We're looking at Genesis 27:3, where Isaac tells his son Esau, "Now, please take your gear, your quiver and your bow, and go out to the field, and hunt game for me." Seems simple enough. But the Rabbis of the Midrash, those brilliant interpreters of old, saw so much more in these words.
"Now, please take your gear" – the Rabbis see even in this simple request a deeper instruction. It's not enough to just bring food, Isaac implies. Sharpen your tools, he urges, so you don't bring me nevelot u-tereifot – unslaughtered carcasses or mauled animals, unfit for consumption. And even more than that, "take your hunting tools, so you will not feed me stolen or forcibly-taken items." The food itself must be ethically sourced. This isn't just about sustenance; it's about integrity.
Then comes the word "quiver" – telyekha in Hebrew. Here, the Rabbis play with the word's root, connecting it to the idea of things being "pending" or "dependent" (teluyot). Isaac, they suggest, is hinting that the blessings are pending, dependent on who is truly worthy.
But that's not all. The Rabbis, in their characteristic way, also see historical allusions woven into these words. "Kelekha" – "your gear" – becomes a reference to Babylon, drawing a parallel to Daniel 1:2, "and he brought the vessels to the treasure house of his god." "Telyekha" – "your quiver" – morphs into a connection with Media, evoking the image of Haman being hanged, as we find in Esther 7:10: "they hanged [vayitlu] Haman on the gibbet." And "your bow" points to Greece – Yavan – referencing Zechariah 9:13: "for I bend Judah for Me as a bow […on your children Yavan]." Finally, "the field" becomes Edom, linking back to Genesis 32:4: "to the land of Se’ir, the field of Edom." Through these connections, the Rabbis are mapping the struggles of the Jewish people onto the story of Isaac and Esau.
Moving on to the next verse, Genesis 27:4, Isaac says, "Prepare for me delicacies, as I like, and bring it to me, and I will eat; so that my soul will bless you before I die." What does it mean to prepare "delicacies" – matamim?
Rabbi Eliezer, in the name of Rabbi Yosei bar Zimra, makes a fascinating connection to the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. Remember that story? Three things were said about the fruit of that tree: it was good for eating, beautiful to the eyes, and added wisdom. And according to this Midrash, all three are hinted at in Genesis 3:6: "The woman saw that the tree was good for eating... and that it was enticing to the eyes... a source of wisdom [lehaskil]." Just as we see in Psalm 89: "A contemplation [maskil] by Eitan."
Isaac, in asking for matamim, is echoing that desire for something that appeals to all the senses. But there's a twist. He tells Esau, "Initially, I would enjoy the sight, but now I enjoy only the taste [hataam]." This hints at Isaac's blindness, and a shift in his appreciation. He now relies solely on the flavor. The Rabbis then bring in Solomon, from Ecclesiastes 5:10: "With the increase of goodness, its eaters increase; [and what use is it to its owner other than the sight of his eyes?]" The blind, it is taught, are never sated. Someone who sees an empty basket and is hungry is unlike one who sees a full basket and is sated.
Finally, the Bereshit Rabbah touches on Rebecca's role. "Rebecca heard as Isaac spoke to Esau his son. Esau went to the field to hunt game to bring" (Genesis 27:5). The Rabbis note that "to bring" implies that if Esau couldn't find game, he would resort to stolen or forcibly-taken items. Rebecca, knowing this, intervenes, setting in motion the events that lead to Jacob receiving the blessing.
So, what can we take away from this deep dive into a few short verses? We see how the Rabbis, through their interpretations, transformed a simple family drama into a complex tapestry of ethical considerations, historical allusions, and profound insights into the human condition. It reminds us that even the most familiar stories can hold endless layers of meaning, waiting to be discovered. And perhaps, most importantly, it underscores the importance of intention and integrity in all our actions, even something as basic as preparing a meal.