My Birthright for Some Stew
The aroma of a homecooked meal traveled far under even the gentlest breeze in the dry desert air.
To Esau it seemed to have been ages since his last meal, and perhaps several days actually had passed without any real food. Sure, he’d had provisions—dried fruit and bread crusts—along with whatever he could forage out in the open country… but that couldn’t compare to even the first whiff of the slow-cooked, steaming hot, red stew that crossed his nostrils still miles from home.
Exhausted from work and probably drooling all over the place from the last hour hiking amidst that intoxicating odor, Esau demanded some stew from his twin brother.
Perhaps it was an impulsive thought, or maybe it was the premeditated plan for the meal, but Jacob jumped on this opportunity to not only spite his brother’s disrespect for his own work, but also to apply some impetus to the prophecy his mother had only just revealed—that he would somehow be elevated in position above his (minutes older) brother.
“I made this soup for a special occasion, bro… but I’ll give you some if you trade me your birthright…”
Esau, in his usual brutish manner snatched the bowl of soup from Jacob’s delicate fingers and muttered, “Deal.”
“What good would my firstborn rights be if I’m dead of starvation?”
Of course it was only after his belly was full when Esau realized what he’d done.