to be ashamed of. But there's still no truce! Will I ever be free of my animal instincts? And if not, what's the point of fighting a battle with no end?"
The answer lies in another verse from this week's reading. When Isaac wants to bless his son Esau, he asks him to prepare "savory dishes," in the plural.3 Chassidism recognizes in this specific request the voice of our Heavenly Father to His people: "Prepare for Me savory dishes."
There are two kinds of savory food: sweet and spicy. Sweet food represents the life of the Tzaddik, the fully righteous person, who has no need to struggle against animal instincts because they are already mastered or transformed. Spicy food represents the service of the Beinoni—the one who continually wrestles with their instincts, turning them into spices that enrich the dish.4
Two different life missions: 1) to be perfect; 2) to struggle with imperfection. G‑d cherishes both — one as the appetizer and dessert, the other as the main course.
Life is not a hopeless, cynical struggle without the prospect of victory. It is a battle in which one can declare victory each time one does not give up — each time one refuses to let the egocentric impulse have its way.
