Our parashah is called “Chayyei Sarah” – “The Life of Sarah” – but Sarah is not our heroine. Sarah dies at the beginning of our reading; Rebecca, Sarah’s successor, takes centre stage.
Sarah and Rebecca’s lives unfold in echoes of one another. Both women leave Haran, journeying towards an unknown new life in Canaan. Both women are told by their respective husbands to play-act being his sister in order to protect him, thus ending up vulnerable in the court of a foreign king. Both women struggle with infertility. Both women harness the power they have, engaging in morally questionable behaviour, to secure the best life for their preferred son. And yet, they never meet.
When Rebecca arrives in Canaan, Isaac falls in love with her immediately and brings her into Sarah’s tent. I imagine Rebecca’s loneliness that first night. Perhaps she had hoped to meet her mother-in-law? Perhaps she had imagined how their relationship might grow, how Sarah might guide her and prepare her to become the next matriarch of Israel? And yet, all she finds is an empty tent. In her song, “Emeralds and Microscopes,” musical midrashist Alycia Jo Rabins conjures the image of Rebecca trying to communicate with Sarah:
You are welcome to visit me
any night in any dream
I will leave the door unlocked
come inside and let me say your name.
Rabins’ song taps into Rebecca’s yearning. If Rebecca cannot have an earthly guide, perhaps she can reach out to communicate with the woman in whose footsteps she now walks. Perhaps she might kindle a relationship with her ancestor.
In part due to the enthusiasm of my two-year-old daughter, the Disney film, Moana, has become a gargantuan presence in our house. Whilst mostly this has meant turning everything possible into a boat – pillows, boxes, a miniature tent – it has also given me an opportunity to reflect on the film’s Torah, specifically about the importance of growing a relationship with our ancestors. For the uninitiated, Moana tells the story of the daughter of a Polynesian chief who must resurrect her ancestral tradition of voyaging on long-distance canoes in order to save her people. Moana’s ancestors are an important presence in the film, appearing at particular turning points to offer inspiration, strength and resilience to the title character. While we’re never certain if the ancestors are literally there, or if their appearance is a manifestation of Moana’s internal process (at one point, she sings, “the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me!”), they are a key source of courage for our heroine. During a particularly moving scene, when Moana is at her lowest place, alone in the dark on her canoe with ocean on all sides, about to give up her mission, Moana sees a vision of her ancestors approaching on voyager canoes. A chief salutes her; the ethereal fleet floats silently past. It’s enough to resource Moana to continue her journey with resolve. I have yet to watch this scene without shedding a tear.
As Rebecca stands in that empty tent, miles away from home, does she yearn for something similar? Does she wish for an ancestor to light the way forward and give her resolve to commit to the new life that she has chosen? Does she ask herself, who was Sarah, this woman who came before me? How can I build a relationship with her, if I don’t know anything about her, beyond that she gave birth to my husband? Midrash Bereishit Rabbah offers us a clue:
All the days that Sarah was alive, there was a cloud suspended over the entrance to her tent. When she died, that cloud ceased. When Rebecca came, the cloud returned. All the days that Sarah was alive, the doors were kept wide open [for guests]. When Sarah died, that opening ceased. When Rebecca came, the opening returned. All the days that Sarah was alive, there was [divine] blessing bestowed upon her dough. When Sarah died, that blessing ceased. When Rebecca came, it returned. All the days that Sarah was alive, there was a lamp kindled from Shabbat night until Shabbat night. When Sarah died, that lamp ceased. When Rebecca came, it returned.
This midrash suggests that Rebecca begins kindling a relationship with Sarah by doing what Sarah did. In order to cultivate closeness with Sarah, she takes up particular practices that were Sarah’s domain during her lifetime. She welcomes guests, like Sarah. She kneads dough and bakes bread, like Sarah. She kindles the Shabbat lamp, like Sarah. This is enough to invite a cloud to descend upon Sarah’s tent once again, a cloud that suggests the presence of the Divine. By imitating Sarah’s behaviour, Rebecca is able to feel connected to Sarah and to Infinite Mystery that called both of them to this new place. She can now step into her power as matriarch.
Cultivating relationship with our ancestors can be an abundant source of strength and groundedness. Like Rebecca, one of the ways we can connect with our ancestors is by doing what they did. As individuals, we may remember a beloved relative by visiting a place they loved, baking a cake that was their specialty or listening to the song that they always had on repeat. As a community, each time we read a Jewish text or take part in a Jewish ritual, we are doing what so many Jews have done before us, reaching out across time to those on whose shoulders we stand. When we struggle, when we feel alone, when the brokenness of the world feels overwhelming, connecting to our ancestors can give us the courage to pick ourselves up and continue. Like Moana on her boat or Rebecca in Sarah’s tent, we can summon the resolve to keep moving.
Kohenet Yael Tischler, LBC rabbinical student
The views expressed in this D’var Torah do not necessarily reflect the position of Leo Baeck College.