But time and time again, they encountered individuals like Lavan who initially appeared friendly but ultimately revealed themselves to be self-interested and hostile. These individuals sought to strip Jews of their rights, dignity, and independence, treating them as property rather than as equals.
This behavior, exemplified by Lavan, has been replicated throughout history by antisemites who have sought to oppress and marginalize the Jewish people. The Haggadah’s reference to Lavan’s actions serves as a reminder of the enduring nature of antisemitism and the need for vigilance in the face of such hostility.
Ultimately, the story of Yakov and Lavan serves as a cautionary tale, highlighting the dangers of placing trust in those who do not have our best interests at heart. By remaining vigilant and steadfast in the face of adversity, we can follow in Yakov’s footsteps and refuse to be defeated by those who seek to oppress us.
The nations who gave them refuge seemed at first to be benefactors. But they demanded a price. They saw, in Jews, people who would make them rich. Wherever Jews went they brought prosperity to their hosts. Yet they refused to be mere chattels. They refused to be owned. They had their own identity and way of life; they insisted on the basic human right to be free. The host society then eventually turned against them. They claimed that Jews were exploiting them rather than what was in fact the case, that they were exploiting the Jews. And when Jews succeeded, they accused them of theft: “The flocks are my flocks! All that you see is mine!” They forgot that Jews had contributed massively to national prosperity. The fact that Jews had salvaged some self-respect, some independence, that they too had prospered, made them not just envious but angry. That was when it became dangerous to be a Jew.
Lavan was the first to display this syndrome but not the last. It happened again in Egypt after the death of Yosef. It happened under the Greeks and Romans, the Christian and Muslim empires of the Middle Ages, the European nations of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and after the Russian Revolution.
In her fascinating book World on Fire, Amy Chua argues that ethnic hatred will always be directed by the host society against any conspicuously successful minority. All three conditions must be present.
- The hated group must be a minority or people will fear to attack it.
- It must be successful or people will not envy it, merely feel contempt for it.
- It must be conspicuous or people will not notice it.
Jews tended to fit all three. That is why they were hated. And it began with Yakov during his stay with Lavan. He was a minority, outnumbered by Lavan’s family. He was successful, and it was conspicuous: you could see it by looking at his flocks.
What the Sages are saying in the Haggadah now becomes clear. Pharaoh was a one-time enemy of the Jews, but Lavan exists, in one form or another, in age after age. The syndrome still exists today. As Amy Chua notes, Israel in the context of the Middle East is a conspicuously successful minority. It is a small country, a minority; it is successful, conspicuously so. Somehow, in a tiny country with few natural resources, it has outshone its neighbors. The result is envy that becomes anger that becomes hate. Where did it begin? With Lavan.
Put this way, we begin to see Yakov in a new light. Yakov stands for minorities and small nations everywhere. Yakov is the refusal to let large powers crush the few, the weak, the refugee. He maintains his inner dignity and freedom. He contributes to other people’s prosperity, but he defeats every attempt to be exploited. Yakov is the voice that says: I too am human. I too have rights. I too am free.
If Lavan is the eternal paradigm of hatred of conspicuously successful minorities, then Yakov is the eternal paradigm of the human capacity to survive the hatred of others. In this strange way Yakov becomes the voice of hope in the conversation of humankind, the living proof that hate never wins the final victory; freedom does.