A Timeless Bridge
D’var Torah for
Parashat Chayei Sarah
By Rabbi Boaz D.
Heilman
It’s interesting that in the first 24 chapters of the Book
of Genesis, almost a full half of the book and spanning 21 generations, the
term ahava, love, appears only once,
and that only in the very last verse of chapter 24.
The subject of love in the Bible is way too huge to deal with
in a short Shabbat sermon. Suffice it to
say that though the word used in many different contexts, it always indicates a
deep and binding emotion. Love comes
from deep within you but doesn’t stay there; it’s an emotion that transcends
personal boundaries, linking you to something or someone far beyond yourself. Whether for a friend, spouse, teacher or for God,
love is a compelling feeling that inextricably binds soul to soul and body to
body.
How fascinating then, that in Abraham’s story, the word
never appears once. Loyalty, justice,
faith, sacrifice—these are the passions we associate with Abraham. But not love.
Yet Abraham must have felt
love for his family—not only for his wife but also for his extended
family. It must have been with a heavy
heart that he left his native land, his culture and his father’s home. It was deep compassion that led him to take
Lot, his deceased brother’s son, with him on that journey. Surely it was love for Lot that motivated
Abraham to chase after the armies that captured his nephew and to rescue him
from captivity.
And what deep, searing love he must have felt for Isaac when
he looked down on his son, bound up on the altar, about to become a sacrifice
to a terrifying and inscrutable God.
Yet the word “love” never appears in Abraham’s story.
And Sarah? Her deep
loyalty to her husband made her follow him unquestioningly. Her desire to give him a son meant that she
was willing to share her status and place in the household with her servant,
Hagar. But her protectiveness toward
Isaac, once he was born, was fierce enough to demand that Hagar and Ishmael be
cast out of the house. Surely these are
signs of a great love.
Yet even in Sarah’s story, neither the word nor the emotion
behind it is ever mentioned.
It’s Rebecca who brings love into the story and into Isaac’s
life.
In this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah (“The Life of Sarah,” Genesis 23:1—25:18) we learn much
about Rebecca. We know from the moment
we meet her, watering her flock at the village well, that she is beautiful, strong,
smart, generous, courageous and faithful.
Isaac, however, knows none of this. He has never met her. Isaac first sees her in the distance as she
arrives on camelback, part of a caravan making its way from the east. Yet even from far away, he recognizes
something special in her. Maybe there
was a certain aura about her; perhaps it’s Isaac’s own inner sense that tells
him that this person was his “bashert,”
his intended. As Abraham’s servant tells
Isaac how matters transpired to bring Rebecca here, Isaac is probably not even
listening. One could say that from the
moment he was almost sacrificed, Isaac no longer saw or heard ordinary
conversation and ordinary behavior.
Today we would say that he probably suffered from PTSD, but all the
Torah tells us is that on that day, as he was wandering alone in the
wilderness, he suddenly lifts up his eyes and sees the caravan that was
bringing his future wife to his doorstep.
He couldn’t even see her face—in accordance with the laws of modesty,
Rebecca had veiled herself. She was a
mystery to him.
Yet he loved her, וַיֶּאֱהָבֶהָ.
What was it that Isaac saw in Rebecca? That’s the whole point of love, that it is
blind. When we love, we do it
unconditionally. It’s a spiritual
bonding as much as physical. It’s a
connection that cannot be explained, that goes back generations and helps us
identify elements in the other person that we had always known about ourselves
yet had managed to forget. It’s a homecoming
that connects us with the past but which also leads us forward into the
future. Love is timeless.
How do we know real love?
This is a question that can only be asked by someone who has never truly
loved. Real love simply is, and you know
it when it’s there. You let it lead you
without question, without hesitation, wherever it might take you.
Real love is all about equality. In real love, there is no disparity. There’s neither the need to be self-deprecating,
nor the desire to prove you’re better or stronger or wiser.
A popular novel once made its point that “love means never
having to say you’re sorry.” But that’s
not always true. We all make mistakes,
and saying “I’m sorry” is as important as “I love you.”
Having left her family home, Rebecca comes to Isaac. Isaac takes Rebecca to his home, to the tent
he had left behind and thought that he would never see again. In the new home that they create for
themselves, they comfort one another. Isaac gives Rebecca the love that she
needs; Rebecca cooks for Isaac the foods he loves, that taste and smell of the
wild yet that also have a touch of home about them. Maybe it’s the spices, or maybe it’s the
date-honey. Understanding their common
roots, their common losses and their common fate, they will start a new family
and create their own future. Love is more
than a chemical reaction. For Isaac and
Rebecca, love is a forceful bond that unites their hearts and lives, a bridge that
reaches far into their past but also looks forward, with hope, to the future.
© 2014 by Boaz D. Heilman
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