Good morning, everyone, and Chazak u'Baruch (Be strong and blessed). Thank you for joining us on this beautiful Tuesday morning as we begin Parashat Vayera together. This is probably one of the most challenging parashiyot to wrap our fingers around as we read about the Akedat Yitzchak. God tells Avraham to sacrifice his son and offer him up as an olah (burnt offering), something we will never fully understand. What exactly does God want? Why is He telling Avraham to do this?
At the end, we know that He ends up not wanting Avraham to do this. He changes His mind. God sends an angel to tell Avraham, “Don’t kill your son.” So if He doesn’t want Avraham to kill his son, why is He bothering him and causing him all this emotional pain by asking him to kill his son in the first place? What’s going on? The whole thing is very, very difficult.
Be that as it may, the bottom line is that this is a story recorded in the Torah, and Hashem wants us to study it and understand it. Every year, we try to read it through a new lens, with a new understanding, as we get older and more mature in life, whether as parents or as children. We study the story. It has very deep significance.
So today, let us study the Akedah (the Binding) through the lens of Rabbi David Fohrman, whose parashah companion is a must-have. Please get it and study it; it’s life-changing. He is well known for what he calls a chiasm, what we call in Jewish literature Atbash. Atbash means that sometimes, when you look closely, you’ll find the pattern of Alef, Taf, Bet, Shin: A, Z, B, Y, C, X, and so on. It’s used a lot, even in Halakha (Jewish law). We find it in our writings.
But I had never seen it really being used. The way Rabbi Fohrman uses it is tremendous. He uses it in the text to understand the story and what the Torah is teaching us. Anyone who has listened to our classes in the past is no stranger to Rabbi Fohrman’s Atbash chiasm method.
He finds a very important chiasm right here, smack in the middle of the Akedah. Let’s look at it together. Try to open a Chumash (Pentateuch), if you can. It’s right here in chapter 22 in Bereshit. Maybe you want to pause, take a minute, and read the chapter to yourselves. You can start from the first Pasuk (verse).
The first chiasm is easy to find. We’re looking for two phrases that appear in this section of chapter 22. Sometimes a chiasm appears across a much wider range of the Torah, but this one appears in a very compact section. The first clue to our chiasm is a phrase. Try to read this to yourselves: what phrase appears and reappears? It’s right here: three words, “and they walked together.” It appears in Pasuk 6.
On the way up the mountain, remember, Avraham is going up the mountain with his son Yitzchak, and he’s about to offer his son in a few minutes. They are walking together. Good. That’s clue number one.
Two pesukim later, Avraham’s son says, “Dad, what’s going on? I see the wood. I see the sheep. Where’s the lamb?” Avraham responds, “God will show us the lamb,” and they walked together. So, so far, at the two ends of our chiasm, we have “they walk together” and “they walk together.” Very good.
What do you do when you have a chiasm? When you have your first clue, you take one step back from the first one and one step forward from the second one, because you’re moving further apart from each other. If we found, so to speak, our B and Y, now we’re going to look for our A and Z. So we go back one Pasuk from each.
The words right before they walk together the first time say that Avraham took the wood and placed it on his son. What comes right after the second time? Look at this; it’s very interesting. They arrived at the place, and Avraham built the altar. He lays them up, then ties up his son and places his son on the wood.
It’s very interesting, because if you pay attention, the chiasm actually continues. The first time, apart from when they walk together, Avraham put the wood on his son Yitzchak. He gave his son the wood to carry, so Yitzchak is carrying the wood. The second time around, he puts his son Yitzchak on the wood. The wood is carrying his son. So the chiasm goes even further. Did you ever notice that? It’s very interesting. I never noticed that. Yitzchak carries the wood; they walk together; they walk together; the wood carries Yitzchak. Yitzchak is on the wood.
If you keep searching, you’ll find a third pair. Before Avraham takes up the wood and after he puts Yitzchak on the wood, you’ll find that at the beginning of the story, God calls out to Avraham, and he says, “Here I am.” Do those words appear again? Actually, they appear a few times. But all the way at the end of the story, right after Avraham is ready to offer his son, the angel calls out from the heavens. He calls out to Avraham, and Avraham says, “Here I am.”
So we already have three letters, three elements in our Atbash, in our chiasm. We have Avraham saying, “Here I am”; his son carrying the wood; and their walking together: A, B, C. In reverse, they walk together, his son goes on the wood, and God calls out, and Avraham says, “Here I am.” Are you following me? Fascinating. We have A, B, C, C, B, A.
The chiasm may continue, but for now, we have to stop and go to the middle, because what is the point of this? This isn’t just to waste time or entertain you. This isn’t a cute Atbash—“Oh, very interesting, we noticed a pattern.” When the Torah creates this chiasm, it’s trying to teach us something, to point something out. The lesson is always going to be at the dead center of the chiasm. The Torah is trying to create a middle and show you, “Here’s where the story is at its climax, at its peak. This is what we’re trying to emphasize. Right here, pay attention.”
When you’re able to find the chiasm, you have to go all the way to its middle and ask yourself, “What’s at the center of it?” So let’s go to the middle as we study the story. Remember, it was A, B, C and C, B, A. What were the two C’s? They were “and they walk together” and “and they walk together.” What’s in between these two “walk together” phrases? We open up Pasuk 7. Vayomer—“and he said.” It’s a very moving story. Let’s open it and pay attention.
Vayomer Yitzchak el Avraham aviv. And Yitzchak, he says to his father, Avraham. He says, “Dad.” And Avraham says, “Here I am, son.” He says, “Dad, I see the wood, and I see the fire, but I don’t see a lamb.” Avraham responds, “My son, God will show us the lamb.”
It’s a technical conversation. “Dad, where’s the fire? Where’s the lamb? I don’t see it.” Avraham responds. But what’s fascinating is that these are the only words ever spoken between Avraham and Yitzchak in the entire Torah. As much as we know about Avraham, all the stories, and as much as we know about Yitzchak, this is the only recorded conversation between father and son, between the first patriarch and the second patriarch, between Avraham Avinu and Yitzchak Avinu. These are the only recorded words. The Torah doesn’t tell us anything else. Look, search far and wide. You will not find another recorded conversation. This is the one line, and here it is. The Torah is listing it for us. It’s telling us what that conversation is. The Torah doesn’t tell us all their conversations. Very interesting.
The Torah doesn’t tell us. I’m sure they spoke. They definitely spoke. They hung out. Whatever they did, the Torah doesn’t bother to tell us. The Torah isn’t here as a history book or a storybook. If it’s telling us this, it has to be an important conversation. Of every possible thing they ever said to each other, the Torah is saying, “This is the one thing I care to write down for you. This is what you need to know that Avraham and Yitzchak spoke about.” It’s this conversation right here. Just think about that for a second. That’s a wild idea.
This is the only thing we know about the two of them and their conversation, and it’s right here: “Dad, where’s the lamb?” “Son, God will show us the lamb.” That’s it. That’s what you care to tell me? That’s what I need to know about these two and what they said to each other? If there’s any way to sum up their relationship, it’s this: “Where’s the lamb, Dad?” “I don’t know. God will show us.” You couldn’t tell me anything nicer? “Dad, where’s Hashem? Where’s Hashem, Dad?” “Hashem is everywhere, son.” Maybe that’s a nice Rabbi Jonathan Sacks line. You know what I mean? I don’t know. This is what you want me to know about Yitzchak and his father, and the only conversation you decide to record? So obviously, we have to study this Pasuk a little more deeply. What does the Pasuk really say?
If you read it closely, it doesn’t make sense. “And Yitzchak said to Avraham, his father.” First of all, we know he’s his father. You didn’t need to tell me that. And the sentence doesn’t make sense for a few reasons. Number one, listen to the sentence. Why are you telling me “and he said” twice? “And Yitzchak said to his father, and he said.” That’s not a correct sentence. You could have said, “And Yitzchak said to his father.” That makes sense. But you don’t need to say, “And Yitzchak said,” and “and he said.” Why Vayomer, Vayomer?
Also, in Hebrew grammar, there are two ways to say “spoke.” There’s Vayomer and there’s Vaydaber. In English, we could say, “And he said,” and we could say, “And he spoke.” Vayomer is “and he said,” and it always needs to be followed by what was said. “And Yitzchak said to Avraham”—you need to tell me what he said. If he used the word Vaydaber, Vaydaber means not “said,” but “they spoke.” Vaydaber would make sense if you didn’t tell me what was said. “God spoke to Moses” is a good sentence. It makes sense by itself. “God spoke to Moses.” If it said, “Yitzchak spoke to his dad,” that would make sense. But it doesn’t say “spoke”; it says “said.” Then it doesn’t tell me what he said, and then it tells me again, and then he said that.
Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg suggests that when the Torah writes something like this, you have to read it literally. If you read it literally, the picture that emerges is: “And Yitzchak said something to his dad,” but then he said, “Dad.” That means Yitzchak was almost interrupting his own thoughts, his own words. He was saying one thing, interrupted himself, and said something else. He said, “Father.”
Now, if you’re Avraham Avinu, the last words in the world you want to hear are “Dad.” You do not want to hear those words right now. You’re about to take your son. You’re going to do something very difficult. You know it; your son doesn’t. You’ve been given this prophecy, this commandment by God to take your son, your only son, the one you love, the one who is supposedly your future, and offer him up as an offering. You’re very confused, you’re very bothered, but you’ll do it because you love God.
The last words Avraham—or any father in this moment—would want to hear are “Dad.” Imagine a dad has to put his child through very difficult surgery. It’s very painful, and sometimes we just want to go through the pain. We numb ourselves, and all of a sudden Yitzchak looks up and says, “Dad.” You could only cry. Just imagine the emotions that were probably stirring in Avraham right now. I mean, the test, what Avraham is going through—the roller coaster. Just, “What do you want from me? Just kill me now, God. How much can a person’s heart handle?” You’re asking me to do a very difficult thing, and I’ll do it, but don’t “Dad” me.
You know, if I’m Avraham, I’m putting in my headphones and just going up. I’m going to be laser-focused on the mission: numb yourself to the outside, to the voices, to the pain, to the distractions. Just do your job. Do what you have to do. Try to remove any emotional attachment possible at this moment.
The last thing I want to hear, if I’m Avraham Avinu, is, “Hey, Dad.” I don’t want to hear that from my son. Please don’t call me Dad, not right now. Don’t start reminding me that I’m your father and you’re my son. I don’t want to be emotionally present right now. No, no, don’t do this to me. I can’t handle this. I’m going to do what Hashem said because I love God, and I’m ready to do it. I’m going to do it.
And Avraham, in the middle of our chiasm, says, “Here I am, son.” That is almost the exact opposite of escaping. If running away, numbing yourself, or putting on headphones would be an escape, the very opposite of escape is, “Here I am. I am fully here, son. Not just here—yes, my son, I am here. Call me father all day long, and I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
And it’s not just that Avraham says, “I’m here,” because what does Yitzchak say? Yitzchak says, “I see the wood, I see the fire, but, Dad, where is that lamb?” Now, in Hebrew, how would you say “where”? How would you say “where”? “Oh, where? Oh, where can he be?” Why do you say “where” in Hebrew? Eifo, right? Eifo, for example, when Naomi said to her daughter-in-law Ruth, “Eifo lakat hayom?” Where did you get such wheat from today? She was asking a technical question: where did you go, where did you get it from? “Very wow, that’s a lot of wheat. Where did you get it from?” That’s one way to say “where”: Eifo.
But Ayyeh is a very different kind of “where.” Anyone know where Ayyeh is used for the first time? Maybe you can remember. Where was Ayyeh used? Because Ayyeh is not “where”; Ayyeh is more. Ayyeh—remember? Hashem said it. Very good. Ayyeka. God says to Adam, Ayyeka. Ayyeka is not “Where are you?” God didn’t want to know where he was. He knew exactly where he was. Ayyeh is more of an “unbothered, unbothered.” “Adam, where are you? You should be here. You shouldn’t be hiding.”
Ayyeh, where is the lamb? He didn’t say, “Eifo is the lamb.” Eifo is acting curious: “Where is the lamb?” Yitzchak doesn’t say that. Yitzchak is in the middle of a conversation, a Vayomer, and he says one thing. All of a sudden, Vayomer, and then he pauses that conversation and asks a very different question. He asks, “Dad, Ayyeh, where is the lamb?” It’s supposed to be here; it’s not here, and I’m a little bothered, Dad, because I’m starting to realize something. At this point in the story, Yitzchak is already onto it. Ayyeh—he’s bothered. “Where’s the lamb? It should be here, and it’s not here.” He’s not asking, you know, “Is it up there? It’s coming.” No, it’s deeper. He’s realizing, “Oh boy, oh boy, Dad, am I the lamb? Am I the lamb?” Yitzchak is onto the truth, and now Avraham knows that Yitzchak knows.
Avraham says to his son, “God will provide the lamb, my son.” And Rashi actually explains that this could be read in two ways. The simple way: “God will provide the lamb, my son.” Or: “God will provide the lamb: my son.” Either, “My son, God will provide the lamb,” or, “My son, you are the lamb.” Avraham is telling his son, “You’re asking me; I’ll tell you, son, I don’t know myself. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know. You’re asking me a good question. You’re asking me a difficult question. You’re asking me if I’m the lamb, and I’ll tell you, son, I honestly am asking myself the same thing. God came and commanded this thing to me, and I really don’t know what God wants, because He’s telling me to offer you, but He’s telling me you’re my future, and I’m confused too. But one thing I know is that we’re walking together in this.”
If you look in the middle of this chiasm, right here in these very precious pesukim, in this conversation—the only conversation between father and son—we find five Vayomers. Vayomer Yitzchak el Avraham aviv, and Yitzchak said to his dad. Vayomer avi, and he says, “Dad.” Vayomer hineni ben, and he says, “Here I am, son.” Vayomer, and he says, “Where is the lamb?” Vayomer, and he says, “God will show us the lamb.”
So, at the center of the chiasm, we have five Vayomers. And if you take the center of that center, the middle Vayomer, “Here I am, son,” Avraham is telling his son, “Right now, right here, in this most difficult moment in my life, when any normal human being would want to run away, I want you to know, son, that I am not hiding from you. I am here.” As impossible as this is, they went together; they went together. It’s one thing to go together on the way up the mountain when Yitzchak was clueless. Round one is okay; it’s easy. But they go together after Avraham says to his son, “You may be the lamb. You may be the lamb.” And it’s a testimony to the greatness of Yitzchak.
It’s also an amazing lesson in parenting. We don’t always have answers for our children. We don’t always know. Sometimes they look to us as adults, as parents, as people who are supposed to have wisdom and guidance. We’re supposed to know everything about life. We’re supposed to know all the answers. We’re supposed to have complete clarity. We’re supposed to be there and know why God does things and why a mitzvah (commandment) is the way it is. We’re supposed to know. Avraham is teaching us that we don’t always know. I don’t always know.
The lesson of the Akedah isn’t only that you have to have faith in God. Whatever you do in life, have faith in God. It wasn’t just about loyalty to Hashem. The Akedah may be teaching us something a little deeper: along with, and through, that loyalty to Hashem, we also have to make sure that we are just as loyal to our children, as difficult as that may be, and show our children that we have not abandoned them. “Here I am. I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that no matter what, I’m here for you, my son. When we get up the mountain, God will tell us what to do, and it’s okay. But here I am emotionally. I’m not running away. I’m not blocking you. I’m not hiding. I’m not abandoning you.”
It’s easy in life, if you want to be religious, to become a tyrant who just says, “You listen to me. Don’t ask questions,” especially when we don’t know the answers to the questions. Imagine a teacher who doesn’t know the answer. All of a sudden, it’s, “Don’t ask. How dare you ask?” Yitzchak asks a very difficult question, one that Avraham does not know the answer to. You know what Avraham says? “I don’t know.” There’s something I don’t know. But I know that I love you, and I know that whatever happens, I’m here for you. I know that I’m not going to let you go, and I know that I love you, even though sometimes loving means I have to do the harder thing, the more difficult thing. It means I have to do the painful thing, but I’m going to be in here. I’m going to be present.
And this, my friends, may be the depth of the Akedah: I can give Hashem what He wants and do for Hashem, and at the same time remain emotional and present. I don’t become numb to life, to the choices.
Sometimes in life we don’t know the answer. Sometimes in life you’re paying respects, and sometimes it’s a very difficult death. Sometimes it’s sad. Sometimes it’s a tragedy. I don’t know the answer. It’s sad when old people die. Sometimes it’s tragic: a young kid. It’s horrible to understand. And you’re paying respects. You know what? Sometimes the answer in life is, “I don’t know the answer.” And it’s okay: I’m here with you. I don’t know the answer. I don’t know why God does things.
Sometimes we feel like we have to be God’s lawyer. We have to give all the reasons why Hashem does things. We have to say this and that. You know what Avraham says? “I don’t know the answer, but I’m here. I’m here. I can hold your hand through this process. I’m feeling your pain, and maybe I don’t understand it, but I’m emotional and involved. Maybe I don’t know how to help my wife, but I’m here, honey. You don’t have to always fix it. You don’t have to always fix it. It’s okay not to have the answer, but I’m here when life hurts. I’m here. I’m present.”
As difficult as it’s going to be, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what God is going to tell us. But right here: Vayomer, Hineni, Beni (“Here I am, my son”). So the center of our chiasm is this: God is sometimes asking us in life, “Can we be present? Can we be present when Hashem sends us challenges?” He doesn’t want us to be numb to those challenges.
Sometimes we escape, and sometimes we escape to Torah. People can escape to Torah. Torah should not be an escape, because it’s an escape at the end of the day. It’s an escape. What does it matter if I escape to a movie or if I escape to a book? It’s an escape. Hashem wants us to be here, whatever it is that we are going through.
When we show the people around us that we are here, we don’t have life’s answers, but we are here, and we’re here to listen and speak up, my son. Whatever question you have, as bothered as you are, you can be bothered with faith. You can be bothered with religion. You can be bothered about something I did, a decision I made. As parents, we have to make decisions, and one kid is going to be happy and the other one isn’t. “I’m here for you, son. Speak up. You can ask. What’s your question? I may not have the answer, but I just want you to know I’m here and I’m holding your hand.”
And when we do, you know what happens? Yitzchak does not run off that mountain. He doesn’t say, “You know what, the heck with this, I’m out of here. See you later, old man.” He walks up that mountain with his father, the very same way he walked up just a few pesukim earlier, when he was naïve and thought it was a regular lamb. Later in the story, he finds out it may be him. But if my father is here for me, then I can march forward in life with strength and resilience.
And B'ezrat Hashem (with God’s help), we will always be able to guide those around us up the mountain of life toward reaching greatness.