Parashat VaYetze Genesis 28:10-32:3
Haftarah Hosea 12:13-14:10

Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the older one was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah had weak eyes; Rachel was shapely and beautiful. (Genesis 29:16-17)

What was the nature of Leah’s eyes? Do her eyes reveal something about her character? There are numerous translations for the Hebrew word רַכּוֹת, rakot, that describes Leah’s eyes. The JPS here uses “weak,” other translations vary from “tender,” “gentle” to “soft” and “dull” or “not sparkling,” even to “lovely,” though most will choose a word that underscores the contrast that is established with the introduction of the two sisters: Leah was in some way less than Rachel.

The commentators, as they do with Esau, though not as harshly—Leah is after all one of our matriarchs—try to link a physical appearance with a moral blemish, or, in Leah’s case, a less attractive character. And the semantic range of the word רַךְ,, rach, some linguistics say, seems to support that: soft eyes, albeit lovely and tender, might be an idiomatic expression hinting at a weak, feeble, or timid character. 

Unlike in the case of Esau however, that argumentation is already embedded in the Torah text: Torah is clear that Jacob prefers Rachel, that Leah is unloved. It appears that as the hero of the story, Jacob can only love the perfect woman, one that matches his chutzpa and energy, the one more deserving of his love.

Frustratingly, Torah often links physical perfection with moral superiority, and it is painful to read for many who might have experienced not having been chosen—be it in love or in other walks of life—because of some physical attribute they couldn’t change and that made them feel “less than.”

I, too, wonder what it was about Leah’s eyes. I have been wanting to address the white elephant that I believe is often in the room, especially with younger kids and teens, but also during services, when folks are waiting to say the name of a loved one they remember or wish healing for, and this week’s parsha is a good moment: My eyes are weak, or, as our idiomatic expression goes, “lazy” (come to think of it, there is a moral judgement embedded here too.)

And it is getting more pronounced with age. I was born with strabismus, and my parents didn’t shy away from any cost and effort to change it. I was operated on three times by the best of the best eye-specialists in Germany, at age 5, 14, and 21. The third surgery was so successful that I could finally wear contact lenses, something I had wanted throughout my teenage years. The eyes weren’t 100% aligned, but it looked more like a fancy Barbra Streisand glance now, and that was fine with me. But I also always remember what the ophthalmologist, at my post-surgery check-in, told my mother. He was very pleased with the result, but since this strabismus is a delicate interplay between muscles, the result would not be permanent. “She has two good decades ahead of her, and once the muscles begin to weaken again, she’ll already have a husband.”

The doctor was right with the timing – the eyes began to slip more again shortly after my 40th birthday, which was also shortly after my divorce was finalized. And now, it is more pronounced than it ever was, and I am back at wearing glasses only.

I know for a fact that even when I was younger, the eye condition cost me a career as an on-camera reporter or anchor woman, as I had initially pursued. It has certainly shaped my demeanor and aspects of my personality – and I don’t like playing the game of who blinks first. But I am also quite proud of what I have accomplished despite or with this condition that ultimately is more than just cosmetic. And I am grateful to you all for bearing with the rabbi when it might be unclear who exactly she is looking at in a given moment (it makes you really need to learn names fast!)  

Living with this type of “weak eyes” made me more self-conscious and at the same time more self-confident.

And as I wonder about Leah’s eyes, I wonder about what kind of inner process she might have gone through. She names her first son Reuven, a play on the Hebrew word for seeing: Reu’ben, for she declared, ‘It means: Adonai has seen my affliction’; it also means: ‘Now my husband will love me.’ (Genesis 29:32).

As I will explore in more detail in my drash on Friday night, Leah, with her tender, weak, soft, maybe even crossed eyes ultimately frees herself from her longing for Jacob’s love and moves from self-consciousness to self-confidence: When her fourth son Yehuda, who will become the namesake of the Jewish people is born, she only offers unconditional gratitude to God. 

Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch