Unscrolled Chayei Sarah: A Reduction in Scale

In Parashat Chayei Sarah, we briefly forget that what we are reading is an epic, one which starts with the very creation of the universe and which details events no less lofty than the rescue of an entire people from bondage; the mass theophany of Mount Sinai; and the delivery of God’s people to the promised land.

In Chayei Sarah, the scale is reduced. This is a story about a family as it is touched by the loss of its matriarch and then expanded by the addition of a new member.

This reduction of the scale is no mere accident. Indeed, it is Sarah’s final gift to her family. This portion follows immediately after the story of the binding and near-sacrifice of her son, Isaac. The sages supposed that she had died from shock at the great tragedy that nearly befell her son.

In the story of the binding of Isaac, the story’s scale is at its grandest. Abraham doesn’t act as a father, rather he act as a loyal servant of God. Isaac is no longer the son, but an offering to the Holy One. The pair find themselves raised up, literally, on God’s mountain in Moriah. It is like a stage upon which this one central act will play out. The knife is extended – and then the angel cries out for Abraham to cease what he is doing.

Sarah’s shock and subsequent death has thus called Abraham and Isaac back to this world.

It is as if she is telling them: Be here. To Abraham, be a father. To Isaac, be a man. Live not only for progeny and destiny, but also for the needs of today, the needs of your heart and body and spirit.

And so, the father and son set about doing just that. Abraham buries Sarah and then sets about finding a wife for his son, sending his servant Eliezer out on this mission. He insists that she not be from the land of Canaan, where they are dwelling, but rather from among his own people where he grew up. Eliezer asks if it would not be simpler, then, to just move back there.

“Abraham answered him, ‘On no account must you take my son back there!’” (Genesis 24:6). Alas, the call of destiny cannot be entirely forgotten, not even now, and so Abraham insists that Isaac not be removed from the holy, promised land.

We are reminded how fraught a concept “home” is for these wandering prophets. Is home the land assigned by God, though it is full of strangers? Or is home the land they came from, though they are unable to dwell there any longer?

Eliezer goes out on his mission and finds Rebekah, whom he brings back to Isaac. We are told that “Isaac went out walking in the field toward evening and, looking up, he saw camels approaching.” (24:63).

“Walking in the field towards evening.” The translators, here, did the best they could, for in fact, the verb does not mean “to walk.” “Lasuach” seems to have some connection with the word “sicha” conversation. It also seems to have a botanical connotation, with “siach” meaning either “shrub/bush” or “discourse.” But with whom was Isaac conversing out there in the tall grasses of the field?

The sages tell us that he was praying. And again, here we are reminded of Sarah’s sweet gift – this momentary reduction of the story’s scale. Here, conversation with God is not portrayed by the piercing call of an angel. It is not marked with signs or portents, nor sealed in the blood of offerings.

No, it is this quiet conversing of Isaac with his creator out among the whispering grasses.

Isaac comes out to greet his new wife. They regard one another with curiosity, with attraction, with trepidation.

“Isaac then brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he took Rebekah as his wife. Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death.” (24:67). And so we solve the riddle of “home” from before. It is not a place – not a matter of this land or that. It is the comfort we find in one another.

And so we solve the riddle of “home” from before. It is not a place – not a matter of this land or that. It is the comfort we find in one another.

Abraham, too, finds comfort. We are told that he takes a new wife, Keturah. The sages suggest that this is none other than Hagar, his old flame, mother of Ishmael.

In next week’s portion, Isaac will become the patriarch with whom we are concerned. The spotlight will be trained on him and his adventures with God. Then will come Jacob and his wives and their many sons who will become the tribes of Israel. The scale will once again swell to epic dimensions.

But for now, we can breathe easy. Abraham and Isaac have weathered the loss of their beloved wife and mother. Their hearts have broken and healed. They have been invited by this experience to live in the present, and for now, that’s where we will leave them.

Matthew Schultz is the author of the essay collection “What Came Before” (2020). He is a rabbinical student at Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts.