We spend so much time bracing for the big explosions that we forget to watch out for the slow leaks. As a mother, I am constantly on high alert for the obvious dangers—the speeding cars, the sharp edges, the blatant cruelty. We are wired to spot the monsters. But what happens when the monster doesn’t roar? What happens when the monster smiles, invites you in, and slowly tries to erase exactly who you are?
Every year at the Passover Seder, as we recount our miraculous escape from Egypt, we read a jarring passage in the Haggadah. Amidst a story about slavery and the undeniable evil of Pharaoh, the text demands we look elsewhere: “Go and learn what Laban the Aramean sought to do to our father Jacob. Pharaoh made his decree only about the males, whereas Laban sought to destroy everything.”
Pharaoh was the ultimate tyrant. He enslaved a nation and threw baby boys into the Nile. He was the Ayatollah of his day—loud, violent, and explicitly committed to our destruction. So why does the Haggadah tell us Laban was worse?
In his brilliant analysis, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that Laban is the original architect of the world’s oldest hate. At first glance, Laban appears to be a generous benefactor, offering Jacob refuge. But the hospitality is a trap. Laban treats Jacob not as a human being with a distinct identity, but as a commodity. He deceives him, changes his wages ten times, and exploits his labour. When Jacob finally builds his own family and wealth through sheer grit and God’s blessing, Laban is consumed by envy. He looks at Jacob’s success and claims it entirely as his own, declaring:
This is the terror of Laban. It is not the dramatic decree of a mad king. It is the mundane, daily erosion of our right to exist as a distinct people. Laban represents the host society that demands total assimilation. He is the seemingly tolerant progressive who is perfectly happy to have us around—so long as we do not succeed too much, maintain our own identity, or claim the right to be independent.
This dynamic is exactly what we see today. We spend so much time bracing against the loud, obvious threats—the literal rockets fired at our homeland—that we miss the Labans. The modern Laban is the relentless, grinding cultural pressure that denies our right to be here. It is the polite society that insists our success is ill-gotten. They do not hate us because we are weak. They hate us because we refuse to disappear.
How do we equip our children to survive a world that constantly tries to wear them down? The lesson is found in Jacob’s stunning resilience. Hemmed in on all sides by deceit, Jacob absolutely refuses to be defeated. He refuses to let Laban’s toxicity break his spirit. He does not become bitter. He does not adopt the methods of his oppressor. Instead, he focuses entirely on life. He tends his flocks, raises his children, and holds fast to his covenant with God. In an impossible situation, Jacob remains a free man.
We must teach our children to do exactly the same. The Hebrew Bible gives us a clear, non-negotiable directive on how to achieve this. It commands us:
Ultimately, our job as parents is not just to protect our children from the Pharaohs who want to destroy us, but to fortify them against the Labans who want to dilute us. We must raise children who know exactly who they are and refuse to apologize for it. When we anchor them in our ancient texts and teach them to respond to hostility with unwavering strength rather than toxic hatred, we give them the ultimate armor. They will walk out into a world that demands their assimilation, and they will simply refuse. They will build, they will thrive, and they will carry our legacy forward, unbroken and unbowed.
