The ancient rabbis grappled with these questions constantly, poring over scripture for answers. One particularly poignant example comes from Bereshit Rabbah 65, as it tries to understand why Isaac, a patriarch, a man of God, went blind in his old age. "His eyes dimmed from seeing" – that’s the verse from Genesis 27:1 that sparks this whole exploration.
Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya offers one perspective: Isaac’s blindness stemmed "from seeing evil – from seeing the evil of the wicked one," meaning his son, Esau. The idea is that God, in his infinite mercy, shielded Isaac from the pain of witnessing his son's wickedness firsthand. Imagine Isaac walking through the marketplace, people whispering, "That's the father of that awful Esau!" To spare Isaac that shame, God dimmed his eyes. As Proverbs 28:28 says, "With the rise of the wicked, a person should hide."
This idea connects to a broader principle: "Anyone who produces a wicked son or a wicked student, ultimately his eyes will dim." It's a harsh idea, isn't it? But it speaks to the profound disappointment and pain that comes from seeing someone you nurtured stray from the righteous path. The text even brings up examples. Aḥiya the Shilonite, whose eyes dimmed because of his wicked student Yerovam, as described in I Kings 14:4. And then there's Isaac himself.
But the Rabbis don't stop there. They offer another, more mystical, interpretation. "From seeing [mereot] – as a result of that sight [re’iya]." This refers to the Binding of Isaac, the Akeidah. Remember that harrowing scene? Abraham, commanded by God, prepares to sacrifice his son Isaac. According to this interpretation, the ministering angels wept at the sight. Their tears, the Bereshit Rabbah tells us, fell into Isaac’s eyes, and those tears, filled with divine sorrow, eventually caused his blindness. "Behold, their angels cry out outside..." (Isaiah 33:7). Can you picture it? A cosmic sympathy, the grief of the heavens impacting a mortal man.
And there’s yet another layer. Again, linking Isaac's blindness to the Akeidah, the text suggests that Isaac, in that moment of profound crisis, "directed his eyes heavenward and looked at the Divine Presence." It was too much. It's like a parable the Rabbis share: A king is strolling by his palace, and sees his friend’s son peering at him through the window. It was forbidden to look directly at the king. The king thinks, "If I kill him, I'll upset my friend. Instead, I'll just decree that his windows should be sealed."
Similarly, when Isaac looked at the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, God couldn’t bring himself to punish Isaac directly, knowing the pain it would cause Abraham. So, instead, he "sealed" Isaac's eyes, causing them to dim with age. It’s a powerful image, isn’t it? Isaac's spiritual vision, his yearning for God, paradoxically leading to his physical blindness.
So, what do we take away from all this? Is Isaac’s blindness a punishment? A divine shielding? A consequence of witnessing the divine? Perhaps it's all of the above. The Rabbis, in their wisdom, offer us multiple perspectives, reminding us that the mysteries of faith are rarely simple, and often invite us to grapple with complex and sometimes uncomfortable truths. And maybe, just maybe, by wrestling with these questions, we can find a little more light in the darkness.