(א) וַיְהִ֗י אַחַר֙ הַדְּבָרִ֣ים הָאֵ֔לֶּה וְהָ֣אֱלֹהִ֔ים נִסָּ֖ה אֶת־אַבְרָהָ֑ם וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֵלָ֔יו אַבְרָהָ֖ם וַיֹּ֥אמֶר הִנֵּֽנִי׃ (ב) וַיֹּ֡אמֶר קַח־נָ֠א אֶת־בִּנְךָ֨ אֶת־יְחִֽידְךָ֤ אֲשֶׁר־אָהַ֙בְתָּ֙ אֶת־יִצְחָ֔ק וְלֶ֨ךְ־לְךָ֔ אֶל־אֶ֖רֶץ הַמֹּרִיָּ֑ה וְהַעֲלֵ֤הוּ שָׁם֙ לְעֹלָ֔ה עַ֚ל אַחַ֣ד הֶֽהָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֖ר אֹמַ֥ר אֵלֶֽיךָ׃ (ג) וַיַּשְׁכֵּ֨ם אַבְרָהָ֜ם בַּבֹּ֗קֶר וַֽיַּחֲבֹשׁ֙ אֶת־חֲמֹר֔וֹ וַיִּקַּ֞ח אֶת־שְׁנֵ֤י נְעָרָיו֙ אִתּ֔וֹ וְאֵ֖ת יִצְחָ֣ק בְּנ֑וֹ וַיְבַקַּע֙ עֲצֵ֣י עֹלָ֔ה וַיָּ֣קׇם וַיֵּ֔לֶךְ אֶל־הַמָּק֖וֹם אֲשֶׁר־אָֽמַר־ל֥וֹ הָאֱלֹהִֽים׃
(1) Some time afterward, God put Abraham to the test, and said to him, “Abraham,” and he answered, “Here I am.” (2) And God said, “Take your son, your favoured one, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that I will point out to you.” (3) So early next morning, Abraham saddled his ass and took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac. He split the wood for the burnt offering, and he set out for the place of which God had told him.
(ב) דָּבָר אַחֵר, אַחֲרֵי מוֹת... אַבְרָהָם לֹא שָׂמַח בְּעוֹלָמִי וְאַתֶּם מְבַקְּשִׁים לִשְמֹחַ. נוֹלַד לוֹ בֵּן לְמֵאָה שָׁנָה וּבַסּוֹף אָמַר לוֹ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא (בראשית כב, ב): קַח נָא אֶת בִּנְךָ, וְהָלַךְ אַבְרָהָם מַהֲלַךְ שְׁלשֶׁת יָמִים, לְאַחַר שְׁלשָׁה יָמִים רָאָה עָנָן קָשׁוּר עַל גַּב הָהָר, אָמַר לוֹ בְּנִי רוֹאֶה אַתָּה מַה שֶּׁאֲנִי רוֹאֶה, אָמַר לֵיהּ הֵן, מָה אַתָּה רוֹאֶה אָמַר לֵיהּ עָנָן קָשׁוּר עַל גַּב הָהָר אֲנִי רוֹאֶה, אָמַר לְיִשְׁמָעֵאל וְלֶאֱלִיעֶזֶר רוֹאִים אַתֶּם כְּלוּם, אָמְרוּ לֵיהּ לָאו, אָמַר לָהֶם הוֹאִיל וְאֵינְכֶם רוֹאִים כְּלוּם וַחֲמוֹר זֶה אֵינוֹ רוֹאֶה (בראשית כב, ה): שְׁבוּ לָכֶם פֹּה עִם הַחֲמוֹר, עַם הַדּוֹמִים לַחֲמוֹר. נָטַל אֶת יִצְחָק בְּנוֹ וְהֶעֱלָהוּ הָרִים וְהוֹרִידוֹ גְּבָעוֹת, הֶעֱלָהוּ עַל אֶחָד מִן הֶהָרִים וּבָנָה מִזְבֵּחַ וְסִדֵּר עֵצִים וְעָרַךְ מַעֲרָכָה וְנָטַל אֶת הַסַּכִּין לְשָׁחֲטוֹ, וְאִלּוּלֵי שֶׁקְּרָאוֹ מַלְאָךְ מִן הַשָּׁמַיִם כְּבָר הָיָה נִשְׁחָט. תֵּדַע שֶׁכֵּן, שֶׁחָזַר יִצְחָק אֵצֶל אִמּוֹ, וְאָמְרָה לוֹ אָן הָיִיתָ בְּרִי, אָמַר לָהּ נְטָלַנִּי אָבִי וְהֶעֱלַנִי הָרִים וְהוֹרִידַנִּי גְבָעוֹת וכו', אָמְרָה וַוי עַל בְּרִי דְרֵיוָתָא, אִלּוּלֵי הַמַּלְאָךְ כְּבָר הָיִיתָ שָׁחוּט, אָמַר לָהּ אִין. בְּאוֹתָהּ שָׁעָה צָוְחָה שִׁשָּׁה קוֹלוֹת כְּנֶגֶד שִׁשָּׁה תְּקִיעוֹת, אָמְרוּ לֹא הִסְפִּיקָה אֶת הַדָּבָר עַד שֶׁמֵּתָה, הֲדָא הוּא דִכְתִיב (בראשית כג, ב): וַיָּבֹא אַבְרָהָם לִסְפֹּד לְשָׂרָה וְלִבְכֹּתָהּ, וּמֵהֵיכָן בָּא, רַבִּי יְהוּדָה בֶּן רַבִּי סִימוֹן אָמַר מֵהַר הַמּוֹרִיָה בָּא...
...Abraham was not happy in this world of Mine and you seek to be happy! A son was born to him when he was a hundred years old, and in the end the Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: “Take now your son… and offer him… for a burnt-offering” (Genesis 22:2)! Abraham went a distance of three days journey. After three days he perceived a cloud resting on the top of a mountain. Said he to Isaac: ‘ My son, do you see what I see?’ ‘Yes,’ he answered him. ‘ What do you see?’ he inquired. He told him: ‘I see a cloud resting on the top of the mountain.’ He said to Ishmael and Eliezer: ‘Do you see anything?’ ‘No,’ they answered him…
He took Isaac his son and led him up mountains and down hills. He took him up on one of the mountains, built an altar, arranged the wood, prepared the altar pile, and took the knife to slay him. Had not an angel from heaven called him, Isaac would have already been slain. There is proof that this is so, for Isaac returned to his mother and she said to him: ‘Where have you been, my son?’ Said he to her: ‘My father took me and led me up mountains and down hills,’ etc. ‘Alas,’ she said, ‘for the son of a hapless woman! Had it not been for the angel you would by now have been slain!’ ‘Yes,’ he said to her.
Thereupon she uttered six cries, corresponding to the six blasts of the shofar. It has been said: She had scarcely finished speaking when she died. Hence it is written, And Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her (Genesis 23:2). Where did he come from? Rabbi Judah son of Rabbi Shimon said: He came from Mount Moriah...
(א) וַיִּהְיוּ֙ חַיֵּ֣י שָׂרָ֔ה מֵאָ֥ה שָׁנָ֛ה וְעֶשְׂרִ֥ים שָׁנָ֖ה וְשֶׁ֣בַע שָׁנִ֑ים שְׁנֵ֖י חַיֵּ֥י שָׂרָֽה׃ (ב) וַתָּ֣מׇת שָׂרָ֗ה בְּקִרְיַ֥ת אַרְבַּ֛ע הִ֥וא חֶבְר֖וֹן בְּאֶ֣רֶץ כְּנָ֑עַן וַיָּבֹא֙ אַבְרָהָ֔ם לִסְפֹּ֥ד לְשָׂרָ֖ה וְלִבְכֹּתָֽהּ׃
(1) Sarah’s lifetime—the span of Sarah’s life—came to one hundred and twenty-seven years. (2) Sarah died in Kiriath-arba—now Hebron—in the land of Canaan; and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah and to bewail her.
I remember lying quietly in our tent. Abraham had fallen asleep beside me. My mind drifted back to my favorite memory of the day when three guests came to tell me I’d soon be pregnant. After so many years! I actually laughed in disbelief until the Source of Life reassured me it was true. With Isaac, God gave me one of my life’s great joys.
Suddenly, Abraham began stirring and called out, ‘Hineini, Here I am.’ He began to talk with God. As I often did, I pretended to be asleep to listen in.
At first what I heard made little sense. Though I could only hear Abraham’s responses, I sensed that God requested something involving our son Isaac.
Abraham’s steady voice suddenly quivered. I thought I heard him say the word, ‘sacrifice.’ Had the Eternal One just commanded that my husband sacrifice our only son?
Now why would God, who had given us Isaac, take this special gift from me now? And without even speaking directly to me! For a moment I wondered if this was my punishment for our treatment of Hagar.
Through cracked eyelids, I saw my husband overcome with sadness. I had never seen him so sad, not even when we were commanded, lech l’cha, ‘go forth,’ to leave his land and his father’s house (Gen. 12).
Strangely, I could see in Abraham’s face that he truly believed that God wanted him to sacrifice our son. I wanted to urge Abraham to challenge to God as he had before at Sodom and Gomorrah. But Abraham’s eyes burned fiercely and for the first time he excluded me from contemplating God’s message[1]. I felt powerless to insert myself in what had passed between them. Finally, Abraham fell back asleep, though fitfully as if struggling with a demon.
I would give up my life before I would let Isaac be harmed! ‘I would not offer my first born for sacrifice’ [2]. The Merciful One who had blessed us with a child would not now take him away.
I needed air. I stepped outside to think. I walked aimlessly around the camp’s altar and spied Abraham’s special knife. I trembled as I thought of that knife sliding against Isaac’s throat.
“What was God looking for? Why would God suddenly seek reassurance of our commitment? I remembered God’s promise that our offspring would inherit this land and become a great nation. I always assumed that Isaac and his future bride would follow in our footsteps to lead as heads of the tribe, but I never considered just how they would inherit our commitment to serving God. Abraham and I were not getting any younger. If we were to pass on the covenantal responsibility, it would have to be soon. Perhaps God was hinting that it was time for a journey together, to meet God on a mountaintop and begin the transition of spiritual leadership to the next generation?
My heart began to pound as I realized Abraham had misunderstood. God was commanding an offering to help transmit leadership to Isaac. A sacrifice of the finest of our flocks was called for, not a sacrifice of Isaac. I realized then, that the future of our people depended upon me. I had to prevent a nonsensical death, and ensure our continued covenant with God. It was on me.
I hoped Abraham would figure this out himself. But in case he did not, I had to intervene. So I went back to bed and with my eyes closed, I planned my next step.
Abraham got up early, gathered his supplies, and took off with Isaac. He didn’t even try to wake me. No explanation; not even a kiss goodbye.
As soon as they were gone, I gathered my supplies and took our finest ram. I followed carefully, hiding in the shadows. At dawn on the third day, as they slept, I hurried up the mountain, releasing the ram into the bushes [3].
The rest happened so quickly. Abraham was holding the knife, about to sacrifice Isaac. He seemed to be in a trance. So in my voice that he often called ‘angelic,’ I called out, ‘Avraham, Avraham.’
That broke the trance. Realizing what he was about to do, he dropped the knife. He looked up, saw the ram that I brought for him to sacrifice instead, and stepped toward it. Relieved at having saved my son’s life, and grateful at having ensured the survival of our people, I was exhausted. I cried and cried.
Then I lay down on the ground for what I sensed would be a long, long sleep.
[1] Zohar on Gen. 12:5; Ellen Frankel, The Five Books of Miriam: A Woman’s Commentary on the Torah, p. 27.
[2] ‘I Will Not Offer,’ Ra’aya Harnik in The Torah: A Women’s Commentary
[3] Adapted from a modern midrash by Faith Rogow in Taking the Fruit, Modern Women’s Tales of the Bible”
“And through the merit which I gain by preparing the wick for the sake of our mother Sore [Sarah], may hashem yisborekh - praised be He - remember us for the merit of her pain when her beloved son yitskhok [Isaac] was led to the binding. May she defend us before God - praised be He- that we should not - khas vesholem [heaven forbid] - be left widows this year, and that our children should not - khas vesholem- be taken away from this world in our lifetime.“You have commanded us to blow the shoyfer on rosheshone using the horn of a ram, a reminder of the binding of yitskhok. Remember this merit so that we may be able to provide for our children’s needs, that we may be able to keep them under the guidance of a teacher, so that they may become accustomed to Your service and respond, “Omeyn. Yehey shmey rabo.”
by R. Aviva Richman – Parashat VaYera 5782
When we embrace Sarah as a religious role model, Akeidat Yitzhak offers a starkly different set of guiding principles for our relationship with God. The God we pray to is not the God who demands we give up our children, but the God who never wants parents and children separated. We come close to God through a web of deep commitments to loved ones, not by virtue of our willingness to sever these ties. The way we demonstrate our religious devotion most fully is not by sacrificing those most dear to us, but through the day in and day out work of tending to their physical and spiritual needs. The theme of care in Sara bas Tovim’s writing is mirrored in the embodied ritual it accompanies: revisiting loved ones of past generations, and calling upon their merit as a source of blessing for the living. Sara bas Tovim integrates critique and devotion, and pivots from the anguish and alienation of our matriarch Sarah’s cry towards a passionate awareness of our capacity to kindle sparks of love and learning. This is what creates the ongoing fire of the Akeidah.