The Torah tells us, "It was when Isaac was old, and his eyes dimmed from seeing, he summoned Esau his elder son, and said to him: My son, and he said to him: Here I am" (Genesis 27:1). But what dimmed more, his physical sight or his spiritual insight?

The rabbis of old, in the great Midrash collection Bereshit Rabbah, didn't shy away from grappling with this uncomfortable truth. They saw in Isaac's failing eyesight a consequence, a divine response to something deeper. Rabbi Yitzḥak begins with a powerful verse from Isaiah: "Those who exonerate the wicked due to [ekev] a bribe" (Isaiah 5:23). Ekev, in this context, suggests a consequence, a result of something done wrongly.

The Midrash continues: "Anyone who takes a bribe and exonerates the wicked – ultimately he will be punished." It's a stark warning. But what's the bribe here? What did Isaac receive that blinded him to Esau's faults? The text doesn't spell it out explicitly, but the implication hangs heavy in the air.

And then comes the next line from Isaiah, "And remove the innocence of the righteous from him" (Isaiah 5:23). The Midrash boldly equates "the innocence of the righteous" with Moses. Why Moses? The Matnot Kehuna, a commentary on the Midrash, clarifies that Moses never justified evil. He called out wrongdoers, as we see in Exodus 2:13 when he rebukes the man striking his fellow.

But the Midrash doesn't stop there. "Remove…from him – this is Isaac. Because he exonerated the wicked, his eyes dimmed – 'it was when Isaac was old, [and his eyes dimmed…].'" The connection is undeniable. Isaac's "blindness" is directly linked to his favoring of Esau, a man whose actions and character were, to put it mildly, questionable. He loved Esau.

It's a hard lesson, isn't it? We want to see our heroes as flawless, but the Torah, and the rabbinic tradition that interprets it, doesn't shy away from the complexities of human nature, even in its greatest figures. Isaac, despite his piety and his role in the covenant, was not immune to error. His love for Esau, perhaps born of a desire to see the good in him, ultimately blinded him to the truth.

So what are we to take away from this? Perhaps it's a reminder that love, while powerful and essential, must be tempered with discernment. That we must be vigilant against the seductive lure of excusing wrongdoing, even in those we hold dear. Because, as the Midrash so powerfully suggests, the consequences of such blindness can be far-reaching, dimming not only our own sight but also casting shadows on generations to come.