HaMirpeset Shelanu - Issue 5: from Jacob Cytryn, Program Director
A year ago today, erev Shabbat Chayei Sarah, Tamar and I were on our way to see her brother and sister-in-law and their six children when we encountered an unanticipated traffic jam. When we saw it, we realized what was going on - the annual pilgrimage of thousands to Chevron (Hebron) for the Shabbat when we read of Abraham's purchase of a cave there (ma'arat hamachpelah) in which to bury his wife. As we watched buses brimming with passengers pass us by and began frantically looking at our watches and trying to figure out how we would get to where we were going before Shabbat, I made another mental note of an Israeli phenomenon that seemed particularly foreign to me.
A few months later, the rhythms of our social circles in Israel had brought me closer to a number of friends who worked for Jewish and Israeli organizations trying to help in Chevron, Bethlehem, and the surrounding areas south of Jerusalem. In February, and then again in May, I spent two days in Bethlehem on a trip run by one such organization called Encounter, enjoying home hospitality with a Palestinian family and bearing witness to the realities and challenges of life there. This year, thinking back about my experiences, my friends' work, and the surreal (even for Israel) traffic of a Friday afternoon has altered the way I relate to parashat Chayei Sarah.
The story of Abraham's purchasing of a parcel of land appears in the wake of two traumas: the binding of Isaac we read near the end of last week's Torah portion and the death of Sarah that, coincidentally or not, follows it in the first verse we read this week. Abraham presents himself as a landless nomad of non-ideal social status attempting to gain favor with the local community by buying a plot in good faith and at full price. Even more importantly, the story implies, he seeks to honor his beloved wife with a proper burial. Sarah has lived a long life of 127 years. After the purchase, Abraham focuses on his next task, finding a partner for his son.
The Torah itself makes clear the relevance of this burial plot - in addition to Sarah, Abraham, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, and Leah are all buried there. Rabbinic literature adds a layer to the myth when it places Adam and Eve's burial site there as well. Its symbolic purpose even goes beyond gravesites - it is the beginning of the fulfillment of God's promise to Abraham that his descendents would possess the land. For these reasons, and others, Chevron is one of four holy cities in the Land of Israel, yet it is today a city practically devoid of hope for both its Arab and Jewish residents. The sight of violent acts initiated by both sides in the last fifteen years, it is a city nearly forgotten but for occasional new acts of violence and an annual pilgrimage taking place this Shabbat.
The situation in Chevron is but one of many complex challenges facing Israel, but it may well be one that we too often ignore. Though not specifically representative of the larger issues surrounding Palestinian autonomy and a peace settlement for which we have waited too long, it is part of the equation. And we ought to find ways to imitate Abraham's manner in purchasing part of that land when we discuss today's reality and the land's lasting heritage. Abraham acts in concert with the values later rabbinic tradition would ascribe to him: he is humble, always trying to act faithfully, and constantly motivated by chesed, a word that refuses proper English translation as it signifies an emotion - empathic love - that leads directly to action - kindness.
Next week we will read about Isaac's sons' battle over their birthright. As we move in the next week from Sarah's legacy to Jacob and Esau's destiny, I encourage us all to consider the legacy and destiny of Chevron, and of the whole land of Israel. I ask us to bring Abraham's humility, faith, and chesed into our considerations, and to consider the brave step of sharing these thoughts with other Jews.
Tamar and I arrived on time to spend a warm Shabbat with our relatives, and we watched as six young Israeli children embraced their birthright: a community that moves to the rhythms of the Jewish calendar, a Shabbat of playing in the empty streets, homework after havdalah in preparation for school Sunday morning. I hope that, navigating as we might what Chevron means to us looking back to the Torah and what it means peering forward to a peaceful tomorrow, we can find the right balance between legacy and destiny to cement the promise of my nephews and niece to the generations that will succeed them.