Why Edom Collapses and Israel Endures

It’s January. The western world is shaking off December 31—a night soaked in wine, noise, and motion. Lights flash. Music pounds. Bodies sway. Everything Esau¹ ever wanted is offered freely, without restraint or consequence. 

Long before midnight countdowns and glass towers, pagan Rome marked this same stretch of darkness with Saturnalia. It was a festival consecrated to Saturn, the idol of abundance, where indulgence became ritual and excess became law. Drinking, dancing, and every physical appetite were not escapes from the dark—they were the way to honor the dark. 

This is how pagan Edom celebrates the night. 

Like its empires, the display is dazzling from a distance. Strength. Wealth. Expansion. But beneath the marble and steel, decay sets in. The core empties. Meaning erodes. What looks unshakable begins to rot—quietly, patiently, from the inside. 

The pattern never changes. Greece fell. Rome followed. Now Europe and America walk the same path. 

• Birth rates collapse. 
• Immigration becomes a lifeline. 
• Enemies sense the hollowness and strike. 
• Migrants who are invited in discover that their hosts are no longer strong enough to rule. 

Like the sun that they orient themselves around—fixed, distant, unmoved—their calendar marks a frozen moment in space. Darkness is answered with darkness, celebrated with silliness, as each civilization drifts closer to its appointed edge. 

The Blueprint of Light: How Yosef Changed History 

Israel begins the season of darkness differently—with the story of Yosef. The only Jew ever called a Tzaddik, he earned that name not through miracles or might, but through mastery. He faced temptation at its fiercest—and did not yield. 

The most beautiful woman in Egypt changed her clothes five times a day to draw him in². Yosef was only eighteen. His body pulled one way, his soul another—and he chose the soul. 

On December 21, while Edom, led by Potiphar’s wife, marked the shortest day by surrendering to the dark, Yosef stood firm and revealed something else entirely: light. Not a flash, not an escape—but a steady flame. 

That light carried him from the pit of slavery to the height of dominion. What began as resistance became elevation. What looked like loss became kingship. 

Yosef’s legacy multiplied. His children rose from grandsons to full tribes, blessed by Yaakov to become nations. From Yosef came Yehoshua, who conquered the Land of Israel³, and Gidon, who reclaimed it—defeating 135,000 Amalekites, Midianites, and Ishmaelites with only 300 men and Hashem’s blessing.⁴ 

This is how light works. It does not flee the darkness. It moves through it—growing stronger with every step. 

Darkness Is Not an Excuse—It Is the Assignment 

We are in the weeks of Shovevim. This period is not a mood nor a custom. It is a season of accountability. The work of Yosef the Tzaddik is not complete; it has been placed into our hands. What he resisted, we are required to resist. What he illuminated, we are obligated to restore. 

We are Israel. Not spectators. Not critics. The people who wrestle with Esav’s angel⁵ and remain standing. The people who serve God by confronting the darkness rather than negotiating with it. This is not symbolic warfare. This is service. 

We mark renewal by the moon because disappearance does not frighten us. On Rosh Chodesh, the light of the moon vanishes completely—and we wait without despair, because we know the law of return. Darkness is not failure. It is the condition under which light is rebuilt. 

Edom rises, exhausts itself, and collapses. Its strength ends when the sun sets. Our strength does not. We move forward when visibility is gone, collecting sparks deliberately, refusing to abandon ground that still holds light. 

Edom is remembered for how it fell. 

Israel is remembered for how it endures—and for what it carried through the dark. 

Redemption Begins Where Temptation Is Defeated 

Today, the darkness is tightening its grip. Temptation no longer hides—it advertises. What once required effort, secrecy, or shame is now offered instantly, openly, without resistance. 

We are all Yosef now. And Potiphar’s wife is no longer in the palace—she is on the other side of your screen. Always available. Always waiting. One swipe of the finger is all it takes. 

Yosef resisted—and history bent in response.  

In the merit of his restraint, God crowned him ruler over Egypt. His children rose to become full tribes of Israel, granting him the double inheritance of the firstborn. From his line came kings, conquerors, and redeemers of the Land. 

This is not coincidence. This is the law of light. 

This is how the Land of Israel is secured—not only with weapons, but with discipline. This is how the darkness of Edom is defeated—within our borders and within ourselves. Victory begins before the battlefield, in the private moment when no one is watching. 

This is the light that will clear the path for Ben Yosef and Ben David. The darker the hour, the greater the test. The greater the test, the more powerful the light it releases. God willing, as the light intensifies, redemption hastens—and the end draws near. 

Editor’s Notes: 

¹ See Esau the Ancestor of Rome for the connection between Esav, Edom, and Rome (Christianity). 

² Bereshit Rabbah 87 on Bereishit (Genesis) 39:6-20 

³ Sefer Yehoshua (Book of Joshua) 

⁴ Sefer Mishpatim (Book of Judges) Chapters 6-8 

⁵ Bereishit 32:25 with Rashi’s comment, Bereishit Rabbah 77:3, Tanchuma 8 

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David Ben Horin lives in Afula with his family, 60,000 passionate Israelis, and Matilda, our local camel.