by Fen Argoff
“When Isaac was old and his eyes were too dim to see[...]” (Genesis 27:1)
Many interpretations have come from this section – what factors led to Isaac’s blindness? To what degree was it made with intention so that his blessing would be placed upon a particular child? The commentator Rashi writes about three arguments, I will focus on the latter two. Rashi writes, “When Isaac was bound upon the altar and his father was about to slay him, at that very moment the heavens opened, the ministering angels saw it and wept, and their tears flowed and fell upon Isaac’s eyes which thus became dim (Genesis Rabbah 65:10). Abraham placed his son upon the altar, and though G-d showed mercy, Isaac ended up with a particular impairment that progressed in his older years. Both the father and the son are implicated in this moment – just as it would be for Isaac and Esau.
“Isaac favored Esau because he had a taste for game” (Genesis 25:30), or as put by Rashi, pointing to the Genesis Rabbah, “[...] there was hunting in Esau’s mouth, meaning that he used to entrap and deceive him by his words (Genesis Rabbah 63:10)”. Isaac ate what was fed to him. Esau committed his acts away from the home where Isaac was left as a result of his dimming eyesight. “He said: ‘Just as Father took a wife at forty years of age, I, too, will take a wife at forty years of age.’ That is what is written: ‘Esau was forty years old’”(Bereshit Rabbah 65:1). As a result of his actions, he’s likened to a boar, “when it lies down stretches forth its cloven hoof as much as to say, “See, I am a clean animal” (Rashi on Genesis 26:34). He acted wickedly far afield, leaving little for Isaac to see.
This cycle from father to son is present in commentary as well. It is suggested that on the day Esau spurned his birthright, it was also the day Abraham died, indicated by Jacob cooking red lentils – a mourner’s food. “Why should lentils be the mourner’s food? Because they are round like a wheel and mourning (sorrow) is a wheel that revolves in the world (it touches everyone sooner or later as a revolving wheel touches every spot in turn) (Bava Batra 16b)” (Rashi on Genesis 25:30). Like the wheel, like sorrow, the parent leaves an imprint on every part of the child’s life.
It is still unclear whether or not Isaac was physically blind or if were as though he were blind. Rashi’s final interpretation provides this explanation, “They became dim just in order that Jacob might receive the blessings (Genesis Rabbah 65:8).” Isaac’s eyes were made in a particular way such that at that time, he would be blind enough that Jacob would be the one to receive the blessings. In the Bereshit Rabbah this is expanded further – “The Holy One blessed be He said: ‘Isaac will walk out to the marketplace and the people will say: This is the father of that wicked one. Instead, I will dim his eyes and he will remain inside his house.’” (Bereshit Rabbah 65:10) This provides some insight into what Isaac could have known about Esau, and it would reflect on him. So instead, he stayed disconnected from his son’s behavior by becoming blind and homebound.
Much has been written about Isaac’s eyes, but there may not be an answer. If he was blinded by smoke from idol worship (as was Rashi’s first explanation), what was it that made him so uniquely susceptible to this? A whole host of inquiry opens – a new spiraling search for answers. Perhaps he was already afflicted with dimming eyesight, in which case multiple explanations could be true. The possibilities are fruitful and multiply. It’s tempting to ascribe meaning to illness, as suffering can be made more tangible when it is woven into a story. “From the beginning of the book until here, suffering is not written. When Isaac stood, He granted him suffering – ‘it was when Isaac was old, and [his eyes] dimmed.’” (Bereshit Rabbah 65:9). There was no word before to describe it – it had not been written –but once it was, the consequences of suffering manifested within Isaac.
It’s comforting to imagine that there is a particular word that will bring you so much understanding that it can reshape your existence. I have sought diagnoses my whole life with the goal of understanding what it is I was made to be. When I first began having symptoms over a decade ago, there were no words available to me for some of my experiences. As the years went on and out in the world research progressed, slowly more and more words have become available to me. “But whence does wisdom come? Where is the source of understanding?” (Job 28:20). I cannot actually find this source of unwellness within me, despite all of this searching and learning, because it is not accessible to me. I may know when my bones ache, but I cannot tell my nerves to stop firing. There is a limit to knowledge, and to our power as individuals – even over our own bodies.
It is harrowing to reckon with this each day in life because it leads to these endless worries – what am I not seeing while my mind is so clouded with this? Have I missed something important? What is the answer to living right, so that I can do what I must? This tension, this unknowability, resides inside myself as much as it does between a story and interpretation. Even with uncertainty and suffering in the world, I do not have to look away from it. Little by little, I can work towards a better life.
Fen Argoff is a queer, disabled, interdisciplinary artist working in the realms of digital illustration and interactive media. Fen began studying Torah and Jewish history as a means of connecting their Jewish life with an artistic practice focused on the environment, morality and the role of myth in an industrial landscape. Fen lives with their cat in Upstate New York, working as a freelance artist and as a proud member of the Freelancer’s Union.
