The Sacrifice

Vayera 5784 - What if Abraham’s angel hadn’t whispered to him, “Avraham Avraham?”

Da - Shai Tzabari

Rabbi Sam Fraint was my rabbi when I was growing up. I loved him. He built an incredible Jewish community that was filled to the brim every Shabbat. Two weeks ago was his fifth yahrzeit. This week I wanted to share a story he told in a sermon twenty five years ago about this week’s parasha, Vayera. He said:

“Last Shabbat we read Parashat Vayera, which contains the famous section known as the Akeidat Yitzchak, the binding of Isaac. The Torah reader, one of the very best in our congregation, began to falter in his reading. Very out of character for him. The Akeidah was actually the second or third Aliyah which he read last week and he read the other sections with his usual skill and beauty. 

When he went up to the bimah to read, his young son came up too and sat down next to me. I kibitzed with him a little. Then, when his father began to read the Aliyah that contains the story of Abraham and Isaac, and of a father’s willingness to sacrifice his son, should that be what God requires, I noticed that the little boy had left his seat next to me and had gone up to where his father was reading. The son positioned himself between his father and the Torah. He was standing in a kind of embrace, being held by his father behind him and by the Torah in front. It was at that point that the father’s voice became weak and it was then that it sounded as though the father might even be unable to complete the reading. 

Complete it he did. After he was finished reading, the father approached me and apologized for the way he had read. He said, ‘I just get so emotional when I read that section of the Torah, and then, with my son standing right there with me, it was almost too much for me to bear.’ 

The father was embarrassed. But no! Here was a man who understood the words of Torah he was pronouncing. He knew what they meant, but not only what they meant in terms of a translation. He knew what they meant as a human being, as a father, and as a Jew. He was open to being moved by the Torah, to allowing the Torah to enter his life and to affect it. I went home from shul last Shabbos thinking that I had just heard one of the best Torah readings ever.”

Obviously it wasn’t just about the Torah reading for Rabbi Fraint, though he was a stickler for a good Torah reading. Rabbi Fraint taught me that Judaism is a powerful lens through which to look at the world, and, if we understand what we are saying, the Torah and the siddur can move us and open us up in deep ways, and teach us how to live meaningful lives. The father in Rabbi Fraint’s story was my father, and that little boy was me. I don’t remember that moment, but that lesson has stayed with me since it was instilled in me so long ago. 

The Torah is meant to move us. It is meant to help us better understand what it means to be a human being, a parent, a Jew. Even today I cried rereading this story and thinking about its implications for my life today. We have faced so much devastation in the last three weeks. Too much to bear. And yet more devastation just leads to more devastation. I pray for our kidnapped siblings to be returned home. I pray for the healing and grieving families who have lost innocent loved ones in Israel and in Gaza. I pray for the Israeli soldiers, many of whom are dear friends,  who have left their families and are on the front lines. I pray for everyone who has lost someone they love. No parent, no family member, should ever have to make such a sacrifice. 

This beautiful song, Da, by Shai Tzabari, is based on the teaching from Midrash Rabbah that every single blade of grass, every living being, has an angel behind it whispering “grow.” But, as Tzabari sings in the song, “but an angel has fallen asleep. There are fires in the forest, there is a foolish weed and an angel's disappointment… You made the bed.” What if Abraham’s angel hadn’t whispered to him, “Avraham Avraham?” What if he hadn’t been stopped in that moment of radical, blinding, zealousness? Would he have sacrificed his own son?

Where are humanity’s better angels? When we feel the most alone, how can we be better angels to each other? We need it now more than ever.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom,

Josh

P.s. if you can and are moved to do so, please click here for a list of vetted organizations seeking donations to provide aid. I’ll also lift up the work of Zaka specifically as an incredible, lifesaving organization to donate to.