26 Oct CHAYEI SARA-WHAT COMES FIRST: LOVE OR MARRIAGE?

ABRAHAM,
ISAAC AND
JACOB: THE
MORNING,
DUSK, AND
NIGHT OF
JUDAISM
ISAAC AND REBECCA
The first act of marriage described in
the Torah is the one between Isaac and
Rebecca, in this week’s portion, Chayei
Sarah. It is also the first time the Torah
depicts the love between a man and a
woman. “And Isaac took Rebecca, she
became his wife, and he loved her.”
In the beginning of Genesis, after
creating the first man and woman,
Adam and Eve, G-d says: “Therefore
man should leave his father and mother
and cleave (v’davak) to his wife,
and they shall become one flesh.”
Yet this implies primarily a physical
relationship, as the verse concludes,
“they shall become one flesh.” Love, on
the other hand, is an intense emotional
bond. It is mentioned for the first time
first not by Adam and Eve, not by
Abraham and Sarah, but by Isaac and
Rebecca.
To be sure, Abraham and Sarah enjoyed
a profoundly loving relationship.
Married for many decades without
children, they trailblazed together
a new trail in history. They heeded
the voice of G-d to leave behind
their families and chart
a new path to change the
world. Sarah risked her
life twice for Abraham
when she maintained
she was his sister, not his
wife. Abraham refused
to cohabit with her maid
Hagar, but after she
insisted that he does,
“Abraham heeded the
voice of Sarai.” Abraham
listened to Sarah’s advice
to expel Ishmael from
their home, even when he
personally disagreed. After
Sarah’s death one senses
the depth of Abraham’s
grief and his intricate
negotiations to grant his
wife her final honor by burying her in
the cave where he too would one day
be interred.
Yet the Torah’s first usage of the term
love between spouses is reserved for
Isaac and Rebecca: “And Isaac took
Rebecca, she became his wife, and he
loved her.”
What is unique about their marriage?
And why is this sort of description
never repeated in the Torah?
Jacob loves Rachel, the Torah tells us.
But that’s before he married her: “And
Jacob Loved Rachel, and he said [to
her father]: “I will work for you for
seven years for your youngest daughter
Rachel.” With Jacob and Rachel, the
love precedes the marriage. With Isaac
and Rebecca, the love follows the
marriage. Why the difference?
NO FRICTION
What is more, with our other patriarchs
and matriarchs we observe moments
of tension (of course relative to their
lofty and sacred stature). Sarah tells
Abraham, “I am angry at you.” Rachel
too complains to Jacob about her
childlessness; “and Jacob became
angry at Rachel, saying, ‘Am I in the
place of G-d?”
In contrast, between Isaac and Rebecca,
no friction is ever recorded.
This was not because they never
disagreed. To the contrary, the Torah
states, that Rebecca loved Jacob, while
Isaac loved Essay. While Isaac wishes
to bless Esau, Rebecca instructs Jacob
to dress up like his brother and obtain
the blessings for himself. That could
have easily resulted in a quarrel—but
it did not.
DAWN AND DARKNESS
The sages in the Talmud present a
fascinating tradition about the three
daily prayers in Judaism. Abraham
instituted the morning prayer,
shacharis; Isaac instituted the afternoon
prayer—mincha; and Jacob initiated
the evening prayer, maariv.
The Talmud derives this from the
biblical verses. But what is the
thematic connection between our
three forefathers and these particular
prayers? And why do we have three
daily prayers? (Mohammed instituted
five daily prayers for Muslims,
mimicking our Yom Kippur model; yet
on a daily basis we have three.)
Morning brings with it a fresh and
exhilarating energy. As a new day
emerges, we have this sense (at least
till we check our phone) that new
possibilities are beaconing upon us. As
the first rays of light cast their glow on
our horizon, a new dawn breaks our
imagination as well. Morning brings
with it new frontiers to conquer and
fresh glimmers of hope. One of the
great spiritual masters, Rabbi Schneur
Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812) writes,
that when a person awakes, he or she
feels instinctively a sense of happiness
and promise. We press the restart
button.
This is the story of Abraham. He
embodied the morning of Judaism,
bringing the dawn of a new era to earth.
He opened humanity to a new reality,
a new vision. He heralded a novel,
message. The world is not a hopeless
jungle; it is a Divine palace. We are not
an insignificant speck of dust on the
surface of infinity; we matter. Humanity
is not a helpless folk subjected to the
whims of competing gods, but part of a
single narrative, united in the image of
a moral and loving Creator. Abraham
taught that there was purpose in history
and meaning in life.
Who was Abraham? “Abraham woke
up early in the morning to
the place where he stood
previously,” the Torah states.
Then again, when he is
instructed to bring his son
to Mt. Moriah, “Abraham
woke up in the morning.”
The Torah rarely presents the
details of daily life, unless
they convey an important
theme. Following a long
and dark night, Abraham
ushers in the morning
for civilization. Abraham
instituted the morning
(shacharis) prayer, topping
into the unique spiritual
energy of daybreak, when
you stretch out your arms
and embrace the new day.
Jacob, in contrast, embodies the night
of Judaism. The kingdom of night is
full of mystique, solitude, darkness,
drama and romance. Jacob’s life is
raddled with darkness, uncertainty,
loneliness, struggle and trauma,
fraught with drama and mystery. In
the words of the prophet Isaiah: “Why
do you say, O Jacob, why declare, O
Israel, ‘My way is hid from the Lord,
my cause is ignored by my G-d’”?
No personality in the Torah is so
connected with night as Jacob. In
middle of the night, the Torah relates,
“Jacob remained alone, and a man
fought with him till dawn broke.”
Jacob tells his father-in-law Laban:
“Twenty years I have been with you…
scorching heat ravaged me by day, and
frost by night; sleep eluded my eyes.”
Jacob, says the Torah, “came upon a
certain place and stopped there for the
night, for the sun had set. Taking one of
the stones of that place, he put it under
his head and lay down in that place.”
He then dreams of a “ladder standing
on the ground, but its top reaches
heaven.”
Jacob taught the Jewish people and
the world how to encounter the Divine
during the turbulence and obscurity
of night. “And Jacob woke up from
his sleep and he said, ‘Indeed! G-s is
present in this space, even if I did not
know it.’” Jacob feels the presence
of G-d even in a space of darkness
and adversity, even if his brain can’t
always figure out how. Jacob created
the evening prayer—the connection to
G-d amidst the mystery and drama of
nightfall. As the sun set again and yet
again in his life, he traveled internally
to discover the source of light from
within.
THE MONOTONY OF AFTERNOONS
How about the vibe of afternoon?
Smack in the middle of a long and
arduous day, lacking the freshness of
morning and the mystery of evening,
afternoons are often characterized
by monotony. The day in the office
is dragging on, and I am drained. If I
am lucky enough to be a house mom
or dad, afternoon comes with its own
stress: The children are returning from
school, dinner is not made, the house
is a mess, and I am in a bad mood; it’s
been a long day.
What is the energy that beacons to us
during those dull afternoons? What is
the spiritual heartbeat of the flat hours
in the day, when I’m just waiting to go
home?
It is the story of Isaac.
Isaac’s life was—superficially
speaking—not as colorful as his father’s
or son’s life. Unlike his father Abraham
he did not wage and win wars, nor
did he did not travel extensively and
change the vocabulary of humanity.
He was never a world celebrity, titled
by the Hittites as “a prince of G-d.” He
was not a founder of a new religion, or
the progenitor of a new nation. He was
not the “revolutionary” that his father 

was.
Nor did his life contain the drama of
his son Jacob. Isaac did not flee his
brother’s wrath; he did not fight in
middle of the night; he did not fall in
love with Rachel, and then experience
deceit; he did not lose his son to a
wild animal only to discover 22 years
later that his beloved child became the
Prime Minister of the superpower of
the time. He did not relocate his entire
family to a new country at an old ripe
age.
Isaac lived in one location, and he
never left it. His was more of a simple
life. The only thing the Torah really
tells us about his vocation is that he
grew grain and dug many a well. Isaac
represents the long and seemingly
tedious “afternoon” of Jewish history.
Therein lies his singular uniqueness.
Isaac’s life might lack the grandeur,
excitement, challenge and mystique of
Abraham and Jacob, yet he embodies
the essence and foundation of Judaism:
The daily consistent and unwavering
commitment to G-d and His work.
Abraham was a revolutionary; he cast
a new light on the world, but it was
Isaac who created the vessels to contain
and internalize the light. Isaac dug the
wells of Judaism: he went deeply into
himself and the world around him
and revealed the subterranean living
wellsprings of faith and commitment,
ensuring that the flow never ceases.
Isaac’s relative silence in the boog
of Genesis ought not to be confused
with passivity; it was rather a silence
that comes with internalization. Isaac
knew that revolutions can last for a few
decades, but if you do not create solid
containers for the energy (represented
by the wells in the ground) the energy
will fade away.
Isaac at one point of his life lay on an
altar, ready to become an offering for
G-d. This became the hall mark of his
life: He embodied absolute dedication
and resilience, consistent, unwavering,
and unbending.
Isaac is the founder of the afternoon
prayer, the “mincha” of Judaism. “And
Isaac went out to meditate in the field
at dusk,” the Torah states in this week’s
portion. Isaac tapped into the spiritual
energy of the “boring afternoons”,
showing us that a relationship with
G-d does not consist only of the
spontaneous exuberant morning
inspiration, or of the drama and
romance of night. A relationship with
G-d is expressed even more profoundly
in the daily commitment and sacrifices
we make for truth, love, goodness, and
holiness. He bequeathed us with the
internal resilience and strength to bring
G-d into the dull and tedious journeys
of life.
It is afternoon in your office. You need
to respond to dozens of emails, catch
the bank, return many a call, and still
field a few annoying appointments.
But you stand up to daven “mincha,”
to connect with G-d. You are busy,
stressed, and tired; yet you leave
everything behind, and you take time
out and try to break out of the routine
to focus on truth, on G-d, on eternity.
Here is where the power of Isaac lay,
the still voice of dedication that never
falters.
A TALE OF THREE MARRIAGES
Marriage, too, has three components:
the morning, the night—and the period
of afternoon and dusk.
When we meet our soulmate, a new
dawn overwhelms our heart’s horizon.
We are overtaken by the newness and
freshness of the experience. We are
excited, inspired, full of hope of what
our joined future might look like.
This is the “Abraham” of marriage,
the morning—shacharis— of a
relationship.
Marriage also has those special
moments of moonlight mystery and
drama. The passion and electricity
that comes from the unknown, from
discovering the untold layers of
depth in our spouse’s soul; the special
awareness that is born from dealing
with darkness and uncertainty. This is
the “Jacob” element of marriage, the
evening—”maariv”—of a relationship.
But then there is the “mincha” of
marriage—the simple, unromantic,
non-dramatic, commitment of two
people to each other, during the boring
and flat days of life. Two souls holding
hands together through the vicissitudes
of life, in difficult times, in serene
times, in monotonous moments and
in thrilling moments. It is the loyalty
and trust built over years of supporting
each other.
This creates a unique type of love.
There is the love born out of thrill,
drama, and exhilaration. This is the love
that precedes marriage. You fall in love
with your new partner, you are swept
off your feet by the sunrise in your life.
But there is another type of love that is
born out of the daily commitment and
dedication to each other. This love can
never be experienced before marriage,
only afterward.
This was Isaac’s love. It’s the “mincha”
love, the one that comes from an
ongoing, consistent bond in the daily
grind of life. It is why the Torah states:
“And Isaac took Rebecca, she became
his wife, and he loved her.” First Isaac
marries her, and only then does he
come to love her.
A TALE OF TWO LOVES
What is the difference between the two
loves?
In the first love, born out of the ecstasy
of a new passionate relationship, the
shorter we are married, the more the
love; the longer we are married, the
more difficult to love. As the thrill
wanes, boredom sets in, and we
sometimes grow disinterested. In the
latter Isaac-type love, it is the reverse:
the longer we are married, the deeper
we grow in love. We don’t fall in love;
we climb in love. The love becomes like
a deep well, discovered in the depths of
the earth, and its life sustaining waters
never cease to flow.
The first marriage described in Torah
is the one of Isaac and Rebecca, in
order to teach us one of the most
important principles in marriage:
Passion and romance are awesome,
but as our circumstances change, they
can fade away. A marriage must be
built on good judgment, sound reason,
an appreciation of the inner, enduring
qualities and values of the other person,
and it must possess the enduring
commitment of a couple to each other,
day-in day-out, in a bond of steadfast
and simple faithfulness and trust.
Parenthetically, this is the reason
Jewish law insists on no physical
relations before marriage. This ensures
that the couple decides to get married
not based on physical attraction alone,
because this may change with time, but
with an appreciation of the character
traits, inner personality and values
of the other person, for these will not
change. Often, when men or women
get physically involved, they become
intoxicated by the pleasure and their
blind spots cause them to overlook
crucial information which might come
to the surface a few years down the line
and sadly sever the connection.
Our culture knows, perhaps, how to
pray “shacharis” and “maariv.” We
desperately need the discover the
enduring secret of “mincha.”