Parashat Toldot
November 6, 2021, 2 Kislev 5782
Torah: Genesis 25:19-28:9; Triennial 27:28-28:9
Haftarah: Malachi 1:1-2:7
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In this week's Torah Sparks, you'll find a D'var Torah on the Parashah by Ilana Kurshan called "The Blinding of Isaac: A Blessing in Disguise", Vered Hollander-Goldfarb poses questions titled "Let’s Eat to That!" and Bex Stern Rosenblatt writes about "Pushback" in the Haftarah.
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The Blinding of Isaac: A Blessing in Disguise
Ilana Kurshan
In this week’s parashah an aging Isaac, now the patriarch of the family, bestows the blessing of the firstborn on Jacob instead of Esau when the former tricks him by disguising himself as his twin brother. The Torah suggests that the reason the twins’ father was unable to detect the ruse was because “Isaac was old and his eyes were too dim to see” (Genesis 27:1). A simple reading of the verse suggests that Isaac’s vision deteriorated on account of old age, but the midrash proposes additional reasons for Isaac’s blindness that offer us a way of thinking about the implications of our blind spots and our limited sight.
The midrash in Genesis Rabbah (65:10) teaches that God blinded the patriarch as a way of protecting him from seeing his son’s wickedness. The rabbis quote God as saying, “Isaac will go out to the marketplace and people will say: ‘This is the father of that evildoer!’ Therefore behold I will dim his sight and he will stay within his house.” God blinded Isaac so as to protect him from the shame of having such a wayward son. Along similar lines the midrash suggests that Abraham died five years early—Abraham died at the age of 175, as opposed to Isaac, who died at 180—so that he would not have to live to see Esau worship idols, sleep with betrothed maidens, and commit murder (Genesis Rabbah 63:12). Unlike Isaac, who merely lost his powers of sight, the candle of Abraham’s soul was snuffed out early so that he would not have to bear witness to his grandson’s depravity.
These midrashim suggest that sometimes we lose the ability to see our close relatives clearly because if we were to do so—if we were to see them for who they truly are—we would no longer be able to maintain the relationship. Spouses who become blind to each other’s faults can remain in love for decades, and parents who can turn a blind eye to their children’s misdemeanors can continue to welcome those children home. Isaac needed to become blind so that he could bestow any sort of blessing upon Esau; his blindness enabled him to maintain the family tie in spite of fierce disagreements and antithetical worldviews. So long as Isaac did not witness Esau sleeping with betrothed maidens, he could continue to allow Esau to sleep under his roof.
The midrash offers another explanation for Isaac’s blindness that is related not to the trauma of the present—not to the trauma of having an evil son—but to the traumas of the past. The rabbis pick up on the unusual turn of phrase used to describe Isaac’s blindness – the Torah literally states that Isaac’s eyes “became dim from seeing.” They link Isaac’s blindness to the trauma of the Akedah, where Isaac saw his father bind him on the altar and raise a knife to slaughter him. While Isaac was not ultimately pierced by his father’s sword, he was the victim of another piercing encounter, as the midrash relates: “When Abraham bound his son on the altar, the angels wept… and the tears dropped from their eyes into his eyes and were imprinted within his eyes till he became old and his eyes became dim” (Genesis Rabbah 65:10). Isaac realized that he was being forced to play a role in such a harsh and audacious drama that even the angels were moved to tears of outrage and compassion. A related midrash suggests that at that moment when he lay bound on the altar, Isaac looked straight up at God, and God responded by blinding him, because “No man may see me and live.” (Exodus 33:20). Both his father and God turn a blind eye to Isaac, and though Isaac’s body is lifted off the altar, a part of him never recovers from the trauma. The binding of Isaac becomes, according to this reading, the blinding of Isaac.
These midrashim about Isaac’s blindness continue with the rabbinic assertion that “seven things are concealed from humanity.” The rabbis go on to list these seven “blind spots”: 1. No one knows when he or she will die. 2. No one knows when the end-of-days will come. 3. No one can fathom the depth of divine judgement. 4. No one can predict what is going to succeed financially. 5. No one can intuit what another person is thinking in his heart. 6. No one knows what is happening inside a woman’s womb. 7. And no one knows when the evil kingdom of Rome will be toppled. This list is surprisingly relevant today, even in an age of stock market forecasters, ultrasound machines, and political pundits. Who among us can say with certainty which of our investments will succeed, or whether the baby we so eagerly expect will be fully healthy, or when the current political leader will be deposed?
The juxtaposition of this list of seven unknowables with the midrashim about Isaac’s blindness suggest that just as Isaac’s sight was dimmed, blindness is in fact integral to the human condition. As human beings, our sight is inherently limited; there are things we can never fully see or know. If we are fortunate, our blindness can become a blessing in disguise, enabling us to remain close to those we love in spite of our disagreements, and deepening our appreciation for life’s mysteries.
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Let’s Eat to That!
Vered Hollander-Goldfarb
Text: Bereshit 25:29-34
29And Jacob cooked a stew; and Esau came in from the field, and he was weary. 30And Esau said to Jacob, “feed me now from this red, red (adom, adom) thing, for I am weary.” Therefore his name was called Edom. 31And Jacob said, “Sell me your firstborn right as of this day.” 32And Esau said, “Behold, I am about to die; so what is the firstborn right to me?” 33And Jacob said, “Swear to me as of this day.” And he swore to him and sold his firstborn right to Jacob. 34And Jacob had given Esau bread and stew of lentils; and he ate and drank, and arose, and went his way; and Esau despised the firstborn right.
· Esau is painted in vivid colors. What kind of person is he?
· What might Jacob have meant by asking for the firstborn right “as of this day”? Did anything change in the household?
· What do you think that each of the brothers assumed was included in the firstborn right that was at the center of the transaction? Is this something that can be traded?
· Why do you think that Esau did not care about the firstborn right at this point?
Commentary: Hizkuni Bereshit 25:34
And Jacob gave Esau – together with the silver that he gave him as negotiated, he gave him bread and a lentil dish as testimony to the validity of the transaction, as is customary when doing transactions. Similarly, we find “and he call for his brethren to eat bread” (Bereshit 31:54) in the covenant between Jacob and Lavan.
· Hizkuni assumes that the price of the firstborn right was not a plate of food, so what purpose does the food serve?
· Why do you think that the Torah did not specify what the price was? And why is the event introduced by Esau returning weary from the field?
· Try to find support in the text for the idea that Jacob did not condition the food on the sale.
Commentary: Natziv Bereshit 25:34
Esau showed people that the main aspect of the firstborn right is not logical; rather, the one who is more talented and advanced should be the one esteemed among his brothers. Some of the great people of the world have followed Esau’s opinion and have disregarded the birth-order and valued the natural talents of a person.
· According to the Natziv, what right did Esau think that he was selling to Jacob? Why do you think that he regretted it only later?
· If this was indeed Esau’s reasoning, what do you think of Esau? Is this commentary favorable or critical of him? What picture does it paint of Jacob?
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Pushback
Bex Stern Rosenblatt
Who speaks to God? In our parashah, Isaac and Rebecca both appear to have a relationship with God. Much of the plot is dominated by the question of who has a right to have a relationship with God in the next generation. The special relationship, the blessing, can only pass to one of the two children. Jacob wins and Esau cries. As that blessing gets passed down through the children of Jacob, the Israelites, the question of who speaks to God and to whom God responds becomes more complicated. Some kings, priests, and the prophets pick up the mantle, so to speak. As leaders of Israel, they are the ones who are to communicate God’s messages with the rest of Israel. We do also find some occasions in which it seems as if God is communicating with all of Israel directly.
In our haftarah, Malachi 1:1-2:7, communication with God is front and central. The majority of the passage is presented as conversation between God and the priests and then God and the people. God speaks, the people question, and God responds. We read in Malachi 1:2-3, as translated by Robert Alter: “I have loved you, said the LORD, and you said, “How have you loved us?” “Is not Esau Jacob’s brother?” said the LORD. “And I loved Jacob, but Esau I hated, and I made his mountains a desolation and his estate—for the desert jackals.”
This dialogue is shocking. We find ourselves discussing, even questioning, love with God. God declares God’s love for us. And we choose to respond by asking for clarification, perhaps even proof. The text does not identify who the “you” is at this point with any more specificity than talking about Israel as a whole. The entire nation is implicated at this point, speaking with one voice, responding to God’s declaration of love for us with the sort of impertinence that tends to get us into trouble. As our conversation continues, we do in fact get scolded. God remonstrates us for failing to give God proper honor and reverence. We respond with questioning once again, asking “how have we despised you?” And so the dialogue continues, with Israel pushing back again and again.
Unlike most of the prophetic books, the book of Malachi tells us nothing about when it was written or who the prophet Malachi is. The word “malachi” can also be translated simply as “my messenger” or “my angel” rather than as a proper name at all. He is identified in the Talmud, Megillah 15a, with both Mordechai, from the Esther story, and Ezra, the priest who returned the reading of the Torah to the Second Temple. The text of the book also contains some Persian words. So when we read this questioning, this pushback on behalf of the people, we can read it as happening fairly late in our history recorded by the Tanakh.
We are a people who have been to exile, come back, and failed to thrive. God claims that God loves us, that what we have been given is enough, and we cannot accept it. Having returned to the land of Israel is not enough for us. Having God, Godself, proclaim love for us is not enough. We ask for more. And we do not get it. Tradition holds that prophecy departs from Israel after Malachi. We find ourselves questioning God and receiving no replies. The special relationship becomes a historical relationship, a textual relationship. And we begin to answer our questions ourselves.
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