In With the New…Doesn’t Get Rid of the Old
The fourth parsha of our year is intense: beginning with a birth announcement and ending with a near-death experience. Well, technically, beginning with a newly-named Abraham sitting in his tent’s opening…waiting? hoping? wondering? moping? schvitzing? When the L!rd appears to Abraham (giving the parsha’s name, Vayera), is this through the visitors or another form? (The text doesn’t clarify this point, although the commentary has many opinions to offer.) Is Abraham alone at all, or always accompanied in his sitting by the L!rd?
The solitary scene is interrupted in the next verse by three visitors. As is usually true in the Bible, no hint of Abraham’s emotional, mental, or spiritual state is revealed (leaving ample room for midrashic assumptions). Only through these visitors is the prediction of Isaac’s birth provided. Only through these visitors is Abraham’s bargaining with G!d against the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah enacted. The guests and their words will unfold upcoming stories of happiness, heartache, love, loss, favor, unfairness, salvation, scandal.
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In the midst of the new son’s arrival, Sarah senses the need to send away the competing brother, Ishmael (along with her handmaiden, Hagar). Perhaps she feels this will solve any remaining jealousy. Maybe she wants to ensure a full and unblemished inheritance of power for Isaac. Whatever motivates Sarah and Abraham to actually let their household members wander into the wilderness, readers are left with a disturbing story. G!d promises protection and a nation for Hagar and Ishmael, but in competition with Isaac, the son who receives favor in the Torah.
Sometimes we choose not to see the people, things, situations that bring us the most discomfort or potential loss of power. Individually, cooperatively, and in power, this discarding becomes dangerous. We are to care for those around us, whether we believe this stewardship to benefit us or not. In the case of Isaac’s brother, G!d brings about a conflict between nations that is bound to perpetuate. How do we care for those to whom we believe ourselves superior?
“Hagar in the Desert” by Marc Chagall, 1960 Limited Edition Lithograph
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Fast-forwarding to the famous Akedah (binding of Isaac, Genesis 22, the last verse of Parashas Vayera), we encounter a scene of anguish and intervention. The near-death (or deathly, as some midrash asserts) experience of Isaac leaves readers on the edge of their seats, waiting to see how far Abraham will go in service of G!d. Commentators generally assume the best of Abraham (and therefore the best of G!d), which makes sense with a text from the Torah. I always find the midrashim that assert that Isaac actually died to insert a little excitement into a passage that is crying out for questions. These verses display an ongoing set of questions: Blind trust? Unquestioning obedience? Room for doubt? Was the ram provided or a chance happening? Who is benefitted by the replacement sacrifice?
Most of us are so used to hearing this story, we’ve lost the fear and anticipation the cliffhanger offered by the story of Isaac’s almost-sacrificial status. Would this have changed our opinion of Abraham? How would we think about G!d if the story ended differently? (How would the rabbis have reacted?) What are the impacts on faith of negative emotions toward G!d? (Different traditions deal with that question very differently – look at traditional Jewish and Christian commentary.)
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Who are the guests in our lives, especially this solitary season, offering news, opportunities, hope, predictions, warnings, support? When do you most feel like you’re sitting in the opening of your tent, and why are you situated in the open? Where do you look for provisions, whether there by chance or sent by an outside source? Who is communicating with you and how? As we hope and pray together for the future, what do you feel on the immediate horizon?
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More books arrived from my libraries, including a Jubilee anniversary program from my grandmother’s Boro Park shul, Temple Emanu-El (Conservative, back when Boro Park wasn’t all Orthodox).
This week I’ve also had a couple interesting conversations about the intersection of politics and messianism that I hope to keep thinking about during my research. Election season provides, if nothing else, a lot to ruminate about current messianic expectations…