Thoughts on Sarah and Isaac

Originally posted on November 14, 2025

In recent weeks these posts have been mostly about current events and Jewish values. We are bombarded with “Breaking News” constantly throughout the day and

admittedly it becomes a little tiresome. This week’s theme seems to be the gradual release of the Epstein files, now that the government is reopened once more. I thought for a change of pace I’d return to the texts I enjoy and share with you what I found to be an interesting variation on the Midrashim surrounding the death of Sarah, the opening passage from this week’s Torah portion.

Last week’s portion of Vayera ended with high drama as Abraham demonstrates

his deep faith in God by taking his son Isaac to the future site of the Temple, binding him to the altar and raising his slaughtering knife so that he might offer Isaac as a sacrifice to the Almighty who seems to have requested this horrendous act from Abraham as a kind of test. Isaac himself, seen by the rabbis as a man of 37 years of age, not a little boy, seems resigned to this act and does not resist. At the last moment, a heavenly being calls to Abraham and tells him not to lay a hand on the young man for now God knows that you indeed fear God. A ram, waiting since the time of creation according to the midrash, is substituted for Isaac and the trial ends.

Immediately in the opening line of this week’s portion of Chayei Sarah, we are

informed of Sarah’s death. The rabbis assume that Sarah was not informed about the

Akedah in advance. The juxtaposition of the two stories leads the sages to conclude

that her death was in large part a reaction to the news of this trial. There are several midrashim that speculate on how she learned about the Akedah. Most of them involve the intervention by the heavenly prosecutor/troublemaker, the Satan, who lets her know what Abraham was doing on Mount Moriah with her son Isaac, without telling her the end of the story. She is so shocked that she gives forth six screams (three tekiahs and three teruahs) and drops dead. Hence in this week’s portion we read that Abraham came to mourn for Sarah. Where was he coming from? Mount Moriah, the site of the Akedah. The rabbis imagine him riding a spiritual high, having fulfilled God’s will and passing the final test. He comes home only to be met by deep mourning.

This week, I learned of a different midrash giving us a unique picture of these

events. Biblical scholar Avivah Zornberg in her reflections on Genesis mentions this

midrash that appears in the Midrash Rabbah on Leviticus. Satan does not appear in this version. According to this account, Sarah hears the story directly from her son Isaac who returns before his father. Sarah asks him innocently, “Where have you been, my son?” And he tells her that his father has taken him on a journey to a mountaintop and he proceeds to tell her just what took place there. He gets to the part where his father raises the knife over him intending to slaughter him as a sacrifice. She asks Isaac, at that point, “Were it not for the angel you would already be slaughtered?” He said, “Yes.” It is then, even though she knows that Isaac survived and is standing before her, that she gives forth those six screams that are recalled by our shofar blasts on Rosh Hashanah and she falls dead. The mere thought of what might have been is enough to kill her.

Last night, as often happens, one of the many books on my shelves, jumped out

at me and told me that I need to read it. It is part of a series published in Israel by the

popular paper Yediot Acharonot, called Yahadut Kan v’Achshav, Judaism Here and

Now. This volume edited by Ruthi Ravitzky is entitled Kor’ot MiBreshit, [Women]

Reading from Genesis. It contains essays, poems, and various other creative writing by Israeli women on the women who appear in the book of B’reishit, most of whom we know so little about. As I perused the table of contents, I saw a section about Sarah one of whose chapters is entitled “Ei hayita b’ni,” Where were you, my son,” a line I immediately recognized from the Midrash I just mentioned. This short piece is a monologue from a play written by Israeli playwright and actor, Aliza Elyon. In this piece she takes us back to the final encounter of Sarah with her son Isaac. Elyon describes Sarah’s words and thoughts and her final actions before her passing. This is a rough translation:

Where were you my son? Were it not for the angel you would have been slaughtered? Good, Isaac. This is your world. No, Isaac. This is already not my world.

But now you are alive and that is good.

Then I will not see your face anymore. I will not reach your adulthood. I will not

cradle you in your sleep with my lullabies. I will never know your children. I will not

dance at your wedding. I thought that when you would become a bridegroom we would arrange a great feast like at your briss and there would be many people and a giant table full of good things. Honey – that you should have a sweet life. The head of a large sheep, giant, dripping blood, his eyes looking straight to heaven – so that you should have strength. No nuts, since their numerical value is the same as cheit, sin. And milk – for chesed, loving kindness.

Where were you my son?...

Your face has completely changed. But you so much resemble your father. This

appearance is lucky, For your birth was a very great miracle. No one believed. A ninety year old woman is pregnant?! I felt as if nature itself was confused within me.

They say that on that day when I was pregnant, all my wrinkles were smoothed

out. My white hair was renewed with its copper color. Your father also. In his youth he stood tall over 74 men one over the next. Now he stood bent over and very old. For a moment he straightened out to his full height. And again, we were as in our wonderful vision, two ancient sovereigns of the desert. Brother and sister who became husband and wife and brought forth a child.

And I laughed and laughed…

But the good souls who were in the tent said, “This child is not hers.”

So your father arranged a giant meal and invited the whole world to your briss.

Kings. Princes. And there, before them all, your father who was the shyest of men said to me, “This is no time for modesty!” I sat and nursed the children of the whole world. Milk streamed from me to the mountains. To the hills. And watered the trees. The bushes. The trees gave forth fruit. The earth of the great deserts suddenly bloomed, overflowing with flowers. Barren women gave birth. Blessing came to the entire world. And everyone knew that I was the mother.

(She begins to dance.) Come, dance. I will not dance at your wedding. But here

and now dance with Mama. Dance. Dance, my son. You should have many children. Daughters. Sons. Like the stars in the heavens. Like the fish in the sea. You should be like a tree planted on pools of water.

Dance, Isaac, dance.

(She seats herself, her strength exhausted.)

There is something else I must tell you. I ask your pardon. (Facing the

audience) I ask all of you your pardon. In the books written about me, they do not allow me to speak…I stood there. Hardened like a judge. “Go, Hagar!” I said to her. “Go, now!” And I let her go with her child into the desert. “Only an angel can help you now,” I cried after her. “Know that this quarrel is not just between you and me, but for all the generations that will come after us.”

And I was right. Yes, Isaac, I was right. This quarrel is not only about a place…

But there must be another way so it does not end truly that she sits a bow-shot

away in order to see her child expire. You must… and something else…(she chokes.)

The lights dim.

As I mentioned on Rosh Hashanah, our sages saw Sarah as a prophet, one of

seven women prophets. Aliza Elyon tries to capture her final prophecy in this

monologue, and we, Sarah’s offspring, continue seeking to resolve that quarrel.

Everything can change in a moment when the right angel shows up.