Torah Teachings

This week’s parashah, Chayei Sarah — “the life of Sarah” — opens not with her living days, but with her death and burial in the family plot at Machpelah. And yet, the portion that bears her name is not really about Sarah’s passing — it’s about the legacy of her family.

In part, Chayei Sarah invites us to look closely at the quiet and complicated relationship between her son, Isaac, and her stepson, Ishmael. Between them lies a silence of seventy years — a long stretch of estrangement and unspoken hurt. The Torah tells us little about what happened between them, but our Midrashic tradition fills in the space with imagination and compassion. In Bereshit Rabbah we read of rivalry and jealousy, of two brothers each seeking their place in their father’s love. Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer tells us that their lives diverged completely — that Ishmael left his father’s home and was cut off from Isaac and all connection. Theirs is a story of separation so deep it seems beyond repair.

And yet — the Torah does not end their story there. When Abraham dies, Isaac and Ishmael bury their father together. In that moment of shared grief, they stand side by side, not as rivals but as brothers. Their reunion at the grave is not only an act of mourning; it is an act of healing, reminding us that their reconciliation is not merely the absence of conflict but an active process of building bridges, fostering empathy, and embracing common humanity, seeing the face of the divine in each other.

That, of course, is easier said than done. Today, looking back a mere ten years, although it can be longer, we as a Jewish community have grown increasingly divided. We struggle with deep disagreements — political, ideological, especially around Israel and the Palestinians, let alone social issues here in America. And now, the election of Zohran Mamdani as New York’s mayor-elect has exposed fresh rifts within the Jewish community, again challenging us to see if we can grow with each other in our disagreements — if not sometimes profoundly. It can feel as though we have drawn new family lines, forgetting that we are, in truth, still one family, regardless of age or worldview.

Maybe the problem lies in the words of Albert Einstein, who said, “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” The challenge before us, then, is not that we do not think — but whether we are thinking in ways that heal rather than harm.

Isaac and Ishmael made a choice — they chose to think differently than before — and it could not have been easy. We can imagine the silence that preceded their meeting, the hesitation before a word was spoken. How did they learn to listen? Could they trust each other? Was the pain too deep and irredeemable? What was it like to see another not as the “other,” but as a brother? Their story urges us to ask the same of ourselves.

As we navigate our own differences, may we find the courage to listen deeply, to seek understanding before judgment, and to honor the values that unite us even when our paths diverge. Also, may we find the courage to allow ourselves to be led by our Torah, which is laced with words of healing, respect for the other, and an equality before God that makes our enduring relationships with each other both worthy and sacred.

Reconciliation, after all, is not passive — it is a sacred act of bridge-building. And when we do that work, even amid our differences, it matters. If we can take small steps toward that kind of reconciliation, we can build a community where everyone feels they belong. It is a shame that we are still stuck in this loop, but we can break the cycle and let Ishmael and Isaac guide us as we create our own legacy.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky