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Isaac Asked Abraham to Bind Him Tightly on Moriah

Sarah packed him a fine garment and a turban with a stone in it, and told Abraham not to let the boy walk or sit in the sun.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Abraham Made God Say the Name
  2. Three Times Something Got in the Road
  3. The Mountain Only Two of Them Could See
  4. Bind Me Tighter Than That
  5. The Knife the Angels Wet
  6. A Ram Made at Twilight
Isaac Asked Abraham to Bind Him Tightly on Moriah Click for full size

Abraham Made God Say the Name

Abraham did not move the first time he was told. Take your son, God said. "I have two sons," Abraham said. Your only son. "Each of them is the only son of his mother." The one you love. "I love this one and I love that one." Even Isaac.

Then Abraham asked whether he was allowed to do it at all. Am I a priest? Should this not be Shem, who is the priest? God told him that when he reached the mountain in the land of Moriah he would be consecrated there and made a priest on the spot.

The harder problem was in the tent. Abraham sat down across from Sarah and told her that Isaac was grown and had never studied the service of God, and in the morning he would take him to Shem and Eber to learn to pray. She said go. Then she said the rest. Do not take him far. Do not leave him long. My soul is tied inside his soul.

She kept the boy with her all that night. In the morning she went through the clothes Abimelech had given her and picked the best one and dressed him in it, wound a turban on his head, set a precious stone in the top of the turban, and packed food for the road. Then she walked out with them, holding onto him. If he is hungry give him bread. If he is thirsty give him water. Do not let him go on foot. Do not let him sit in the sun.

They told her to go back to the tent. She held him and would not let go and said, "Who knows whether I will ever see you again after today."

Three Times Something Got in the Road

An old man met Abraham on the road, bent and humble and full of concern. Are you out of your mind? God gave you a son in your old age and now you are going to cut his throat, and the boy has done nothing to anybody. God would never ask a man for that. Abraham recognized who it was and drove him off. It came back as a handsome young man about Isaac's own age. Do you know where your foolish old father is taking you? Do not let a body like yours be thrown away for nothing. Isaac reported it, and Abraham drove the thing off again.

Then the road ended in a river that had not been there before. They waded in and it took them to the knees, then the waist, and then it was at their necks and moving hard. Abraham stood in it up to his throat and looked around and knew the ground. "There was never any water in this place." He rebuked it and told it to get away from them, and the river went, and the road was dry.

Back in the tent an old man was talking to Sarah. Where did your husband go? To his work. Where did your son go? To learn Torah. You poor woman. Your teeth will be set on edge over that boy, because your husband has taken him out to sacrifice him. Every limb she had shook. Then she stood up. "Whatever God has told Abraham, may He do it unto life and unto peace."

The Mountain Only Two of Them Could See

On the third day Abraham looked up and saw a pillar of fire standing on a mountain, running from the ground into the sky, with a heavy cloud on top of it and the glory of God inside the cloud.

"Do you see anything on that mountain?" he asked Isaac.

"A pillar of fire," Isaac said, "and a cloud, and the glory of the Lord on the cloud."

He asked Ishmael and Eliezer the same question. They said it looked like the other mountains. "Then stay here with the donkey," Abraham said. "You see about as much as it does."

Father and son went on alone, Isaac carrying the wood. "Here is the fire and here is the wood," he said. "Where is the lamb?" Abraham told him that God had chosen him instead of the lamb. Isaac said he would do it gladly, and Abraham pressed him anyway. Is there anything in your heart about this? Do not hide it from me. Isaac swore there was nothing, not to the right or the left, that no limb of his had twitched.

Bind Me Tighter Than That

Abraham started laying stones and Isaac handed them up to him with the mortar until the altar stood. Then Abraham arranged the wood on it and reached for the rope.

Isaac stopped him. "Bind my hands and my feet tightly. I am thirty-seven years old and you are an old man. When I see the knife coming I may start to shake, and if I push against you I could injure myself and make myself unfit, and then all of this is wasted. Bare your arm. Gird yourself. Do not take long."

Then, with the ropes going on: "When you have burned me down to ash, gather it and take it to my mother and put it in a box in her room. Every time she goes in there she will remember me."

And after that: "When you go home without me and she asks where her son is, what are you going to say to her?"

"We will not outlive you by long," Abraham said. "The one who comforted us before you were born will comfort us now."

The Knife the Angels Wet

Abraham braced his arms, rolled his sleeves back, and put his knees on his son with all his weight. Tears came off his face onto Isaac and off Isaac's face onto the wood, until the wood underneath was soaked with them.

Overhead the angels came apart. Where is the reward of Abraham, they shouted, the man who took travelers into his house and fed them and walked them out to the road? You said the covenant would run through Isaac. The knife is on his throat. They wept, and their tears fell on the blade, and the blade would not cut. Isaac lay there tied, and from sheer terror his soul went out of him.

God told Michael to stop standing there. Michael shouted twice, Abraham, Abraham, do not put your hand on the boy.

Abraham held the knife where it was. "God told me to slaughter him and you are telling me not to. When the teacher says one thing and the student says another, whose word does a man follow?"

Then he heard it from higher up, By Myself I have sworn, and he let go. He untied the ropes. Isaac stood on his feet, alive, and said a blessing on the spot: blessed is the one who brings the dead back.

A Ram Made at Twilight

"Am I to leave here without an offering?" Abraham asked. God told him to look behind him. A ram was caught in the thicket by its horns. It had been made in the last light of the sixth day of creation and kept since then for this exact morning, and it had been running toward Abraham until something grabbed it and wound its horns into the branches to hold it back.

Abraham cut it loose and put it on the altar, and with every act he said the same sentence out loud: this is instead of my son, let this count before the Lord instead of my son.

Nothing of that ram was wasted. Its ashes went under the inner altar where the atonement offering was brought once a year. Its sinews became the ten strings on David's harp. Its skin became Elijah's belt. One horn was blown at the end of the revelation at Sinai. The other has not been blown yet.

Abraham would not step away from the altar until he had said one more thing. Yesterday You told me the line runs through Isaac and today You told me to burn him, and I kept quiet about it. So when his children go wrong, remember what their father was willing to hand over. God answered that when they wanted pardon they should blow a ram's horn at the turn of the year, and He would remember the animal that took Isaac's place.

Isaac did not come down the mountain. Angels carried him to Paradise and kept him there three years. Abraham walked back alone, and Sarah saw one man on the road where two had gone out, and said, "So the old man told the truth after all," and her soul left her body.

IsaacAbrahamBinding Of IsaacSacrificePatriarchsFaith
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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Legends of the Jews, V. Abraham, The Journey To MoriahLegends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Project Gutenberg eBook #1493, The Legends of the Jews, Volume 1 · Public Domain

One of the most powerful, and frankly, unsettling, of these stories is the Akeidah, the Binding of Isaac.

It all starts with a test. God, in perhaps the ultimate trial of faith, asks Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son, Isaac. As we read in Legends of the Jews, drawn from various midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources by Ginzberg, the conversation is almost painfully human. "Take now thy son," God commands. Abraham, ever the arguer, replies, "I have two sons...". The exchange goes on, a heartbreaking dance of clarification, until God finally says, "Even Isaac."

"Even Isaac." The son he waited so long for. The son through whom God promised to build a nation.

Abraham wrestles with this command internally. How can he separate Isaac from his mother, Sarah? He decides on a ruse. He tells Sarah that Isaac needs to study the service of God with Shem and Eber. Sarah, though hesitant, agrees, saying, "My soul is bound within his soul."

The scene that follows is filled with heart-wrenching details. Sarah dresses Isaac in a beautiful garment, a precious stone adorning his turban. She showers him with kisses and embraces, pleading with Abraham to protect him. “O my lord, I pray thee, take heed of thy son… for I have no other son nor daughter but him.” It’s a mother’s love, raw and palpable. As they depart, Sarah, Abraham, and Isaac all weep, a great weeping that extends even to their servants.

But the journey to Moriah is fraught with more than just emotional turmoil. According to Ginzberg, Ishmael and Eliezer, who accompany them initially, begin to argue about who will inherit Abraham’s possessions after Isaac’s sacrifice. The Ruach (spirit) Hakodesh, the holy spirit, interjects, declaring that neither will inherit.

Then comes Satan, ever the tempter. He appears first as an old man, questioning Abraham’s sanity: "Art thou silly or foolish, that thou goest to do this thing to thine only son?" When that fails, he approaches Isaac as a handsome youth, warning him that his father is leading him to slaughter. Abraham, recognizing Satan’s deceit, rebukes him each time.

But Satan is persistent. He transforms himself into a raging brook, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. As Abraham, Isaac, and the young men try to cross, the waters rise, threatening to drown them. Abraham, recognizing the supernatural nature of the obstacle, again rebukes Satan, invoking God’s name. The brook vanishes.

Meanwhile, back at home, Satan appears to Sarah disguised as an old man. He reveals the truth: Abraham is taking Isaac to be sacrificed. Sarah is devastated, her limbs trembling. Yet, in a moment of profound faith, she responds, "All that God hath told Abraham, may he do it unto life and unto peace."

Finally, on the third day, Abraham sees the place from afar. He sees a pillar of fire reaching to heaven, a cloud of glory. He asks Isaac if he sees the same. Isaac does. Abraham knows then that Isaac is accepted before God. He asks Ishmael and Eliezer, but they see nothing special. "Abide ye here with the ass," Abraham tells them, "you are like the ass, as little as it sees, so little do you see." He and Isaac will go to worship, and, he prophesies unconsciously, they will both return.

This is the setup, the prelude to one of the most challenging moments in the Torah. The journey to Moriah is a journey of faith, of doubt, of temptation, and ultimately, of surrender. What happens next is even more astounding. But that, my friends, is a story for another time.

What does this journey tell us about ourselves? About our capacity for both unwavering faith and crippling doubt? About the sacrifices we are willing to make, and the limits of our obedience? It’s a story that continues to resonate, to challenge, and to inspire, thousands of years later.

Full source
Legends of the Jews, V. Abraham, The 'akedahLegends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Project Gutenberg eBook #1493, The Legends of the Jews, Volume 1 · Public Domain

The story, as we find it elaborated upon in Legends of the Jews by Ginzberg, takes us far beyond the spare verses of Genesis. It paints a vivid picture, filled with dialogue and emotion, giving us a deeper understanding of the figures involved.

As Abraham and Isaac journeyed together, Isaac, ever observant, asks a poignant question: "Behold, the fire and the wood, but where then is the lamb for a burnt offering before the Lord?" Can you imagine the weight of that question hanging in the air? Abraham's response, in this version, is direct and startling: "The Lord hath chosen thee, my son, for a perfect burnt offering, instead of the lamb."

Isaac's reaction is equally striking. He accepts his fate with joy and cheerfulness, declaring his willingness to fulfill God's command. “I will do all that the Lord hath spoken to thee with joy and cheerfulness of heart.” He even urges his father to bind him tightly, fearing that in a moment of weakness, his youthful desire for life might cause him to resist, potentially invalidating the sacrifice. He asks that after the slaughter, his ashes be given to his mother Sarah, to remind her always of her son.

There’s a raw, almost unbearable, tenderness in this exchange. The narrative dwells on the physical realities of the impending act. Abraham builds the altar, Isaac hands him stones, and the scene is set for a father to sacrifice his beloved son.

As Abraham prepares to carry out God's command, the text emphasizes the unity of purpose between father and son. God, from His heavenly throne, witnesses their unwavering devotion. Tears stream down Abraham's face onto Isaac, and from Isaac onto the wood of the altar, a veritable flood of sorrow and faith.

But the angels are in turmoil. They cry out, questioning the apparent breaking of God's covenant with Abraham. "Where is the reward of Abraham," they ask, "he who took the wayfarers into his house, gave them food and drink.?" Their tears, even fall upon the knife, preventing it from cutting.

Then comes the pivotal moment: the archangel Michael's cry, "Abraham! Abraham! Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him!"

Abraham, caught between divine command and angelic intervention, hesitates. He questions whose voice he should obey. Only then does God Himself intervene, reaffirming the promise and rewarding Abraham’s unwavering faith. "By Myself have I sworn, saith the Lord, because thou hast done this thing, and hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, that in blessing I will bless thee."

Isaac, miraculously spared, blesses God for bringing the dead back to life. Abraham, not wanting to leave without offering a sacrifice, finds a ram caught in a thicket, provided by God as a substitute.

The narrative doesn't end there. It goes on to describe the extraordinary destiny of this ram. Nothing went to waste: its ashes became the foundation of the inner altar in the Temple, its sinews were used for David's harp, and its horns would one day herald both the revelation at Sinai and the final redemption.

The story concludes with a conversation between Abraham and God, exploring the reasons behind this profound test. God explains that it was to demonstrate to the world Abraham's unwavering fear of God. Abraham, in turn, pleads for God to remember the Akedah when his descendants sin, that the merit of Isaac's near-sacrifice may atone for their transgressions.

And God promises that on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, the blowing of the shofar (ram's horn) will serve as a reminder of this event, prompting divine forgiveness.

The text even connects the site of the Akedah to the future Temple in Jerusalem, acknowledging the contributions of both Abraham (who called it Yireh, "He will see") and Shem (who called it Shalem, "Peace"). God, not wanting to offend either, combined the names into Yerushalayim, Jerusalem.

Finally, we learn that after the Akedah, Isaac spent three years in Paradise, while Abraham returned home to find Sarah dead from grief, believing her son had been sacrificed.

So, what are we to make of this complex and challenging story? It’s a tale of faith tested to its absolute limit, of obedience and divine intervention, and of the enduring covenant between God and the Jewish people. It’s a story that continues to provoke discussion and inspire awe, reminding us of the profound depths of human faith and the mysteries of the divine will. And perhaps most importantly, it serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of compassion and the sanctity of human life. What are you willing to sacrifice for your faith, your family, your beliefs? And what are you praying will be spared?

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Legends of the Jews 5:233Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

Legends of the Jews turns to Isaac Willingly Helped Build the Altar for His Own Sacrifice.

The biblical text gives us glimpses, but the aggadah, the rabbinic tradition of storytelling, fills in the gaps, painting a vivid picture of the scene. Imagine Abraham's joy, as Ginzberg tells us in Legends of the Jews, upon hearing Isaac's faithful words. They arrive at the designated place, and together, father and son build the altar. Isaac, the younger man, even helps by handing Abraham the stones and mortar. There's a terrible, unsettling intimacy to this act.

Then comes the unimaginable. Abraham arranges the wood, the fuel for the sacrifice, upon the altar. He binds Isaac, placing him on top of the wood, ready to be slain as a burnt offering to God. It’s a moment of profound tension, a test of faith unlike any other.

Here, in these legendary accounts, Isaac speaks. His words are not of fear, but of a heartbreaking understanding and acceptance. "Father, make haste," he says. "Bare thine arm, and bind my hands and feet securely." He understands the potential for his own human weakness. He knows that at the sight of the knife, his instinct for survival might kick in.

"I am a young man, but thirty-seven years of age," Isaac continues, according to this tradition (quite different from the innocent child we often picture). "Thou art an old man. When I behold the slaughtering knife in thy hand, I may perchance begin to tremble at the sight and push against thee, for the desire unto life is bold." He fears injuring himself, invalidating the sacrifice, and causing his father pain.

What a burden for a son to carry! What profound selflessness!

He then asks his father to turn up his garment, gird his loins, and burn him completely. And then, the most poignant request of all: "Gather the ashes, and bring them to Sarah, my mother, and place them in a casket in her chamber. At all hours, whenever she enters her chamber, she will remember her son Isaac and weep for him."

Imagine Sarah's grief, a grief compounded by the fact that she was not even consulted in this momentous decision. Isaac, even in his final moments, is thinking of his mother, trying to soften the blow of his loss. He is thinking of how she will grieve and how she will remember him. He seeks to provide her with a tangible reminder, a focal point for her sorrow.

The Akedah is more than just a test of faith. It's a story of obedience, yes, but also of profound human emotion, of a father's agonizing decision and a son's ultimate sacrifice. It's a story that continues to resonate with us, challenging us to consider the complexities of faith, love, and loss. What would we do in such a situation? Could we show such unwavering commitment? Could we exhibit such heartbreaking grace? These are questions that linger long after the story ends.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:262Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

Jewish tradition explores that very edge of human emotion in the story of Sarah, Abraham’s wife, after the near-sacrifice of Isaac. It’s a tale found in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, and it's a poignant, almost unsettling, coda to the main event.

Remember the story? God tests Abraham’s faith, commanding him to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac. Abraham, unflinchingly, obeys – or at least, he goes through the motions until an angel intervenes at the last moment.

What about Sarah? Where was she during all this? The Torah itself is strangely silent. But the Legends fill in the gaps, painting a picture of a mother’s agonizing search for her son.

After the Akedah, the binding of Isaac, Sarah is frantic. She knows something terrible has happened. She rises, the Legends tell us, and embarks on a desperate quest to find Isaac. She travels to Hebron, questioning everyone she meets, but no one can give her news of her son. Her servants search the houses of Shem and Eber - figures from the line of Noah, representing wisdom and tradition. They search the entire land. But Isaac is nowhere to be found. The silence is deafening.

And then, Satan appears.

Yes, that Satan. In this tale, he's not just a symbol of evil, but a messenger, a kind of twisted truth-teller. He comes to Sarah disguised as an old man, and delivers a cruel, manipulative blow. He says, "I lied to you. Abraham didn't kill your son. He is not dead." The relief, the sheer, unadulterated joy that would flood Sarah at those words. After days of agonizing uncertainty, after fearing the absolute worst, she discovers that her son is alive.

But here’s the twist, the truly devastating part: the Legends tell us that when Sarah heard these words, "her joy was so exceedingly violent that her soul went out through joy."

She dies. From joy.

It’s a shocking end. A stark reminder that even the most positive emotions, when experienced at such an extreme intensity, can be overwhelming, even fatal.

Why this ending? What does it tell us about the Akedah and its aftermath? Perhaps it highlights the immense emotional toll the event took on Sarah, a toll the Torah itself only hints at. Perhaps it's a commentary on the fragility of the human spirit, its vulnerability to both sorrow and overwhelming happiness. Or maybe, just maybe, it's a way of emphasizing the magnitude of God's test, and the impossible choice Abraham faced, a choice that ultimately cost Sarah her life, even though Isaac was spared.

It leaves us pondering the delicate balance between faith, obedience, and the very human capacity for love, loss, and ultimately, the bittersweet agony of overwhelming joy.

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