Parshat Lech Lecha4 min read

Abraham's Prayer for Ishmael Before the Promise Came

Abraham hears he will have a son through Sarah and his first words ask that Ishmael live before God. Philo and Jubilees read that prayer very differently.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Moment the Promise Arrived
  2. What Philo Heard in the Plea
  3. How the Book of Jubilees Kept the Wound Open
  4. The Desert Settlement of What Was Owed

The Moment the Promise Arrived

Abraham is nearly one hundred. God is speaking. The words are the ones he has waited for his whole life: Sarah will bear a son, and the covenant will pass through him. It is everything. It is the fulfillment of the promise that started in Ur, that carried him across every border, that held through famine and captivity and years of barrenness that would have broken a lesser man.

And his first words are for Ishmael.

"O that Ishmael might live before You" (Genesis 17:18). The rabbis and interpreters who came after Abraham could not leave that sentence alone. What was the father asking? What does it mean to want your first son to live before God, in the moment when God is promising you a second son?

What Philo Heard in the Plea

Philo of Alexandria, working in the first century CE with the philosophical precision he brought to every verse, read the request as an act of qualified faith. Abraham says, in Philo's hearing: I do not despair of a better generation. I believe the promise. But it would be enough blessing for me if this son who is already alive would simply live before You in the meantime, before Isaac arrives.

The key word is before You. Abraham is not asking for Ishmael to replace Isaac. He is not rejecting the covenant. He is asking whether the living son can remain near God while the promised son is still becoming. Philo hears a man who has understood the hierarchy perfectly and is grieving inside it without contesting it.

The Midrash of Philo presses further. Ishmael was the son of a moment of human impatience, born from Hagar because Sarah had not yet conceived. He was Abraham's transgression in the philosophical sense: the move toward a lesser good when the greater good was taking too long. But Abraham loved him. The theology of the text forces a question: can God reject the son while the father still loves him? Philo's answer is careful. God does not reject Ishmael. God redirects him.

How the Book of Jubilees Kept the Wound Open

The Book of Jubilees, an ancient retelling of Genesis and Exodus dated to the 2nd century BCE and preserved in the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition, handles the same scene without Philo's softening. Abraham falls on his face. The text of Jubilees reports that he rejoiced, laughed, and said in his heart: shall a son be born to me at one hundred? Shall Sarah, who is ninety, bring forth?

There is awe in this, and some disbelief, but also a kind of private arithmetic. Abraham is counting the gap between what is real now and what will be real then. Ishmael is real now. Isaac is future. The covenant is sealed not with Ishmael, who was circumcised the same day as Abraham and all the males of the household, but with Isaac, who has not yet been born.

Jubilees watches Abraham work. He does not wait. He takes Ishmael his son and all the males of his house and circumcises them that same day. The obedience is immediate and total. The wound of losing the first son to secondary status is carried without being resolved.

The Desert Settlement of What Was Owed

When Hagar and Ishmael are finally expelled into the wilderness, the Book of Jubilees does not let them disappear. An angel of God, one of the holy ones, speaks to Hagar in her desperation. He assures her that God has heard the voice of Ishmael crying. He names Ishmael's future: twelve princes, a great nation, a son whose descendants will fill the land.

This is the answer to Abraham's prayer. He asked that Ishmael live before God. The answer comes not in the tent but in the wilderness, not through Abraham's witnessing but through God's own speech to the mother. Ishmael does live before God. The covenant with Isaac does not require Ishmael's abandonment. It requires only that the lines be kept distinct.

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

The Midrash of Philo 18:1The Midrash of Philo

One such moment comes to us in (Genesis 17:18). Abraham, after hearing God's promise of a son, Isaac, through Sarah, turns to God and says, "O may my son Ishmael live before thee!"

Why did he say that?

What was he really asking? What was he hoping for? And what does it tell us about Abraham's character?

The Midrash of Philo, a collection of interpretations and expansions on the Torah, offers a fascinating glimpse into this very question. We have to remember the context. God has just told Abraham, then still called Abram, that he will have a son with Sarah, a son who will carry on the covenant. This son will be named Isaac, Yitzchak in Hebrew, meaning "he will laugh." A beautiful, joyous name, foretelling a future filled with promise.

But Abraham already has a son. Ishmael.

So, when Abraham utters those words, "O may my son Ishmael live before thee," it's not necessarily a rejection of God's promise. Instead, it can be viewed as a father's heartfelt concern for his firstborn. He's not saying, "Forget about Isaac, just bless Ishmael." No, the Midrash of Philo suggests something deeper.

Perhaps Abraham is thinking about inheritance. About legacy. About the future of his family as a whole. He’s not trying to circumvent God’s will, but rather, seeking a way for Ishmael to also share in the divine blessing. He's asking "Can't we find a way for both my sons to be blessed?" What parent wouldn't want the best for all their children? Even when one child is destined for greatness, the love for another doesn't simply vanish. Abraham's words might be interpreted as a reflection of his deep paternal love and concern.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) invites us to consider the complexities of human relationships, even within the context of divine promises. It reminds us that faith and doubt, hope and fear, can coexist within the same heart. Abraham's plea is a evidence of his humanity, his vulnerability, and his unwavering love for his children.

So, the next time you read that verse, (Genesis 17:18), pause for a moment. Consider the weight of Abraham's words. Consider the father's heart behind the plea. It's in these moments of contemplation, in these explorations of the spaces between the lines, that we can truly begin to understand the depth and richness of our tradition. What does this brief exchange tell us about how we should approach relationships with those we love? About how we can balance celebrating one person's success while still holding space for another's needs? These are questions worth pondering, aren't they?

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The Midrash of Philo 18:2The Midrash of Philo

Our ancestor Abraham knew that feeling well. We find him in a fascinating moment in the Midrash of Philo, confronting hope, faith, and the very definition of a "blessing."

Philo, that brilliant Jewish philosopher from Alexandria, gives us a unique lens into the Torah. Here, he interprets Abraham’s plea regarding his son Ishmael. Remember Ishmael? Born not of Sarah, Abraham's wife, but of Hagar, her handmaid.

Abraham says, “O Lord, I do not despair of a better generation, but I believe thy promise: nevertheless, it would be a sufficient blessing for me for this son to live who in the meantime is a living son, standing visibly, even though he be not so according to the legitimate blood, but is only born of a concubine.” for a second. Abraham is acknowledging God's promise of a great nation through his lineage. He has faith in a future, a “better generation.” Yet, he’s also pleading for the son he already has, the son standing right before him. He’s saying "Even if Ishmael isn't the 'chosen' one, can't he still be blessed? Isn't his life enough?"

Philo sees something deeper here. He suggests that Abraham isn't just asking for life, but for an especial life – a life in God. What does that even mean? Philo equates it with “rejoicing in the presence of God with a salutary soundness of mind, which is equal to immortality.” Wow. That’s a far cry from simply existing.

It’s about being fully present, mind, body, and soul, in the divine light. It’s about a joy so profound, so complete, that it transcends the limitations of our mortal existence.

And then Philo drops another gem. He suggests that simply hearing divine law isn't enough. It needs to penetrate deeper. It needs to “enter more deeply into the inward man, and to form his principal part.” It must shape who we are at our core.

Philo argues that a life truly worthy of God's gaze is a life formed in accordance with His word. Not just knowing the rules, but becoming them. Living them. Breathing them. Integrating them into the very fabric of our being.

Is Abraham asking for too much? Is it greedy to want both the promised future and the present blessing?

Perhaps not. Perhaps he’s showing us that true faith isn't just about believing in what will be, but about cherishing what is, and striving to live a life so deeply connected to the Divine that it echoes with eternity.

What does it mean to you to live a life "in God?" How can we move beyond simply hearing the words to truly embodying them? Something to ponder, isn't it?

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Book of Jubilees 15:21Book of Jubilees

A reader can skim over those verses in Genesis, but the Book of Jubilees gives us a peek into his immediate reaction.

the verse says, “And Abraham fell on his face, and rejoiced, and said in his heart: ‘Shall a son be born to him that is a hundred years old, and shall Sarah, who is ninety years old, bring forth?’”

Can you imagine the sheer awe and maybe a little disbelief? I mean, a hundred years old! Sarah, ninety! It's a miracle of epic proportions, a evidence of God’s power to defy all odds. Abraham's response is fascinating. He doesn't just nod and accept; he's overwhelmed, expressing his astonishment internally, in his heart.

Then, Abraham, ever the compassionate father, makes a plea. "O that Ishmael might live before thee!" He’s thinking of his firstborn, the son he already loves. He wants God's blessing on Ishmael's life, too. It’s a very human moment, this concern for all his children.

And God, in His infinite wisdom and understanding, responds with reassurance. "Yea, and Sarah also will bear thee a son, and thou wilt call his name Isaac, and I shall establish My covenant with him, an everlasting covenant, and for his seed after him." The covenant, the promise, it’s all tied to Isaac. The future of the Jewish people, the lineage, everything hinges on this miraculous birth.

But God doesn't dismiss Ishmael. He acknowledges Abraham's concern. "And as for Ishmael also have I heard thee, and behold I shall bless him, and make him great, and multiply him exceedingly, and he will beget twelve princes, and I shall make him a great nation."

Isn't that remarkable? God makes a promise to bless Ishmael, too. He will be made great, father twelve princes, and become a great nation. It’s a powerful affirmation that even though the covenant is specifically through Isaac, Ishmael is not forgotten or forsaken.

What I find so beautiful about this passage from Jubilees is the balance it strikes. The unique covenant, the miracle of Isaac's birth, and the compassionate consideration for Ishmael. It reminds us that blessings aren’t always zero-sum. God's love and provision are vast enough to encompass multiple paths, multiple destinies. And it speaks to the enduring power of a parent's love, wanting the best for all their children, regardless of circumstance.

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Book of Jubilees 15:25Book of Jubilees

Book of Jubilees turns to The Covenant Sealed With Isaac Not Ishmael.

So what does Abraham do? Does he sit around and wait? Nope. He gets to work. "And Abraham did according as God had said unto him, and he took Ishmael his son, and all that were born in his house, and whom he had bought with his money, every male in his house, and circumcised the flesh of their foreskin." (Jubilees 15:4).

The Book of Jubilees emphasizes the immediate and comprehensive nature of Abraham's obedience. It wasn't just about him. It included his entire household, all the males. This act of brit milah (circumcision), becomes a physical manifestation of the covenant, a visible sign of belonging. And it wasn't just for those born into the household, but also "those, whom he had bought with money from the children of the stranger, were circumcised with him." (Jubilees 15:5).

What does this detail tell us? Perhaps it speaks to the inclusive nature of the covenant. It wasn't just about bloodlines; it was about commitment and belonging. It was about choosing to be part of something bigger than oneself.

The text concludes with a powerful image: "And on the selfsame day was Abraham circumcised, and all the men of his house, (and those born in the house)." (Jubilees 15:5). On the very same day. No delay. No hesitation. A complete and immediate act of faith and commitment.

This passage from Jubilees 15, while brief, is packed with meaning. It's about promise, obedience, and the power of ritual. It's about how a physical act can become a symbol of identity and belonging, a way of connecting to something ancient and profound. And it all started with a promise and a willingness to act. It makes you wonder, what promises are we holding onto, and what actions are we taking to bring them to life?

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Book of Jubilees 17:18Book of Jubilees

Hagar knew that feeling intimately.

We find her story, or at least a piece of it, echoed in the Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text that retells and expands upon stories from the Hebrew Bible. This book, considered pseudepigrapha, writings whose authorship is falsely ascribed, offers fascinating details not found in the Torah itself.

Here, we catch up with Hagar after she's been cast out into the wilderness with her son, Ishmael. Can you imagine the fear, the thirst, the sheer desperation?

This teaching paints a vivid picture: "And an angel of God, one of the holy ones, said unto her, 'Why weepest thou, Hagar? Arise, take the child, and hold him in thine hand; for God hath heard thy voice, and hath seen the child.'"

It's a powerful moment. An angel, a messenger from the Divine, appears precisely when hope seems lost. The question, "Why weepest thou?" isn't accusatory, but rather an invitation to see beyond the immediate despair. It’s a reminder that even in the bleakest moments, God is present, listening.

And then comes the miracle: "And she opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water.." Just like that, salvation appears. It was there all along, perhaps, but she couldn't see it through her tears. She fills her bottle, gives her child water, and they are saved.

"and she arose and went towards the wilderness of Paran. And the child grew and became an archer, and God was with him.."

What a beautiful, understated line. "God was with him." Even in exile, even in the wilderness, Divine presence endures. Ishmael grows, thrives, and becomes skilled. He's not forgotten, not abandoned.

The narrative continues: "and his mother took him a wife from among the daughters of Egypt. And she bare him a son, and he called his name Nebaioth; for she said, 'The Lord was nigh to me when I called upon him.'"

Nebaioth, a new generation, a evidence of survival and faith. Hagar recognizes the Divine hand in their lives. “The Lord was nigh to me when I called upon him.” It’s a simple, profound statement of gratitude and acknowledgment. She called out, and she was heard.

Hagar's story, as told in the Book of Jubilees, is more than just a tale of survival. It's a reminder that even when we feel lost and alone, Divine presence can be found, sometimes in the most unexpected places – if only we open our eyes to see it. It's a comforting thought, isn't it?

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Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 17:20Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

(Genesis 17:20) is the Lord's answer to the previous verse's quiet sadness. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan renders it with full warmth. Concerning Ishmael I have heard thy prayer. Behold, I have blessed him; and I will spread him abroad, and multiply him very greatly. Twelve princes shall he beget, and I will give him to be a great people.

The verb heard is doing beautiful work. Ishmael's own name means God hears (Genesis 16:11). Now, a chapter later, Abraham prays for Ishmael, and the Lord says, in effect, I have heard your prayer too. And the name I gave him through his mother is also the promise I keep to you.

Twelve princes. A great nation. A people spread wide. This is not a consolation prize. This is its own covenant of flourishing, and the Targum refuses to downplay it. Ishmael is blessed, multiplied, established, and named a father of nations. The covenant of Torah will go through Isaac, but the blessing of life goes to Ishmael no less generously.

The Maggid hears one of the most mature parenting moments in Genesis. Abraham does not stop loving the son he has just because a son has been promised. And the Lord, rather than rebuking Abraham for the divided heart, blesses both children. Your prayer was heard for Ishmael, He says (Genesis 17:20). Your faithfulness will be rewarded through Isaac. Two promises at once, to one father, on the same day.

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