Max Hollander
When I was a teenager, my father asked me a question late on a Friday night. It was Parashat Vayera, and the following morning we would be reading the story of the binding of Isaac, Akeidat Yitzchak, in synagogue. My father asked me if I thought I would be capable of sacrificing my child the way Abraham was prepared to do to his beloved son, Isaac. Flippantly, I told him that if God told me to do it, that would be a hard thing to resist; then I changed the subject.[1]
Now, after becoming a father, I’m embarrassed by the answer I gave to mine.
My firstborn daughter was born with a rare allergy, and was rehospitalized the night we brought her home from the hospital. I have vivid memories of doctors poking and prodding my screaming newborn baby, and I can still remember the urge I had to punch the doctors who were “hurting” my baby. If my father were to ask me the same question today, my answer would be a resounding no, regardless of who told me to do it. I’d be lying if I said this new perspective didn’t taint this foundational story of Jewish tradition we read every year. Akeidat Yitzchak, remembered by much of Jewish and Christian philosophical tradition as a great act of piety and faith, has morphed into something terrifying in my eyes. And I am not the only one: even Abraham’s most ardent defender, 19th century Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, who labeled Abraham as a knight of faith for this teleological suspension of the ethical, admitted that he both admired and was appalled by Abraham.[2] 18th century German philosopher Immanuel Kant went so far as to say Abraham was wrong for his decision to slaughter his son.[3] Furthermore, contrary to the Jewish philosophical thinkers like Rambam, Ramban, and Sa’adiah Gaon, who predominantly seek to justify and praise Abraham for his show of religious piety in his willingness to carry out this divine command, midrashic literature and Biblical exegesis seem more invested in showing a different, more human, side to Abraham, depicting a man that was hesitant about, if not disturbed by, the commandment he was given.
The 12th century work Yalkut Shimoni records a battle of wits between Satan and Abraham, the former doing everything he can to convince the latter not to go through with sacrificing his son. However, Abraham rebuffs every argument Satan throws at him:
Satan met him on the way and appeared to him in the guise of an old man. He (Satan) said to him (Abraham), “Where are you going?” He said, “To pray.” Satan said, “Why would someone on his way to pray have fire and a knife in his hand, and carry wood on his shoulder?” He said, “In case we stay for a day or two, then we shall slaughter and cook and eat.” Satan said to him, “Old man! Was I not there when the Holy One, blessed be He, said to you, ‘Take your son …’? Will an old man like you then go and kill a son given to him at the age of a hundred?! Have you not heard the saying, ‘That which he had, he threw away; now he asks from others’? And if you suggest that you might have another son – will you then obey the accuser, by destroying a life for which you will be held guilty by law?!” He said to him, “It was not the accuser, but the Holy One, blessed be He. I will not listen to you.” Satan left him and took on the guise of a young man, and stood to the right of Isaac. He said to him, “Where are you going?” He answered, “To study Torah.” Satan asked, “Alive or dead?” He said, “Can one study after he is dead?!” Satan said, “Unfortunate one, son of an unfortunate one! How many fasts did your mother fast until you were born; now this old man has lost his mind, and he is going to slaughter you!” He said: “Nevertheless – I shall not go against the will of my Creator nor against my father’s command.” Isaac then turned to his father and said, “My father, see what Satan said to me!” He said to him, “Pay no attention to him; he came only with the intention of wearing us down.”[4]
While the Midrash here records a literal debate between Satan and Abraham, Rabbi Yehuda Amital, former Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion, interpreted this text as representative of the powerful inner tension Abraham felt as he approached Mount Moriah. The Satan who appears in the Midrash was actually “Abraham’s own sense of morality, outraged by the command,” wrote Rabbi Amital, concluding: “This is not a simple, easy story, but a sharp tale that emphasizes the humanity of the servant of God. Even the fear of God that fills his heart cannot blunt his humanity.”[5]
A passage in Genesis Rabbah captures this conflict starkly, imagining Abraham sobbing, stretching out his hand to slaughter his son, while at the same time brimming with love for God and excitement to fulfill His commandment.[6] Another passage in Yalkut Shimoni imagines Abraham as tearfully, and perhaps hopefully, saying, “my son, since you have already expressed your readiness to relinquish your blood, your Creator will find a different sacrifice in your place.”[7] The Mishnah in Tractate Taanit claims Abraham uttered a prayer at Mount Moriah without specifying what the prayer was.[8] In the Talmud Yerushalmi, Rabbi Bibi Abba suggested that Abraham prayed that God would remember the lengths to which Abraham went to obey the word of God, and apply the merit he received with this act towards the Jewish people in the future.[9] But Rabbi Amital imagines Abraham’s prayer to be a different one.
In Rabbi Amital’s reading, Abraham’s prayer that God answered on Mount Morah was a plea to not sacrifice his son. “Could Abraham go off happily and gladly to bind his son?” He asked. “Abraham is still a human being, plagued with doubts, the doubts of a father who loves his son with all his being.”[10]
These texts ease modern sensibilities, and they reflect a horror at the idea that a man might gleefully sacrifice his beloved child. They also reveal a similar discomfort and sensibility in our ancestors who authored these texts in response to the story of the Akeidah. However, these interpretations of the story aren’t so easily identifiable in the text itself. As far as the straightforward reading of the text is concerned, all we know is that Abraham was commanded to do something unthinkable, and set off to fulfill God’s will the following morning. I’d like to offer a reading of this story and Abraham’s emotional experience that might ground this humanizing view of Abraham in the text of the Torah and the story as we’ve received it.
The morning after Abraham received the command from God to “take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that I will point out to you,”[11] the Torah describes the way Abraham set out on his journey: “Abraham rose up early (vayashkeim) in the morning.”[12]
Jewish tradition doesn’t see this as a simple description of his morning routine, but as a description of the nature of Abraham’s actions. Rashi, citing a passage in Tractate Pesachim, claimed he woke up early, rushing to fulfill God’s word out of religious zeal.[13] However, this word the Talmud associates with religious fervor — vayashkeim — doesn’t only appear in the Akeidah. In Genesis, the Torah uses the word vayashkeim to describe a number of risings:
- The state in which Abimelech woke up the morning after dreaming God had scolded him for taking Sarah from Abraham to be his wife,[14]
- the way Jacob arose after having a vision of God and the angels in Haran realizing how awesome the place he had slept truly was,[15]
- the manner in which Laban woke up and kissed his family goodbye once he caught up to them after they fled from his house a few days earlier,[16]
- the way Abraham woke up the day after God told him to send Hagar and Ishmael away,[17]
- and the state in which Abraham arose the day after he argued with God to save Sodom, looking to see if God had actually destroyed the city.[18]
In Exodus, the Torah uses the word vayashkeim to describe the way Moses woke up the morning he was intended to ascend Mount Sinai,[19] as well as the morning he was to ascend Mount Sinai again after the sin of the Golden Calf.[20] What links these events, I believe — and what might give us a new perspective on what Abraham was feeling the morning he set out to sacrifice his son — was a sense of unease or fear, rather than any sense of alacrity or excitement like Rashi’s commentary on Abraham at the Akeidah would lead us to believe.
Disturbing experiences, either the day before or planned for the day ahead, can make it hard to sleep, such that we wake up early in the morning. What unites these instances is an element of dread: Abimelech waking up after God threatening him with death; Jacob waking up “shaken” with the realization that he was sleeping on holy ground; Laban’s stress the night he caught up with his children and grandchildren — after waking up a few days earlier to find that his family had deserted him — perhaps afraid they’d flee from him again while he was asleep. Moses may well have been fearful of the awesome experience of ascending Mount Sinai the first time, and all the more so the second time, after the Israelites sinned with the Golden Calf. Not knowing the final decision of God to spare Sodom, Abraham might have woken up early to see if his fears had come to fruition and the city his nephew lived in had been destroyed. And finally, Abraham might have woken up the morning after receiving the command to sacrifice his son, burdened by the weight of the task he was given.
However, I think Abraham’s fears may have run deeper than only the loss of his son. Perhaps Abraham could not sleep that night — rose early, after a sleepless, restless night — because he started to question the goodness of the very God he had dedicated his life to. Earlier in Genesis, God promised Abraham that his offspring would be as numerous as the stars of the heavens in the aftermath of the great war Abraham participated in. Once the blessing was conferred, the Torah says, “And he believed in the Lord; and he counted it to him for righteousness.”[21] Rashi assumed the being that was calculating merit was God, praising Abraham for putting his trust in Him, but Ramban thinks it was Abraham who put his faith in God and saw God as righteous. This moment is a powerful one because, after all the trials and tribulations. It was a moment of affirmation of Abraham’s trust in God and his belief that God was righteous. However, a few chapters later, Abraham will challenge this belief when God tells him that He will destroy Sodom. Abraham says, “Far be it from You to do such a thing, to bring death upon the innocent as well as the guilty, so that innocent and guilty fare alike. Far be it from You! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do justice?”[22]
According to Ibn Ezra, the word tzedakah, righteousness, in Abraham’s declaration of trust in God was a synonym for justice (mishpat). Abraham’s belief was shaken when he realized that God could destroy a city, leading him to question the fundamental definition of God he had lived with until that point. Suddenly, the God of love and life Abraham had devoted his life to was capable of terrible destruction. After spending all day negotiating with God, Abraham arose early the next morning to the destruction of Sodom, and very possibly the destruction of his theological worldview.
This shakenness seeps into the rest of his life, too. Over the course of his life Abraham goes through tremendous challenges, but in the beginning of his story he seemed to rise to the occasion valiantly, bravely leaving the familiar setting of his father’s house to go to a foreign land; fighting in the war of the four kings versus the five kings to save Lot; rushing to greet new guests despite being in pain from his circumcision. He never hesitated.
And yet, after the destruction of Sodom, Abraham begins to hesitate.
When told to send away Hagar and Ishmael, instead of agreeing to it like he did the first time Hagar was sent away,[23] he questioned the decision and was distressed by it. When he made a pact with Abimelech at Beer-sheba, he was not strong enough to prevent Abimelech’s servants from seizing his well.[24] In the aftermath of the destruction of Sodom, Abraham is a shaken man, less capable of defending himself, less sure of his decisions. He doesn’t even protest the killing of his son like he did protest the destruction of Sodom.
But nothing can compare to the command to sacrifice Isaac. Dr. Kenneth Seeskin highlights the inner turmoil Abraham may have felt as he prepared for the journey, noting that Abraham strangely neglected (as far as the narrative goes) to tell Sarah where he was going, and was cryptic when he told his servants what he and Isaac were going to do at the top of the mountain: “Then Abraham said to his servants, ‘You stay here with the donkey. The boy and I will go up there; we will worship and we will return to you.’”[25] Seeskin posits that Abraham must have known how horrific the command was, and couldn’t bring himself to tell his wife or his servants what God had commanded him to do.[26]
This reading of the story doesn’t answer the biggest question of all — why God would command Abraham to sacrifice his own son — but it does highlight the humanity of Abraham. As in life, we will not understand the greater whys of the story; but we might see something about the character of Abraham in the way he rises that morning: so disturbed by what is about to happen that he cannot sleep. Like others recorded in the Torah, he wakes up early, fearful of the task ahead. Abraham may still be the knight of faith Kierkegaard regarded him as, but we shouldn’t forget that he was still a human being, complete with love, fear, doubts, struggles, and heartbreak. He was one of us.
[1] I’d like to thank my father, Jay Hollander z’’l, for always pushing me to think critically and challenge conventional ways of looking at the world. I’d also like to thank Ruthie Hollander, Rabbi Tori Greene, Rabbi Zach Beer, Elli Klein-Treisman, and Esti Klein for their feedback and support on this piece.
[2] Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 89, as described by Dr. Kenneth Seeskin.
[3] Immanuel Kant, The Conflict of the Faculties, quoted in Jerome Gellman, The Fear, the Trembling, and the Fire, 3
[5] When God is Near on the High Holidays, Rabbi Yehuda Amital, Maggid Press, 2015, 175-176
[7] Yalkut Shimoni 1:101
[10] When God is Near on the High Holidays, 178
[12] Genesis 22:3
[26] Thinking about the Torah: A Philosopher Reads the Bible, Kenneth Seeskin, Jewish Publication Society, 2016, 61
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