We find a fascinating, and perhaps unsettling, answer in Bereshit Rabbah 63, a section of the ancient Midrash that delves into the lives of Abraham and Isaac, and the troublesome figure of Esau.

The text opens with the observation that Abraham lived 175 years and Isaac 180. But, according to Rabbi Yudan, Rabbi Pinḥas, and Rabbi Simon, something was…off. The Holy One, blessed be He, originally intended for Isaac to live a full 185 years. Those missing five years? They were taken away because of Esau’s actions.

Imagine that. Your lifespan, shortened by the misdeeds of your offspring.

What terrible acts could warrant such a divine intervention? The Rabbis don't hold back. They accuse Esau of three grave sins: consorting with a betrothed woman, murder, and theft. Rabbi Yudan states in the name of Rabbi Aivu, and Rabbi Pinḥas in the name of Rabbi Levi, that Esau violated a betrothed young woman, citing Deuteronomy 22:27, "For he found her in the field," which refers to a betrothed woman who was raped. The text then quotes Jeremiah 4:31, "For my soul is wearied by the killers," to suggest murder, and Obadiah 1:5, "If thieves came for you, if plunderers of the night…," to imply theft.

The implications are staggering. The text paints a picture of Esau as a man of violence and transgression. The Midrash then presents a powerful, almost plaintive question from God: “This is what I promised to Abraham, and said to him: ‘You shall go to your fathers in peace; [you shall be buried at a good old age]’ (Genesis 15:15) – is this ‘a good old age,’ that he sees his grandson engaging in idol worship, engaging in forbidden sexual relations, and shedding blood? It is preferable that he leave the world [without seeing it].”

It's a stark reminder that even the most blessed lives are intertwined with the actions of others. God's kindness, as expressed in Psalms 63:4 ("For Your kindness is better than life"), takes precedence over a prolonged existence marred by witnessing such wickedness.

The Midrash then shifts its focus to the infamous scene where Esau sells his birthright for a bowl of red lentil stew. "Esau said to Jacob: Feed me now from that red, red [haadom haadom] dish, as I am weary. Therefore, his name is called Edom" (Genesis 25:30).

Rabbi Ze’eira offers a rather vivid interpretation of Esau's hunger, comparing his open mouth to that of a camel being forcibly overfed. He said to him: ‘I will open my mouth and you continuously pour,’ like what we learned: One may not forcibly overfeed a camel and one may not force feed it. However, one may place food into its mouth [malitin].

But the real interpretive fireworks come with the phrase "from that red, red [ha’adom ha’adom]". Rabbi Yoḥanan and Reish Lakish offer contrasting views. Rabbi Yoḥanan sees the "red, red" as referring to Esau himself and his Patron, implying that Esau sought to consume the stew and the Temples of Jacob’s God. Reish Lakish, on the other hand, interprets it as "from him, and from those like him [hadomin lo]," meaning his descendants.

Reish Lakish expands on this idea, creating a powerful image of Esau and his lineage defined by the color red: "He is red, his cooked food is red, his land is red, his warriors are red, his garments are red, One who is red exacts retribution against him, in red garments." He connects this color to various aspects of Esau's identity, from his birth ("the first emerged ruddy," Genesis 25:25) to his land ("to the land of Se’ir, to the field of Edom," Genesis 32:4) to his eventual fate, suggesting that even divine retribution will be delivered in red.

What are we to make of all this? The Rabbis, through this Midrash, are grappling with profound questions about justice, divine intervention, and the legacy we leave behind. It's not just a story about Esau's individual sins, but about the ripple effects of those actions, impacting generations and even shortening the life of his own father. It forces us to consider how our choices, both good and bad, echo through time, shaping not only our own destinies but also the lives of those around us. It is a somber reminder of the interconnectedness of life.