5 min read

Sarah Gave Hagar Away and Regretted It the Moment She Laughed

Sarah offered her own maidservant to Abraham, then watched Ishmael thrive until jealousy broke what desperation had built.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Years the Arrangement Held
  2. The Moment Everything Cracked
  3. Hagar in the Wilderness
  4. When Isaac Arrived

The decision was Sarah's. That is the part the story makes clear before it complicates anything else. It was Sarah who told Abraham to go in to Hagar. Sarah who chose her own maidservant and placed her in Abraham's arms, because the years had accumulated and her womb had not opened and she had run out of other plans. The Book of Jubilees, the second-century BCE retelling of Genesis, records the exact words: "Go in unto Hagar, my Egyptian maid. It may be that I shall build up seed unto you by her." And Abraham listened.

He went in to Hagar. She conceived. She bore Ishmael in the forty-first jubilee, in the fifth year of the week. The calendar precision is Jubilees' signature. Every birth, every departure, every covenant, dated to the exact week within the jubilee cycle, so that no reader can mistake the timing or pretend the sequence happened any other way.

The Years the Arrangement Held

Abraham rejoiced. He blessed God and remembered the word spoken to him on the day Lot had parted from him: your seed will be like the sand of the seashore and like the stars of heaven. He had a son now. He was not dying childless. The grief that had pursued him after the battle, the grief he had voiced directly to God when he said the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus, a hired man, that grief was answered. The arrangement had done exactly what Sarah designed it to do.

For years, the household held together on those terms. Hagar was a servant. Ishmael was Abraham's son. Sarah was still the wife, still the first woman in the tent. The structure was not pleasant for everyone, but it was stable.

The Moment Everything Cracked

Then three men came to Abraham's tent at Mamre, and they told him that Sarah, in a year, would have a son. Sarah heard from the tent entrance and laughed. Not a laugh of joy. A laugh of a woman who has wanted something so long that the offer of it has become impossible to believe. The laugh was disbelief, and within the disbelief was everything she had suppressed in the years of waiting, all the calculation that had led her to give away the only other option she had.

She was ninety years old. Abraham was a hundred. The promise was absurd on its face, and she laughed, and then she denied laughing, and the visitor said: "no, you laughed." The honesty of that exchange is one of the most unsparing moments in the entire patriarchal cycle.

Hagar in the Wilderness

Abraham rose early in the morning and gave Hagar bread and a skin of water and placed them on her shoulder, and sent her away with Ishmael. She went and wandered in the wilderness of Beersheba. The water ran out. She placed the child under one of the shrubs and went and sat down a distance away, because she could not watch him die. An angel called to her from heaven: "what is wrong with you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the voice of the child where he is. Lift up the child and hold him by the hand, for I will make a great nation of him." God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She filled the skin and gave the boy a drink. The wilderness that had been a place of dying became, for a moment, the place where a different covenant was confirmed.

When Isaac Arrived

When Isaac was born and weaned, Sarah saw Ishmael and knew she could not live with what she had built. The Jubilees tradition records her grief and her certainty together. She had made this arrangement. She had placed Hagar in Abraham's arms. She had watched Ishmael grow for years as the son she had provided when she could not provide a son herself. Now she stood with her own child in her arms and could not tolerate the other one's presence.

"Drive out this bondwoman and her son," she told Abraham. "The son of this bondwoman shall not be heir with my son." Abraham was troubled deeply, because Ishmael was also his son, and he had raised him and loved him. God had to tell him directly: "do what Sarah says. I will make a nation of the bondwoman's son also, because he is your seed."

SarahHagarIshmaelAbrahamJealousy
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

3 sources

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

Book of Jubilees 14:32Book of Jubilees

We catch glimpses of it in the text, but sometimes, we need a little help filling in the blanks. That's where texts like the Book of Jubilees come in.

The Book of Jubilees, sometimes called Lesser Genesis, belongs to the ancient Jewish writings preserved outside the rabbinic canon. It offers a rewritten, expanded version of Genesis and Exodus, often providing details and perspectives not found in the biblical text itself.

A small but significant passage from Jubilees: Chapter 14, which deals with Abram (later Abraham), Sarai (later Sarah), and Hagar.

So, what does Jubilees add to the story we already know?

The passage starts with a simple statement: "And Abram rejoiced, and made all these things known to Sarai his wife; and he believed that he would have seed, but she did not bear." Abram is hopeful, filled with faith that he will have descendants, as God promised. He shares this with Sarai, but the stark reality is that she remains barren.

This sets the stage for Sarai's pivotal decision. "And Sarai advised her husband Abram, and said unto him: 'Go in unto Hagar, my Egyptian maid: it may be that I shall build up seed unto thee by her.'" Imagine the pain, the selflessness (or perhaps the desperation) behind those words. Sarai suggests that Abram have a child with Hagar, her maidservant, so that she, Sarai, can "build up seed" through her.

This concept of "building up seed" is important. It wasn't simply about Abram having a child; it was about fulfilling the divine promise, about continuing the lineage. Sarai saw this as her responsibility, even if it meant sacrificing her own desires and enduring immense personal pain.

And how does Abram respond? "And Abram hearkened unto the voice of Sarai his wife, and said unto her, 'Do (so).'" A simple, almost passive agreement. The text doesn't explore his emotions, his internal struggle (if any). It simply states that he listened to his wife.

Then comes the act itself: "And Sarai took Hagar, her maid, the Egyptian, and gave her to Abram, her husband, to be his wife." This is a deliberate, active choice on Sarai's part. She's not just suggesting it; she's facilitating it.

The passage concludes: "And he went in unto her, and she conceived and bare him a son, and he called his name Ishmael, in the fifth year of this week." The deed is done. Hagar conceives, and Ishmael is born. The text specifies that this occurred in the fifth year of a specific "week" – a detail characteristic of Jubilees’ obsession with calendrical calculations and its attempt to anchor biblical events in a precise timeline.

What's interesting here is what Jubilees doesn't say. It doesn't dwell on the emotional complexities, the potential jealousy, the societal implications. It simply lays out the sequence of events. But in its brevity, it highlights the agency of Sarai, her willingness to take matters into her own hands in the face of what seemed like an impossible situation.

This small passage in Jubilees, then, offers a glimpse into a pivotal moment in the lives of Abram and Sarai. It reminds us that even in the most sacred stories, there are layers of human experience – of hope, sacrifice, and the enduring desire to fulfill a divine promise – waiting to be explored. It leaves us pondering the motivations behind these actions and the long-lasting consequences they would have.

Full source
Book of Jubilees 17:6Book of Jubilees

It's a feeling that pops up in some pretty surprising places, even in our sacred stories. to one of those moments, found in the Book of Jubilees.

It's considered apocryphal by some (meaning it's not included in the standard Jewish or Protestant biblical canon), but it's revered by others, like the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. It gives us a fascinating glimpse into the religious thought of the Second Temple period.

In Chapter 17, we find Abraham in a state of pure bliss. His son, Ishmael, the son of Hagar, is there with him. Abraham is overjoyed. He’s seen his children, he hasn’t died childless! Can you imagine the relief, the gratitude?

He remembered what God had promised him, way back when Lot, his nephew, split off and went his own way. God had said he'd give Abraham descendants, seed upon the earth to inherit the earth. Abraham is just overflowing with thanks, blessing the Creator with everything he has.

It's a beautiful, heartwarming scene. A father’s joy, a promise fulfilled.

But then… Sarah enters the picture.

She sees Ishmael "playing and dancing" with Abraham, and Abraham is "rejoicing with great joy." And what happens? She becomes jealous.

Jealous!

Now, isn’t that interesting? After all this time, after all the waiting and hoping, after the miraculous birth of Isaac is on the horizon (as the Book of Jubilees goes on to describe), Sarah is still experiencing that pang of jealousy toward Ishmael.

What's going on here? Was it simply that Ishmael, now a young man, was enjoying a closeness with Abraham that she felt was rightfully her son's? Was it a fear that Ishmael might still somehow threaten Isaac's inheritance?

Whatever the reason, it's a powerful reminder that even in moments of great joy and blessing, those pesky human emotions can still bubble up. Even in the lives of our patriarchs and matriarchs. Even in the stories we hold sacred.

And maybe, just maybe, that's what makes these stories so enduring. Because they show us that even the most righteous among us are still, at their core, human. They struggle. They feel. They get jealous. And that, in a strange way, makes them all the more relatable.

Full source
Book of Jubilees 17:14Book of Jubilees

Abraham is often remembered as this towering figure of faith, but the Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text from the Second Temple period, gives us a stark look at the consequences of his actions on those around him.

Abraham, early one morning, sends Hagar, his concubine, and his son Ishmael, into the wilderness. He gives them bread and a bottle of water, placing it all on Hagar's shoulders. Then…he sends them away. Just like that. The Book of Jubilees 17 tells us she "departed and wandered in the wilderness of Beersheba."

The water runs out. The child, Ishmael, is dying of thirst. He can't go on. He collapses.

Can you feel the desperation?

Hagar, a mother watching her child suffer, does the only thing she can think of. She lays him under an olive tree. Then, she walks away. Not far, mind you. Just a bow-shot's distance. Why? Because she can't bear to watch him die. “Let me not see the death of my child,” she cries, as she sits and weeps.

It’s a scene of utter desolation. A bow-shot. That’s how close she is to her son’s suffering, yet feels utterly powerless to stop it. This small distance becomes a vast chasm of despair.

The Book of Jubilees doesn’t offer a lot of commentary here. It simply lays bare the stark reality of their situation. It's a raw, unflinching look at the human cost of decisions made, even by those considered righteous.

What are we to make of this? Is this a story of abandonment? Of faith tested to its breaking point? Or is it a reminder that even in our darkest moments, hope, however faint, can still flicker? Perhaps it's all of these things, woven together in a tradition of human experience that continues to resonate with us today. A reminder that even in the wilderness, we are not always alone. And even a bow-shot distance can be bridged.

Full source