The longest chapter in the Book of Genesis ends with the touching moment of Isaac and Rebekah’s first meeting. Rebekah has traveled from her home in Haran, accompanied by Abraham’s (unnamed) servant, to become Isaac’s bride. The Torah describes their meeting in just a few sentences:
And Isaac went out walking in the field toward evening and, looking up, he saw camels approaching. Raising her eyes, Rebekah saw Isaac. She alighted from the camel and said to the servant, “Who is that man walking in the field toward us?” And the servant said, “That is my master.” So she took her veil and covered herself. The servant told Isaac all the things that he had done. Isaac then brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he took Rebekah as his wife. Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death. [Genesis 24:63-67]
[British Museum, etching, 1801]
Isaac’s walk in the field is often understood as a meditation; it’s timing – ‘toward evening’ – connects with the daily afternoon prayer known as mincha. Rebekah sees Isaac at prayer. The sight of him overwhelms her. Rashi’s rewrite of the Midrash beautifully articulates this nuance. “She saw him majestic, and she was dumbfounded in his presence.” Aviva Zornberg detects a powerful and elemental clash in this moment. “What Rebecca sees in Isaac is the vital anguish at the heart of his prayers, a remoteness from the sunlit world of hesed that she inhabits.” The anguish of Isaac collides head on with the easy and untroubled hesed of Rebekah. Zornberg asks a powerful, and correct, question. “What dialogue is possible between two who have met in such a way?”
Yet, anguish and hesed do collide on occasion. Our current moment is such an occasion. A mere week ago, eleven murders turned the Tree of Life into a place of death and destruction. And during this past week, eleven funerals and shivas have extended that anguish for the loved ones of the victims, the beautiful Jews of Pittsburgh, and for all of us. The response to all that anguish has been overflowing hesed from every quarter and of every variety. In the face of horror, and in the presence of abiding decency and goodness, hesed and anguish can not only engage in dialogue, they can produce poetry.
[Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Meeting of Isaac and Rebekah, circa 1600]
The last sentence of the Torah’s description of Rebekah and Isaac’s first meeting contains two verbs. They tell the whole story. “Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death.” I’m not certain that time heals. I am 100% sure that love does. Overcoming his anguish and hurt, Isaac finds the ability to respond to Rebekah’s kindness with love. Comfort follows. Love others; allow yourself to be loved by others; comfort one another; find comfort. That’s the path. That’s the need of the hour. Simply that.
Shabbat Shalom.
