When History Reawakens

 Sometimes it takes years—30, 131, or even thousands—but truth rises, hatred fades, and our mission to bring every Jew home remains eternal.

Ten days ago, France announced the posthumous promotion of Alfred Dreyfus to the rank of Brigadier General. This gesture was intended to rectify the terrible injustice committed against him in the infamous antisemitic affair of 1894. Dreyfus, a Jewish officer in the French army, had been falsely convicted of treason, sparking outrage and controversy that echoed for generations.

Dreyfus was born in Mulhouse, Alsace, to a wealthy Jewish family. His grandfather served as the community’s kosher butcher, and his father was a successful merchant. He and his siblings all married Jews and preserved a strong Jewish identity. Dreyfus later enlisted in the army, and in 1892 he was promoted to captain and assigned to the General Staff—at that time, the only Jew serving there.

In 1894, French intelligence received a secret document sent by a French officer to a representative of the German Embassy in Paris. Suspicion immediately fell on Dreyfus, and he was brought before a military tribunal. In December of that year he was convicted of treason, and one month later he was sentenced: his rank was stripped, and he was condemned to life imprisonment on “Devil’s Island” in French Guiana.

On January 5, 1895, a humiliating public ceremony was held in a central square in Paris, attended by thousands. It was a strict, dramatic military ritual: drums thundered, the band played, and then the verdict was read—Dreyfus was guilty of treason, stripped of all rank, and exiled for life to Devil’s Island. After the reading, a soldier approached him, tore off his insignia, seized his sword—the symbol of every French officer—and broke it before the roaring crowd, which shouted, “Death to the traitor! Down with the Jews!”

Dreyfus himself continued declaring his innocence, but no one cared to hear him. He was exiled to South America, where he endured long months under harsh conditions, with guards tormenting him in the hope that he would commit suicide—bringing the affair, in their eyes, to a convenient end.

Meanwhile, a public campaign to exonerate him began, led by the journalist Bernard Lazare. During this time, the new head of intelligence, Lt. Col. Georges Picquart, discovered that the real spy was another officer—Maj. Ferdinand Walsin-Esterhazy. Esterhazy was brought to trial, but acquitted.

In January 1898, the writer Émile Zola published his famous open letter, “J’Accuse,” accusing the army and government of framing Dreyfus. The affair continued to shake the world, and France was bitterly divided into two camps: for Dreyfus and against him. The controversy also split the army and undermined public confidence in it.

Due to significant new evidence, in September 1899 the decision was made to grant Dreyfus a retrial. The military officers repeated their claims, and the court again found Dreyfus guilty—but sentenced him this time to only 10 years. The controversy persisted, and ten days later he was pardoned.  In 1906 the Court of Appeals ruled that the charges had been baseless. Dreyfus was reinstated as a major, served in World War I, and passed away in 1935 at age 76.

But only 131 years after he had been falsely convicted was Alfred Dreyfus finally promoted in rank. It took 131 years for the slander to be erased.

“He was asleep—and you woke him!”

In this week’s parsha, Vayeitzei, we continue reading about the life of Yaakov Avinu. Yaakov fled to Haran because he was escaping from Esav, after Esav declared: “Let the days of mourning for my father draw near, and I will kill my brother Yaakov” (Toldot 27:41). The question arises: Why didn’t Esav actually kill Yaakov? He certainly had the power to do so.

The straightforward answer, explained by many commentators, is that Esav greatly honored his father. The Sages praise Esav for the extraordinary lengths he went to honor Yitzchak. As the Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 65:16) explains on the verse, “Rivkah took the garments of Esav, her older son, the precious ones that were with her in the house”—these were the garments he wore when serving his father.

Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel said: “All my life I served my father, yet I did not reach even one hundredth of the way Esav served his. When I served my father, I wore soiled clothing, and when I went out in public, I wore clean clothing. But Esav, when serving his father, wore royal garments, saying: ‘It is not fitting to serve my father except in royal clothing.’”

Esav knew he could not bring pain to Yitzchak, so he waited, as he said: “Let the days of mourning for my father draw near.”  But in practice, even afterward he did not harm Yaakov. In fact, even earlier he had already abandoned the plan to kill him. In Parshat Vayishlach, during their reunion, we see how moved Esav was: he ran toward Yaakov, embraced him, kissed him, and wept on his neck.

Some explain that when Esav saw that Yitzchak did not retract the blessings given to Yaakov—even after learning how Yaakov obtained them—and even added “also he shall be blessed,” Esav realized he had misunderstood something deeper. He understood that spiritually, morally, and in Yitzchak’s eyes, Yaakov was on a different path. He noticed too that his own choices, such as marrying Hittite women, had caused pain to his parents. So Esav tried to correct his course, going to Yishmael to find a wife who would please his father.

This shift teaches us something important: Esav’s hatred was never the entire story. Even when negative feelings burned strongly, there were moments when truth surfaced, awareness emerged, and the anger eased. There is a pattern in Torah and history — hatred rises, and then falls when clarity returns.

And in the story of Alfred Dreyfus we see the same idea. Dreyfus never accused France of antisemitism; he simply insisted: “I am innocent.” Even after he was exonerated, he did not seek revenge — instead, he went on to fight for France in World War I. The tides of hatred eventually turned; the truth eventually broke through.

So when we see Esav’s hatred toward Yaakov flare up here and there throughout history, we need not despair. Sometimes it takes 30 years, sometimes 131 years, but ultimately the truth comes to light.

In the end, we can hardly control how the nations view us. What is more relevant for us is what we read today in Mincha, at the beginning of Parshat Vayishlach, where we learn how Yaakov returned to the Land of Israel and sent messengers to Esav. 

The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 75:1) relates about this concept that Yaakov sent messengers to Esav—even though Esav had no idea that Yaakov had returned to the land.

Rabbi Huna opened with the verse: “Like one who grabs a dog by the ears is one who passes by and becomes involved in a quarrel not his own” (Proverbs 26). Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachman told a parable of a notorious bandit who lay sleeping at a crossroads… “He was sleeping—and you woke him!”  So said Hashem to Yaakov: “Esav was going on his way, and you send messengers to him saying, ‘Thus says your servant Yaakov’?!”

But the Rebbe explains (Motzaei Shabbat Parshat Vayeitzei 5739, Sichot Kodesh vol. 1, p. 314): Yaakov knew he had a mission—to bring his brother Esav back. One would think that after twenty years of back-breaking labor—‘By day the heat consumed me, and by night the frost, and sleep fled from my eyes’ (Vayeitzei 31:40)—he would rest a bit, recover.
But no! Immediately upon returning to Canaan he sends messengers to Esav. He wants to bring him back to Judaism.

And this is the message for us: Instead of sitting and worrying, “What will be?” we must do our part—reach out to everyone we know, every Jew who might forget to light Chanukkah candles, or who may not own a menorah… We must follow in the path of Yaakov Avinu, until we bring each one home, and then we will merit the fulfillment of the promise “until I come to my lord in Se’ir”—in the days of Moshiach (Vayishlach 33:14).