This class was presented by Rabbi YY Jacobson on Tuesday, 5 Kislev, 5786, November 25, 2025, Parshas Vayetzei, at The Barn @ 84 Viola Rd. in Montebello, NY.

The Medrash describes a hidden scene on the wedding night of Yaakov and Leah. Throughout the night, Yaakov kept calling the bride “Rachel,” and Leah answered each time. In the morning, when the deception was revealed, Yaakov confronted her: “How could you answer to the name Rachel? You are just like your father, Lavan—a deceiver!” Leah replied with the shocking line: “Is there a barber without students? Didn’t your father call for Esav, and you answered ‘I am Esav’?” At first glance, Leah appears to justify deception with deception—but that cannot be the message. The matriarch of Klal Yisrael wouldn’t base righteousness on revenge or moral equivalence.

To understand her words, the shiur introduces a profound idea. The Torah writes “הִיא לֵאָה” (“she is Leah”) but spells it “הוּא לֵאָה” (“he is Leah”), hinting that Yaakov’s shock that morning was not simply discovering who Leah was, but discovering who he was. Leah became a mirror. When Yaakov deceived Yitzchak by dressing as Esav, he spiritually adopted the role of Esav—not in wickedness, but because Hashem needed him to carry both types of Jewish souls: those of pure light (Rachel) and those who struggle, fall, rise, and wrestle their way to greatness (Leah/Esav archetype). The moment Yaakov declared “I am Esav,” he entered the world of struggle—which meant the soulmate for that part of him was no longer Rachel alone, but Leah, who embodies exhaustion, complexity, and inner confrontation.

Thus, Leah’s response was not defensive sarcasm but a deep revelation: “I didn’t merely deceive you; I stepped into the place you created. You became Esav for a holy purpose—and therefore, your Esav-part must marry its counterpart. I am the mirror of the struggle inside you.” In this view, the switch under the chuppah wasn’t random trickery. It was a continuation of Yaakov’s own spiritual journey. Rachel represents his light, innocence, and clarity; Leah represents his darkness that can be transformed into light—the hard inner work, the exhaustion, the buried pain, the shadow that must be redeemed to access deeper strength.

Ultimately every Jew descends from both Rachel and Leah—both the part of us that feels aligned and luminous and the part that feels heavy, complicated, and exhausted. True wholeness comes only when both are embraced. That is why Yaakov is buried with Leah, not Rachel. His life’s completion came not only from the parts that felt easy and beautiful, but from the parts that demanded courage, mirroring, self-confrontation, and transformation. The message of the Medrash is that our “Leah moments”—our struggles, shadows, and discomfort—are not punishments but invitations to greatness. And that is the deeper meaning of the badeken: by veiling the kallah, we declare, “I am ready to marry not only the parts of you that I see now, but also the hidden parts I cannot yet see — and this commitment is only possible if I am also willing to meet, accept, and marry the hidden parts within myself.”