This week’s portion, Toldot, describes a moment many of us will recognize. In Isaac’s old age, his eyes had grown dim. How many of us, when reading, see blur instead of letters—or when driving at night, struggle to make out the road ahead? Things that used to be effortless now require extra care.
But the Torah isn’t just talking about aging eyes—it’s inviting us to think about how we perceive loss more generally. Most of us instinctively experience the changes that come with aging—fading abilities, missed opportunities, or shifts in energy—as purely negative. Yet a midrash in Bereishit Rabbah suggests that Isaac’s blindness wasn’t a punishment; it was a kind of protection. Sometimes not seeing everything shields us from worries we cannot control and allows us to focus on what truly matters—revealing truths that full sight might obscure.
There’s a story that makes this point beautifully:
A man complained to a rabbi, “Rabbi, my house is unbearable. My children, my in-laws—all this noise—I can’t think!”
The rabbi asked, “Do you have a chicken?” “Yes.” “Bring it inside for a week.”
The man returned miserable. “It’s worse!”
“Do you have a goat?” “…Yes.” “Bring it in.”
A week later, “Unbearable!”
“Last thing—do you have a cow?” The man blinked, “A cow?” “Yes. Bring her in.”
The next week, he came back exhausted. “Impossible!”
The rabbi smiled. “Now, go home—and take all the animals out.”
The following Shabbat, the man returned radiant. “Rabbi, my house is so quiet—so peaceful.”
Nothing about the house had changed. Only the man had changed—his perspective, his patience, his awareness. Sometimes, what feels overwhelming at first reveals its blessing once we step back.
Just like the man with the noisy house, Isaac’s dim eyes opened space for insight and awareness that full sight might have obscured—bringing new understanding, perspective, and compassion.
“And it came to pass, that when Isaac was old and his eyes were dim, so that he could not see, he called Esau his eldest son…” But it wasn’t Esau. It was Jacob, who had disguised himself to feel and smell like his brother. Isaac’s failing sight allowed him to “play along,” giving the blessing while perceiving a deeper truth: that Jacob was the son who should inherit it.
Isaac’s story reminds us that even when we lose something—sight, energy, certainty—we are not left empty-handed. There is a new way to see, a new kind of understanding that can guide us, open doors we didn’t know existed, and deepen our connections with others. Just as Isaac’s dim eyes revealed insight, just as the man’s noisy house became a source of gratitude, we too can find blessings hidden within life’s challenges.
As we face the changes and losses that come with aging—or with any stage of life—may we remember that what we perceive as limitation can become the doorway to renewed clarity, growth, and hope for the future. There is still light to guide us, insight to gain, and joy to embrace.