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December 1, 2000/Kislev 10, 5761, Vol. 53, No.10
We have Jacob's voice and the hands of Esau
Torah Study
MICHAEL L. MORGAN
Tol'dot/Genesis 25:19-28:9
Tol'dot is a parashah of stories. It begins by narrating the birth of Jacob and Esau and ends with the account of Jacob's deception and the patriarchal blessing by the elderly Isaac, who has lost his sight. These are familial stories about parents and siblings.
They are also political tales, sculpted to ground national antagonisms in the conflict between the brothers - the hunter and the farmer, the rugged man of nature and the cunning man of culture.
One verse in particular has continually fascinated me. In Genesis 27, Jacob takes food and bread from Rebekah to his blind father. "I am Esau your firstborn" (Genesis 27:19), he says, as he hands Isaac the meal, asking for his patriarchal blessing.
At first, Isaac is surprised at how quickly the hunter had succeeded at his task and, perhaps because he is a bit suspicious, he asks his son to come close so that he can feel him, to determine whether or not he is really Esau. Then comes the crucial verse 22: "So Jacob drew close to his father, Isaac, who felt him and wondered, 'The voice is the voice of Jacob, yet the hands are the hands of Esau.' "
What does this haunting remark mean? Here is one possibility: Isaac uses his other senses to compensate for his blindness. When Jacob speaks to him, Jacob says that he is Esau. But Isaac is incredulous because the voice sounds like Jacob's. So he feels his son's arms and neck, which Rebekah has covered with the skins of goats, and they feel like Esau's.
Now Isaac is confused, and he utters the above statement to express his puzzlement: Who has brought him his favorite meal? Who seeks his parental blessing?
The text says: "Isaac did not recognize him" (Genesis 27:33) but gives him the blessing nonetheless. Why? Does he choose to credit his sense of touch more than his hearing and his memory? Or does he decide to trust what his son has told him, namely, that he is Esau?
Isaac blesses even though he is confused.
Suppose I am Isaac. Old and blind, I do not recognize who stands before me, calling himself Esau, seeking my blessing. The voice sounds like Jacob's, but his arms feel like Esau's. Who is this man?
Now suppose I am Jacob, decked out in these skins to fool my old, blind father, hungry for his blessing, his power. A minute ago, I knew he was suspicious. But now, I think that I have persuaded him.
Listen to him: "The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau." He really is blind. He cannot trust his grasp of who I really am but must trust how I seem to be. My deception has worked.
To the storyteller, the stakes have mythic implications. Here are two dimensions of human existence - culture and nature, speech and violence. Which shall receive the blessing of the future? Which shall be our master and govern the ways of human life and the ways of nations?
Isaac blessed the one who stood before him. He was worried but resolute. Humankind would not be wholly rational and cultivated nor wholly violent and driven by passion. It would be both, for the voice is the voice of Jacob, and the hands are the hands of Esau.
Jacob may have thought that Isaac was fooled. But Jacob does not know what we know, that the hairy arms and neck did not fool Isaac. Feeling Jacob's arms and neck did not resolve Isaac's suspicions but deepened them.
Isaac did not recognize the future: He was blind to it and surprised by what it was going to be because his senses were confined to the past.
But he did bless this man. Why? Because he accepted the past for what it was and the future for what it would be: All of his progeny would have the voice of Jacob and the hands of Esau.
Michael L. Morgan is a professor of philosophy and Jewish studies at Indiana University in Bloomington, Ind. Torat Hayim, produced by the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, is on the Internet at www.uahc.org/growth.
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