Who Is Serving Whom? The Question the Pasuk Leaves Open

The parsha begins with a moment that seems to belong to Rivka alone, but in reality it is the beginning of the story of Yaakov and Esav.

ויתרוצצו הבנים בקרבה‎ — the children struggled within her. ותאמר אם כן למה זה אנכי‎ — she asks why this is happening. ותלך לדרוש את־ה׳‎ — she turns to seek clarity from HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

— Bereishis 25:22

Whatever ויתרוצצו‎ might mean, Rivka senses that something weighty is happening, something that requires interpretation. So she seeks out an answer. And indeed, an answer she receives:

שני גוים בבטנך ושני לאמים ממעיך יפרדו‎ — two nations are in your womb, and two peoples will emerge and diverge.

ולאם מלאם יאמץ ורב יעבד צעיר‎ — one will prevail over the other, and *rav ya'avod tza'ir. * — Bereishis 25:23

There is much to explore here, but for now we will focus solely on the final phrase: רב יעבד צעיר‎ — "rav ya'avod tza'ir."

There is a very basic question we must ask on this verse: who is serving whom?

If this sentence had been written in English, the answer would be obvious. English uses word order to determine subject and object. Whoever appears first is the subject — the one performing the action. Whoever appears second is the object — the one receiving it. So if you translated the Hebrew literally into English, you would assume the elder serves the younger.

But Hebrew does not work like that.

Hebrew has a word — את‎ — which marks the direct object of a verb. The direct object is the person or thing to which the action is happening. In our case, that means: who is being served? Serving is the action. The one being served is the direct object of that action.

If the pasuk had said:

רב יעבד את הצעיר

it would clearly mean that the elder serves the younger.

If the pasuk had said:

את הרב יעבד צעיר

it would clearly mean that the younger serves the elder.

As such, the prophecy could have clearly indicated who will be the master and who will be the servant. It could have clearly told us who will be serving whom.

But it chose neither form.

It left the phrase open — suspended — grammatically balanced between two possible readings. The ambiguity is built into the structure of the words themselves.

And so we ask: why would a prophecy avoid telling us the very thing it seems to be describing?