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

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Chapter

Rabbi Lord
Jonathan
Sacks

SPIRIT
A WORD OF TORAH