42 | NOVEMBER 21 • 2024 

O

ne of the most striking 
features about Judaism 
in comparison with, say, 
Christianity or Islam, is that it is 
impossible to answer the question: 
Who is the central character of the 
drama of faith? In both 
of the other Abrahamic 
monotheisms, the 
answer is obvious. In 
Judaism, it is anything 
but. Is it Abraham, the 
founder of the covenant-
al family? Is it Jacob, who 
gave his name Israel to 
our people and its land? Moses, the lib-
erator and lawgiver? David, the greatest 
of Israel’s kings? Solomon, the builder 
of the Temple and the author of its 
literature of wisdom? Isaiah, the poet 
laureate of hope? And among women 
is a similar richness and diversity.
It is as if the birth of monotheism 
— the uncompromising unity of the 
creative, revelatory and redemptive 
forces at work in the universe — cre-
ated space for the full diversity of the 
human condition to emerge.
So Abraham, whose life draws to 
its close in this week’s parshah, is an 

individual rather than an archetype. 
Neither Isaac nor Jacob nor anyone 
else for that matter is quite like him. 
And what strikes us is the sheer seren-
ity of the end of his life. In a series of 
vignettes, we see him, wise and for-
ward-looking, taking care of the future, 
tying up the loose ends of a life of 
deferred promises.
First, he makes the first acquisi-
tion of a plot in the land he has been 
assured will one day belong to his 
descendants. Then, leaving nothing to 
chance, he arranges a wife for Isaac, 
the son he knows will be heir to the 
covenant.
Astonishingly, he remains full of 
vigor and takes a new wife, by whom 
he has six children. Then, to avoid 
any possible contest over succession 
or inheritance, he gives all six gifts 
and then sends them away before he 
dies. Finally, we read of his demise, the 
most serene description of death in the 
Torah: “Then Abraham breathed his 
last and died at a good old age, an old 
man and full of years; and he was gath-
ered to his people.
” Gen. 25:8
One is almost tempted to forget 
how much heartache he has suffered 

in his life: the wrenching separation 
from “his father’s house,
” the conflicts 
and aggravations of his nephew Lot, 
the two occasions on which he has to 
leave the land because of famine, both 
of which cause him to fear for his life; 
the long drawn-out wait for a son, the 
conflict between Sarah and Hagar, 
and the double trial of having to send 
Ishmael away and seemingly almost to 
lose Isaac also.
Somehow we sense in Abraham 
the beauty and power of a faith that 
places its trust in God so totally that 
there is neither apprehension nor fear. 
Abraham is not without emotion. We 
sense it in his anguish at the displace-
ment of Ishmael and his protest against 
the apparent injustice of the destruc-
tion of Sodom. But he places himself in 
God’s hands. He does what is incum-
bent on him to do, and he trusts God 
to do what He says He will do. There is 
something sublime about his faith.
Yet the Torah — even in this 
week’s parshah, after the supreme trial 
of the Binding of Isaac — gives us a 
glimpse of the continuing challenge to 
his faith. Sarah has died. Abraham has 
nowhere to bury her. Time after time, 

God has promised him the land: as 
soon as he arrives in Canaan, God says: 
“The Lord appeared to Abram and 
said, ‘To your offspring I will give this 
land.
’” Gen. 12:7
Then again in the next chapter, after 
he has separated from Lot: “Go, walk 
through the length and breadth of the 
land, for I am giving it to you.
” Gen. 
13:17
And two chapters later: “He also said 
to him, ‘I am the Lord, who brought 
you out of Ur of the Chaldeans to give 
you this land to take possession of it.
’” 
Gen. 15:7
And so on, seven times in all. Yet 
now he owns not one square inch in 
which to bury his wife. This sets the 
scene for one of the most complex 
encounters in Bereishit, in which 
Abraham negotiates for the right to 
buy a field and a cave.
It is impossible in a brief space to do 
justice to the undertones of this fasci-
nating exchange. Here is how it opens:

THE VULNERABLE ABRAHAM
“Then Abraham rose up from before 
his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, 
saying, ‘I am an alien and a stranger 
among you. Sell me some property 
for a burial site here so I can bury my 
dead.
’ The Hittites replied to Abraham, 
‘Hear us, my lord. You are a prince of 
God among us. Bury your dead in the 
choicest of our tombs. None of us will 
refuse you his tomb for burying your 
dead.
’”
Abraham signals his relative pow-
erlessness. He may be wealthy. He has 
large flocks and herds. Yet he lacks 
the legal right to own land. He is “an 
alien and a stranger.
” The Hittites, with 
exquisite diplomacy, reply with appar-
ent generosity but deflect his request. 
By all means, they say, bury your dead, 
but for that, you do not need to own 
land. We will allow you to bury her, 
but the land will remain ours. Even 
then they do not commit themselves. 
They use a double negative: “None of 
us will refuse . . .
” It is the beginning of 
an elaborate minuet. Abraham, with a 
politeness to equal theirs, refuses to be 
sidetracked:
“Then Abraham rose and bowed 

The 
Next 
Chapter

Rabbi Lord 
Jonathan 
Sacks

SPIRIT
A WORD OF TORAH

