S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT CHAYEI SARA

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI

            Parashat Chayei Sara begins with the exchange that took place between Avraham and the neighboring Chittites surrounding the Machpela cave, which Avraham sought to purchase as a burial site after his wife’s passing.  Efron, who owned the property, offered to give the cave and the adjacent field to Avraham free of charge, but the patriarch insisted on paying full price.  Finally, Efron said, “A land worth four hundred shekels of silver – what is it to you and me?  Bury your dead [wife]” (23:15).  Avraham promptly paid Efron the specified sum and took possession of the land.

            Chazal, in a number of Midrashim, portray Efron as a sly and greedy merchant, who put forth a façade of generosity while actually hinting to Avraham that he sought an exorbitant price for a small piece of property.  A number of commentators, however, explained differently, claiming that Efron sincerely wished to give Avraham the property free of charge, viewing the land as not significant enough an asset to demand payment (see, for example, Radak).

            Shadal offers a particularly insightful interpretation of Efron’s remark: “It is not appropriate for me or for you to excessively indulge in deliberations over this, for it is something trivial [davar kal] for us, and you must bury your dead [wife].  And since you do not wish to receive it as a gift, I will not stop you from paying its price.”  According to Shadal, Efron’s intent here is to downplay the significance of the issue under discussion, to simplify the process by accepting Avraham’s demand so that Sara could be buried without further delay.  Essentially, Efron told Avraham, “This is not worth any further discussion; if you insist on paying, then pay and take possession of the land without delaying the burial any further!”

            As mentioned, our Midrashic tradition generally looks disdainfully upon Efron.  Nevertheless, it would appear that according to Shadal’s interpretation, there is perhaps a simple yet significant lesson that we could learn from Efron’s handling of the situation.  Whenever we find ourselves embroiled in any kind of argument, it is worth taking a moment to see if perhaps the subject of the dispute is a “davar kal,” a “trivial matter” that does not quite deserve an argument.  Avraham and Efron were both insisting on doing the right thing: Avraham felt he should pay full price for the land, while Efron did not want to take money from a person of Avraham’s stature.  But Efron quickly realized that at a certain point, there was no sense having an argument while a deceased woman was awaiting burial.  Whether Avraham pays or doesn’t pay, Efron realized, the more critical concern is that he takes the land and buries his wife as quickly as possible.  This is perhaps how we should approach the arguments and disagreements in which we find ourselves.  We should ask ourselves, should we be giving this matter the time and emotional energy it is currently receiving?  Are there perhaps other, more pressing matters that demand our attention but are being neglected because of this argument?

            According to Shadal, Efron acted sincerely, and wisely.  He was sincere in his desire to give Avraham the land without pay, and he was wise to realize that this issue was not worth arguing over while a righteous woman awaited burial.  His conduct should serve as an instructive example of ending unnecessary conflicts so that we can redirect our time and focus onto more important matters.

SUNDAY

            The opening section of Parashat Chayei Sara tells of Avraham’s purchase of Me’arat Ha-machpela as a burial site after the passing of his wife.  Avraham purchased the territory from a Chittite named Efron, who, as the Torah tells, initially offered the land free of charge.  But after Avraham insisted, Efron said, “A land worth four hundred shekels of silver – what is it to you and me?  Bury your dead [wife]” (23:15).  As we discussed yesterday, Chazal, in a number of places, detected beneath the surface of Efron’s response an element of greed.  They understood that although Efron formally declined Avraham’s offer to pay, he intentionally stated an inflated price, knowing that the righteous, wealthy patriarch would unhesitatingly agree to pay the specified sum.

            The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 58) notes that the Torah modifies the spelling of Efron’s name in the context of this transaction.  When the Torah writes, “Avraham paid Efron” (23:16), it omits the letter vav from Efron’s name.  The Midrash cites in reference to this spelling change the verse in Mishlei (28:22), “The stingy man is frantic for wealth, and does not know that he will be overcome by shortage” (“Nivhal le-hon ish ra ayin ve-lo yeida ki cheser yevo’enu”).  Efron, according to the Midrash, pursued wealth at Avraham’s expense, and in the end endured “cheser” (“shortage”), in the form of the loss of a letter from his name.

            It appears that Chazal here seek to warn of the ill effects of the frantic pursuit of wealth.  The verse in Mishlei depicts the prototype of a “nivhal le-hon,” a person for whom obtaining wealth becomes an obsession.  The efforts to earn money, and to minimize his expenditures, overtake him and consume his time and energy.  Viewing Efron as an example of this prototype, Chazal found it significant that he “lost” a letter of his name.  This loss symbolizes the fact that obsessing over wealth can lead people to lose something far more valuable than the money they earn – namely, they lose part of themselves, they forfeit their personal identity and squander the time, skills, talents and potential they have been given.  When people become “nivhal” – “frantic” – about earning money, they can easily lose sight of everything else.  In the end, even if they gain wealth, they lose part of their “names,” part of their essence and the purpose for which they were created.

            There have been many righteous Jewish figures who also achieved wealth – including, and perhaps most prominently, Avraham, the founder of our nation.  But what distinguishes wealthy people like Efron from righteous magnates like Avraham is the element of “behala,” the overbearing pressure and anxiety that accompanies the pursuit of wealth.  The constant sense of urgency to earn more and spend less results in “cheser,” the loss of the peace of mind and serenity that are indispensable to self-fulfillment and contentment.  Thus, while certainly not discouraging people from pursuing material success, Chazal here alert us to the danger of the “behala” that threatens to take away a person’s most important assets of all.

MONDAY

            The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 58:3) relates that once as Rabbi Akiva delivered a lecture, he noticed that he was losing his audience, who had begun dozing.  In an effort to awaken the people, Rabbi Akiva drew an association between two instances in Tanakh where we find the number 127: Achashverosh ruled over 127 provinces, as told in the first verse of Megilat Ester, and Sara died at the age of 127, as told in the first verse of Parashat Chayei Sara.  Rabbi Akiva explained that Ester rose to the position of queen over 127 provinces in the merit of our matriarch Sara, who lived for 127 years.  Many writers have attempted to explain this association between Ester and Sara, and why Rabbi Akiva resorted to this particular topic in his efforts to arouse the interest of his drowsy audience.

            One explanation, perhaps, is that Rabbi Akiva here points not to any specific connection between Sara and Ester, but rather to the broader notion of the long-term impact that our patriarchs and matriarchs continue to exert upon their descendants.  Rabbi Akiva asserts that the Purim story did not begin with Haman’s edict, or even with the ousting of Vashti which led to Ester’s ascension to the throne.  Rather, it began in the very dawn of the history of Am Yisrael, with the life of our righteous matriarch.  Her influence and merit endured for centuries and guaranteed the Jewish people’s survival, even during the harshest and darkest moments of exile, such as in the time of Haman.  When Rabbi Akiva read Megilat Ester and saw the number 127, it immediately brought to mind the merit of Sara, the roots of the Jewish people that have held them in place throughout the millennia-old tempest of wandering and persecution.

            During Rabbi Akiva’s time, the Jewish people began “falling asleep,” their faith, resolve and determination began showing cracks.  As the Roman persecution tightened its grip, the physical and spiritual future of Am Yisrael was called into question.  Rabbi Akiva, who was not only the Jewish nation’s foremost rabbinic leader, but also the Jewish nation’s foremost optimist and voice of hope (as manifest in the famous stories related at the end of Masekhet Makkot), sought to “awaken” the Jews of his time by drawing their attention to their ancient roots, to the firm bedrock upon which the Jewish nation stands and would forever stand.  Just as the merit of our ancestors served to protect us during the seemingly hopeless crisis that surfaced in the time of Ester, so would those merits come to our side during every period of suffering and persecution that Am Yisrael would ever endure.  This message, Rabbi Akiva hoped, would “awaken” the people from their “slumber” and provide much-needed optimism and vitality to a people that had become weary and jaded from years of oppression.

TUESDAY

            Parashat Chayei Sara concludes by presenting a list of the sons of Yishmael, Avraham’s older son, and informing us of how long he lived.  The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 62) asks the obvious question, “What [reason] did Scripture see to trace the years of the wicked person here?”  The Torah does not tell us much about Yishmael, but tradition teaches that he was wicked and sinful.  This characterization is consistent with the Torah’s vague reference to his mistreatment of his younger brother (21:9), and with the prophecy before his birth predicting that he would be a pere adam (loosely translated as, “unrefined man” – 16:12).  In any event, the Sages naturally wondered why the Torah found it necessary to name the children and specify the lifespan of a negative character.

            The Midrash answers, “Because he came from the highest point of the desert to perform kindness to his father.”  Although Yishmael was generally sinful, he deserves respect for coming to pay respects to Avraham after his death.  The Torah explicitly writes (25:9) that both Yitzchak and Yishmael participated in their father’s funeral.  The Midrash gives credit to Yishmael for coming from his residence in the wilderness to honor his father, an act for which he was repaid with a section in the Torah devoted to him and his progeny.

            What specific aspect of Yishmael’s attendance at his father’s funeral rendered him worthy of this distinction?  Why did Chazal afford such significance to this act of kindness?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, points to the fact that Yishmael came to pay respects to his father despite his having been sent away from home.  Yishmael earned the praise of the Midrash for resisting the natural tendency to resent his father for having driven him away after Yitzchak’s birth.  We might have expected Yishmael to hold a lifelong grudge against Avraham, but he instead succeeded in eliminating hard feelings and, at very least, paying final respects to his father.

            We should note, however, that the Midrash pays particular attention to the fact that Yishmael came “from the highest point of the desert” (“mei-kodkado shel midbar”) to attend the funeral.  It appears that what impressed Chazal was not Yishmael’s forgiveness, but rather the journey entailed in coming to bury his father.  This may be understood in two ways.  First, the Midrash may refer here simply to the time and exertion Yishmael invested.  He had to travel an exceedingly long distance to tend to his deceased father, but the trip did not deter him from fulfilling his obligations.  Additionally, perhaps, the Midrash refers not to geographical distance, but to leaving one’s familiar surroundings.  Yishmael had grown accustomed to his life in the “highest point of the wilderness,” which presumably differed starkly from his father’s aristocratic lifestyle.  Yishmael not only had to travel a far distance, but also had to put himself in unfamiliar surroundings, and be around people who were much different from everything to which he had been accustomed.  And for this he was rewarded.

            Often, we refrain from certain kinds of chesed activities because they entail leaving the “comfort zone” of our familiar surroundings, and spending time in very different circles.  Yishmael is lauded for leaving the “highest point of the desert” to perform acts of kindness in the urban region of Chevron.  The Midrash bids us to take example from the kindness extended by Yishmael, who courageously left the comfort of his familiar environment to show honor to his deceased father.

WEDNESDAY

We read in Parashat Chayei Sara of Rivka’s selection as a wife for Avraham’sson, Yitzchak. The Torah relates thatwhen Rivka arrived from her homeland toCanaanand saw Yitzchak for the first time, “she fell from the camel” (24:64). The commentators address the question of whatthe Torah means when it speak of Rivka “falling,” and how we are to understandher reaction to seeing her groom for the first time.

RavShimshon Rafael Hirsch explains that the word “va-tipol” (generallytranslated as, “she fell”) does not necessarily refer to “falling,” and maylikely mean “dismounted.” He notes thatin Sefer Melakhim II (5:21), the verse describes Na’aman dismounting from hischariot upon seeing the servant of the prophet, using the word“va-yipol.” It is likely, RavHirsch writes, that this verb (which normally means “fall”) used in the contextof a rider denotes dismounting, rather than falling. If so, then Rivka did not “fall” from thecamel, but simply dismounted upon seeing her groom.

RavHirsch adds that this was done as an expression ofrespect:

In the same way here too we can understand thefeeling that Rebecca did not wish to meet Isaac, mounted. A proud lady would certainly have foundsomething in it, to come riding stately to meet him at the head of a troop offollowers… Especially as Isaac was not riding but on foot she did not find itseemly for her to ride towards him. Moreover riding seems to have been a sign of quality and Rebecca did notwant to meet Isaac as an aristocratic lady.

In other words, Rivka did not wish to appear “above”Yitzchak, to meet him for the first time as she rode as a noblewoman while hestood as a commoner below her. Rivka, itseems, wanted to begin her marriage with Yitzchak on “equal footing,” avoidingeven the impression of superiority. Sheunderstood that for the relationship to succeed, there could not be any elementof competition or one-upmanship, that she and her husband must not engage in anykind of struggle for authority and stature. Upon seeing Yitzchak for the first time, Rivka found it necessary todismount, to approach him humbly as his equal, rather than meet him from aposition of height and nobility. Ourrighteous matriarch thus teaches us to approach our own relationships with thismindset of an equal partnership, rather than as a battleground where we strugglefor respect and superiority.

THURSDAY

The Torah in Parashat Chayei Sara tells of the death of Avraham at the age of175 (25:8). The Gemara in Masekhet BavaBatra (91) describes the response of the world leaders at the time to Avraham’spassing: “On the day Avraham our patriarch left the world, all the leaders ofthe nations of the world stood in a line and said: Woe unto a world that haslost its leader, and woe unto a ship that has lost itspilot!”

Howmight we explain the meaning and significance of these two descriptions ofAvraham, as a “leader” (manhig) and as a “pilot”(kabarnit)?

RavYehuda Leib Ginsburg, in hisYalkutYehuda, explains that this eulogyrefers to two different aspects of Avraham’s leadership skills. Some people excel specifically during tryingtimes. They rise to the stage whendifficult problems arise that demand innovative measures and strong leadership,to steer their constituency toward safety and security. These kinds of leaders have little or nothingto offer during quieter, more stable and peaceful times, but step in to helponly in periods of hardship. Conversely,there are those who lead capably during periods of relative stability, butfalter and fail in times of crisis. Theyperform well under clear skies, but become rattled and ineffective when theskies darken and the storm clouds set in.

After Avraham’s death, the worldeulogized a man who was both a “leader” and a “pilot.” Avraham’s character inspired hiscontemporaries through thick and thin. He was a “leader” during periods of calm and stability, and a “pilot” whosteered his “ship” of followers through the stormy seas during times of crisisand uncertainty.

What is true of leadership qualitiesis true also of character generally. There are some who excel and shine only under unusual circumstances, whena pressing problem demands resolution, but underachieve in normalconditions. Others are capable ofachieving when things are smooth, but fall apart when the going gets rough. We are to achieve to the very best of ourability under all circumstances, during both the good times and the bad. We must not wait for the “storm” to let ourgood qualities shine, and neither may we retreat when difficulties arise. Following the example of Avraham Avinu, wemust put our best foot forward at all times – both during the “quiet” and duringthe “storm.”

FRIDAY

The Torah tells in Parashat Chayei Sara of Yitzchak’s marriage to Rivka.  Yitzchak brought his bride “into the tent of his mother, Sara,” and loved her (24:67).  Rashi, citing the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 60:16), explains this verse to mean that three miraculous phenomena that occurred in the tent during Sara’s lifetime resurfaced when Yitzchak married Rivka: the candle remained lit from one Friday to the next, the dough was blessed and always sufficed for the family and guests, and a cloud “was attached” to the tent.

            HaRav Yehuda Amital shelit”a (http://www.vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/bereishit/05-61chayei.htm) noted that the term “anan kashur” (“a cloud attached”) appears also elsewhere in the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 56:2), in a passage cited by Rashi earlier in his commentary to Sefer Bereishit (22:4).  The Midrash relates that when Avraham made his way to Mount Moriah, where God had commanded him to sacrifice his son, he saw an “anan kashur al ha-har” (“cloud attached to the mountain”).  Upon beholding the sight of the cloud, Avraham turned to the people traveling with him – Yitzchak and his two servants – and asked them what they saw.  Yitzchak described the cloud, while the servants reported seeing nothing unusual in the mountains in the distance.  Avraham then said to his servants, “Since the donkey does not see and you do not see, you stay here with the donkey [shevu lakhem po im ha-chamor].”  Upon learning that his servants were incapable of beholding the vision of the cloud, Avraham decided they were not fit to join him and his son to the sacred site of Moriah.

It appears that the vision of the “anan kashur” represents a degree of spiritual sensitivity and insight, the ability to look beyond the physical realities of the world and see the spiritual meaning and purpose behind them.  A person who fails to see the “anan kashur,” who sees only the “mountain” without perceiving the deeper meaning underlying it, is no different than an animal.  Hence, Avraham told his servants, “Shevu lakhem po im ha-chamor.”  The animals go about their routine of self-preservation without striving for a higher purpose.  People who cannot behold the divine presence, the religious significance beneath their daily routine, remain on the same level as the donkey, and cannot ascend to the level of holiness represented by Mount Moriah.

            HaRav Amital suggested that this may also be the message underlying the image of the cloud hovering over Yitzchak’s tent.  A household must have a higher purpose and meaning than its own maintenance and functioning.  Yitzchak’s tent was blessed with the “candle” and the “dough,” it always had sufficient light and food, but this was not enough.  A Jewish home is not complete without the “anan kashur,” a spiritual purpose toward which it strives.  Amidst our efforts to maintain the “candle” and “dough,” to provide the family’s basic physical needs, we must also see to it that the “cloud” hovers constantly over home, that we infuse it with a higher meaning, purpose and direction beyond its basic functioning.