Parshat Chayai Sarai

This semester, I’m taking a course on poverty and social justice, and one of our units focused on land acquisition in the Bible. I’d like to share with you some of what I learned, since one of the more famous stories related to land acquisition is actually found in this week’s Torah portion, Chaye Sarai, the Life of Sarah.

Although called “The Life of Sarah,” our portion actually begins with Sarah’s death. Interestingly, she is not with Abraham when she dies, and once word reaches her husband, he begins negotiations to purchase a cave and its surrounding land not only for her burial place, but for the burial of his future progeny.

The story takes up the entire chapter, and I’d like to take a moment to go over the story together.

Genesis Chapter 23

And Sarah was a 127 years old; these were the years of the life of Sarah.
And Sarah died in Kiriath-Arba; which is Hebron in the land of Canaan; and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her.
And Abraham stood up from before his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying,
“I am a stranger and a sojourner with you; give me possession of a burying place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”
And the Hittites answered Abraham, saying to him,
“Hear us, my lord; you are a mighty prince among us; in the choice of our tombs bury your dead; none of us shall withhold from you his tomb, that you may bury your dead.”
And Abraham stood up, and bowed to the people of the land, to the Hittites.
And he talked with them, saying, “If your mind is that I should bury my dead out of my sight; hear me, and entreat for me to Ephron the son of Zohar.
That he may give me the cave of Machpelah, which he has, which is in the end of his field; for as much money as it is worth he shall give it me as a possession of a burying place amongst you.”
And Ephron lived among the Hittites; and Ephron the Hittite answered Abraham in the hearing of the Hittites, of all who went in at the gate of his city, saying,
“No, my lord, hear me; the field I give to you, and the cave that is in it, I give it to you; in the presence of the sons of my people I give it to you; bury your dead.”
And Abraham bowed down before the people of the land.
And he spoke to Ephron in the hearing of the people of the land, saying, “But if you will give it, I beg you, hear me; I will give you money for the field; take it from me, and I will bury my dead there.”
And Ephron answered Abraham, saying to him,
“My lord, listen to me; the land is worth 400 shekels of silver. What is that between you and me? Bury therefore your dead.”
And Abraham listened to Ephron; and Abraham weighed to Ephron the silver, which he had named in the hearing of the Hittites, 400 shekels of silver, current money among the merchants.
And the field of Ephron, which was in Machpelah, which was before Mamre, the field, and the cave which was in it, and all the trees that were in the field, that were in all the borders around, were made over
To Abraham for a possession in the presence of the Hittites, before all who went in at the gate of his city.
And after this, Abraham buried Sarah his wife in the cave of the field of Machpelah before Mamre; the same is Hebron in the land of Canaan.
And the field, and the cave that is in it, were made over to Abraham for a possession of a burying place by the Hittites.

There are many striking elements of this story, and one mystery.

· First, the description of the negotiation is quite detailed, making this story actually longer than the Akeidah – the binding and near sacrifice of Isaac.

· Two, this is the only example of land purchase in the Bible that involves money. There is one other case of land purchase in the Bible, but there, the currency is in the form of sheep.

· The mystery involves the presence of the Hittites, who are associated with a region of modern day Turkey. The trouble is, there is no evidence that the Hittites ever lived this far south – so their presence in the story is puzzling. If this story was written in the late 8th century BCE, as many scholars surmise, it was the Assyrians who controlled the region. But even if it were written at another time, there was no time when the Hittites were in power here.

· Finally, regardless of that quixotic detail, it is clear that the author of this chapter is trying very hard to stress the legitimacy of the trade agreement. The Hittites offer to give the land to Abraham for free, and three times, the text tells us, Abraham pays 400 shekels for it and seven times, the text says, Abraham stated the contract in earshot of a group of Hittite witnesses. It is clear that there is a real emphasis on the sale’s validity.

What makes Abraham’s insistence on purchasing the land so interesting from a literary perspective is that up until this point, God has done nothing but tell Abraham that he is going to receive the land of Canaan as his inheritance.

In Genesis 12, Abraham is first told he will be given the land. In the next chapter, 13, God says to him: “As far as you can see, North, East, South and West, the land is for you and your offspring forever.” Then in Genesis 15, God tells Abraham that all of his offspring will get the land. Now, in Genesis 23, we learn that Abraham goes out and pays for a piece of it!

From a historical perspective, Abraham’s purchase raises some tantalizing questions. Was the emphasis on purchase and validity so strident because the author was trying to assert the right of the Israelites to live on land now being occupied by Assyria? And by naming the fictional Hittites, he avoided potentially enraging the ruling power?

Or is the land purchase story simply a later insertion by someone who just didn’t notice the incongruity of having Abraham purchase land that only a few chapters earlier had been promised to him by God.

Or, is the promise-purchase contradiction not a contradiction at all? God promised the land to the Israelites, but maybe that never was meant to mean we wouldn’t have to pay for it. Maybe it simply meant whomever we would buy it from would be amenable to selling – as the Hittites apparently were.

It’s a question we may never answer, but is fun to wrestle with.

This story of the purchase of the cave at Machpelah is the first story of land acquisition in the Bible, but it is far from the last. Our tradition gives us other, equally vexing stories that describe entirely different ways in which we acquired the land.

The books of Numbers and Judges describe a peaceful allotting of the lands by a Goral, or lottery, system. The Book of Joshua describes a bloody blitzkrieg series of battles in which the Israelites conquered the land in pockets, and decimated the local inhabitants.

There is, in other words, more than one version of the story. But those are other stories for another time.

The Binding of Isaac: a seven-minute d'var Torah

D'var Torah * The Binding of Isaac

Rosh Hashanah 2008

The Torah portion we study today is one of the most famous in the Bible. It is known as the Binding of Isaac. Our tale begins at Genesis 22, when Avraham is told by God to bring his son Isaac to a mountaintop to sacrifice him. Obediently, Avraham travels for three days, and once at the mountain’s peak, binds him down. Only after his knife is raised does an angel of God intervene and provide a ram in Isaac’s place. The angel says: “Now I know that you are God-fearing, and you did not withhold your son, your only one, from me.” (Bereishit, 22:12).

In virtually any contemporary discussion about the Akeidah, the feeling that often becomes central is our feelings of horror. What father would even consider sacrificing his child? And what kind of God would even ask such a thing?

These are troubling questions to us as modern Jews, and as American Jews the story upsets us on yet another level. How is it that our religion can glorify such an act of blind obedience? Blind faith is a repugnant notion to an audience like ours, steeped in Democratic values.

Acknowledging these feelings is important to do, but to dwell on them is, I believe, to miss the point. Of course notions like human sacrifice and blind obedience are troublesome to contemporary ears, but this story did not evolve in our contemporary world.

I would like to challenge you to image this story as if you were in the audience for whom it was originally intended. Imagine it is 2,500 years ago, and you are living in exile in Babylonia. The Temple, which now lies in ruins, was the focal point of your entire religious life – and you are now struggling to preserve your Jewish identity in a foreign land.

Animal sacrifice, of course, is no longer possible. Prayer services and Passover seders have not yet been created. But what you can do is listen to the stories of your people.

Biblical scholars believe that it was during our 50 years in Babylonian exile that many of the oral traditions that make up the five books of the Torah were finally committed to parchment. Writing them down was a way of ensuring our survival and preventing assimilation. To these people in exile, the story of the Akeidah gave three very important messages:

First, the depiction of Abraham as a man of unfailing obedience made him the perfect mythical ancestor. The patriarch of the Jewish people – the story proudly says – has so much strength and faith that he would actually kill his own son at God’s request. In a society where values like free thought had not evolved, and where men of military might and faith were ideolized, Abraham must have been a comforting hero to have.

Second, the use of a ram as a sacrifice would have been familiar to an audience who could no longer sacrifice rams at the Temple. It would have given them hope to think that just as they had sacrificed animals to God for ages – going way back to the days of Abraham – they will one day sacrifice them again. The exile will end, the Temple will be rebuilt, and life will return as it was.

Finally, even the notion of God’s request for human sacrifice would not have been so strange to the Jews in Babylonia. Up until this time, Jews had lived for hundreds of years surrounded by various pagan peoples, some of whom reputedly sacrificed children. Judaism, of course, rejected this, and what the Akeidah did was bring this difference to the forefront. In this way, the story became a statement of Jewish moral superiority and a strong incentive for Jews to stick to their own.

The challenge today, of course, is realizing that such a stark moral paradigm no longer exists between our religion and the religion of our neighbors. The Akeidah no longer survives as a rallying cry to embrace our faith and our people. The challenge then, becomes not What do we do with the Akeidah? But rather, What stories, what words do we need to tell our communities to inspire this kind of devotion?

It’s a challenge that faces each of us in this room – regardless of whether we are raising children or working in leadership in Jewish communities. By committing ourselves in the coming year to reaching out to each other, and creating spaces and moments that make our time together special, we are engaging in this holy work of strengthening our community.

Shana tova, u’metukah. May you have a healthy new year of prosperity, joy and friendship.

Artwork: http://www.nuchi.com/