Did you ever wonder what Abraham thought about in the years following his almost sacrifice of his son Isaac? In this Midrashic monologue based on parashat Vayeira, we imagine Abraham’s inner struggles:
As I held up the knife, I knew I had failed. In my passion to please, I lost my head and my son Isaac nearly lost his too.
Three days before, I heard God talking about Isaac, my son, my only one (from Sarah), the one who was so beloved. God said, V’haaleihu sham l’olah (Bring him up as an olah – Gen. 22:2). I figured God wanted a sacrifice, because the word olah, from the Hebrew root Ayin-Lamed-Hey, means, “to rise up.” You light a fire, making a sacrifice, and the smoke rises up to God.
If the Holy One wanted me to sacrifice Isaac, who was I to question? In fact, I rose early to do God’s bidding, completing the preparations myself: I saddled my own donkey and chopped the wood myself (Gen. 22:3-4). I was so pumped to please that I forgot to consult with Sarah. Didn’t even kiss her goodbye.
What was I thinking? Maybe I wasn’t.
This akedah (the binding of Isaac), the almost-sacrifice of my son by my own hand, remains the most painful moment in my life. Some characterize this incident as an example of deep, unquestioning faith, saying I loved God so much I was willing to give up the child we waited so long to bear. Others portray this as a definitive repudiation of child sacrifice because ultimately I did not kill my kid. In each case, I seem heroic.
Yet each night as I toss and turn, I wonder how I could have so been such a dangerous fool. I completely misunderstood God’s intended purpose. That Hebrew root Ayin-Lamed-Hey, meaning “sacrifice,” also points to the word “aliyah,” meaning “spiritual uplift.” In retrospect, I realize that God did not specify sh’chateihu (slaughter him), but only ha’aleihu (bring him up). Did God want me to bring Isaac up top the mountain, to introduce him to my passion for the Divine, and then bring him back down (Rashi on Gen. 22:2; B’reishit Rabbah 56:8)? It was supposed to be father-son spiritual “quality time” (Tanchuma, Vayeira, 22).
In my haste, I sacrificed the protection of my child. I caused our family significant stress and pain. I scarred my son for life. When Isaac closes his eyes, does he also see the horrific image of me raising up the knife?
Thankfully, the angel of God stopped me in time, providing a ram in Isaac’s place. Afterward, God was kind, but not pleased. Praising me – I will greatly bless you (Gen. 22:17), reaffirming love for my descendants, God also signaled that humans may no longer employ cruel or intimidating means to show our love for God (Rashi on Gen. 22:12).
The angel’s words reminds some of parents who walk into a freshly painted house to be greeted by their smiling young child saying, “Come see how much I love you.” In the next room, the child proudly shows off a picture of a red heart, drawn on the wall, inside of which are the words, “Daddy/Mommy, I love you.” How does a parent respond to such a display of love? Many parents would yell loudly. But if we stop first to think about it, we might say, with tears in our eyes, “I love you too, my child. Try to use paper next time. And you may not write on the walls. But, I love you too!”
This incident transformed our relationships. Isaac took off, and we never spoke again. I fear he will skip my funeral. God ceased direct communication with me, using intermediaries from that moment on. Sarah died before I returned home and could tell her.
And me? I cannot even stand myself. Because I failed the real test. I loved God but I didn’t love God’s child sufficiently. Because I didn’t protect my Isaac. That’s the message for future generations: God wants us to love and protect our children as the ultimate expression of our love for God.
It doesn’t get any clearer than that, does it?
Originally posted on ReformJudaism.org
More on the Akeidah:
What Sarah was thinking (and how she saved the day)
What Isaac was thinking (and why he ended his relationship with his father Abraham)