פרשת וירא
This week’s Parsha concludes the ten trials of Avraham Avinu, culminating with his being asked by Hashem to offer up his only son as a sacrifice on the altar on Mt. Moriah. The Rambam, in his famous work the Moreh Nevuchim (Vol. III) points out that we can determine two amazing character traits about Avraham’s personality from the way he responded to Hashem’s esoteric request. Firstly, we can observe how sure Avraham, and indeed all the prophets were about the voracity of their prophecy. If Avraham was willing to kill another human being based upon that prophecy, and moreover, his own son whom Hashem had explicitly promised him would be the progenitor of the Jewish nation, Avraham must have been VERY sure, beyond any doubt, that it was Hashem talking to him and not a mere glitch in his nervous system. Based on the Chumash’s account, it would be very difficult to argue that prophecy was some sort of self-hypnotic state, or wishful thinking on the part of the prophet, and was rather nothing short of an undeniable revelation of the Master of the Universe. This thought is very encouraging when we consider that a large portion of our religion is based on the prophecies received from the various holy diviners throughout the ages. The second lesson which the Rambam derives from these events is the Avos’ incredible love for their Maker. Avraham waited for almost a century for Yitzchak to be born. Who knows how many tears he cried of frustration and anxiety about not having an heir or somebody from his own blood to continue his life’s work, and just the simple pain of being childless? How could he do this to his dedicated and loving wife Sarah? It didn’t make any sense on an intellectual level, it was unimaginably painful on an emotional level, yet the minute Avraham determined that this was what Hashem wanted from him, he embarked on his mission without any hesitation. Furthermore, it took him three days to arrive at his destination, proving that it wasn’t a whimsical act which he would have regretted later, rather it was a well thought out action, done with premeditation and serenity. How could he have done this were it not for his indescribable and unquenchable love for Hashem who had commanded him to do it!
The Slonimer Rebbe quotes the Midrash in this week’s Parsha which says, “Love causes deviation from normal protocol.” Simply put, powerful feelings of love cause us to do things that may seem irrational to the rest of the world, but seem completely rational to the one in love. He goes on to say that in fact, the entire test of Avraham Avinu was not whether he would carry through with the instruction or not, but rather how he would do it. It could very well be that many Jews who were commanded by Hashem to do something of this magnitude would have complied, but the question is how. Would they comply with a great deal of resentment, gritting their teeth throughout their “sacrifice?” Such a service would not have necessarily earned them the title or merit which Avraham received. On the other hand, we find that Avraham woke up early and saddled the donkey himself for the journey to slaughter his son for Hashem’s sake. He even carried the wood with him, a task which might seem superfluous being that there is wood everywhere. The Slonimer answers that Avraham knew that right now, while the commandment was still fresh in his mind, he could be sure that he would chop that wood with tremendous gusto, an emotion which he wasn’t sure he would still be able to maintain when he reached the top of the mountain. He therefore chose to chop that lumber now, while he could still be positive that his enthusiasm was piqued. The Midrash goes on to say that when Avraham was holding the knife over his son, about to carry through with the deed, he was weeping copiously, and there was great joy in his heart. The brother of the Vilna Gaon explains this seeming contradiction by saying that these tears were very unique tears. Avraham wanted to give something extra to Hashem, so he began generating all sorts of emotions in his heart of love for his son, and deep meaningful bonding right before he was about to slaughter him so that his offering could be that much more significant. Those tears that he shed were tears of feeling and affection for Yitzchak, which Avraham had deliberately invoked in order that his gift to Hashem would contain greater volume. Who could have dreamed of such an idea other than somebody who was wildly and passionately in love, and interested in continually showing and increasing that love?
The Beis Halevi adds a very interesting facet of Avraham’s love for Hashem. At the beginning of the Torah’s account of the Akeidah, Avraham uncharacteristically tells Ishmael to stay with the donkey while he and Yitzchak go up to the mountain to serve Hashem. Chazal teach us that Avraham was hinting to the fact that the progeny of Ishmael would always be similar to donkeys in their nature and temperament. For Avraham, who was the epitome of kindness, such a statement seems rather caustic, and why did he need to hint to this now? The Beis Halevi explains that when Hashem commanded Avraham to offer up Yitzchak, he used the term, “Your only son.” Avraham understood that this was done deliberately to make the test a bit more challenging because a person with two sons is far more likely to be able to offer one of them up than a person with only one son. Now that he was commanded to offer up Yitzchak, his natural inclination may have been to reconsider whether or not Ishmael could play a pivotal role in continuing Avraham’s work. He therefore needed to remind himself of what Hashem had already told him, that Ishmael was not a viable option, and that as far as he was concerned, he truly only had one son, thereby making his willingness to sacrifice him that much more consequential.
In truth, all Jews are required to attempt to emulate Avraham and generate as much love as they can for their Creator and allow this love to translate into action. The primary way to do this is to focus one’s thoughts on how much Hashem does for him, and has always done for him since he was a fetus, and how much He will continue to do for him during the natural course of his life. This love should in turn generate a powerful desire to serve that entity that has provided him with so much good. R’ Tzaddok Hakohen says that while we think that our thoughts are random, and come and go from our brains as they please, this is not so. Every human being has the ability to control his thoughts by choosing what to focus on, thereby effectively placing in his mind on exactly what he wants to. For example, if a person chooses to focus on how to increase his pleasure or comforts in life, this is probably what will occupy most of his imagination. Whereas if a person realizes that in truth, Hashem is the only real focus in his life, as Avraham did, even things like family, relationships, and livelihood, will all take a backseat compared to Hashem. This is the love we are describing which a person must strive to reach in order to properly serve Hashem. There must be literally nothing else in his life. R’ Tzaddok offers a practical piece of advice to help a person reach this lofty state. He says that when a person wakes up in the morning, he should spend a few moments contemplating his love for Hashem, and doing a mental virtual walkthrough of his day, visualizing how he could serve Hashem at each point during the expected events of that day. What he can give up, or how he can tweak his service, and fine tune his actions so that they adequately reflect that love which he feels. This will certainly aid a person in this elusive goal.
May we all merit to strive for the love of Hashem that Avraham had, and to properly express that love in everything we do!