Parshat Vayera5 min read

God Heard Ishmael Cry and Opened Hagar's Eyes to a Well

Their water skin was empty in the wilderness. Hagar sat Ishmael under a shrub and went off, because she could not watch the boy die.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Get This Bondwoman Out
  2. Hagar Set the Boy Down
  3. God Opened Her Eyes
  4. An Angel Walked With Him
  5. Hell Already Waited on the Left

Abraham looked at Ishmael and rejoiced. He had not died childless. Two sons stood in the camp. He blessed the Creator with all his mouth.

God Heard Ishmael Cry and Opened Hagar's Eyes to a Well Click for full size

Sarah saw Ishmael playing and dancing, and Abraham's face open over him, and jealousy rose in her.

Get This Bondwoman Out

She went to Abraham. Get this bondwoman and her son out of the house. Ishmael was before Abraham's face in his place, the firstborn, the boy Abraham had already circumcised on the same day he circumcised himself. Sarah would not share the tent with that.

Abraham resisted. Distress sat on him that morning in a way that went past ordinary parting. He loved Ishmael. God's word to him was not that Ishmael did not matter. It was that the covenant line ran through Isaac. Through Isaac, descendants will be called for you (Genesis 21:12). The line was narrow. Abraham's love was not. The two facts did not resolve into each other.

God had already said it once, when He left off speaking and went up from Abraham: My covenant shall I establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you. Abraham had still taken Ishmael and every male of the house and cut the covenant into their flesh the same day. Obedience had not been a choice between the boys. Sending one of them away was.

Hagar Set the Boy Down

Hagar and Ishmael walked into a desolate stretch with no visible water. The skin ran empty. The boy was dying. Hagar sat him under a shrub and went off, because she could not watch him die.

She moved far enough that the sound would have to travel. A cry without words. A sound below speech. She would not turn her face toward it.

The Torah does not say God heard her prayer, though she was the one who had walked away. God heard the boy.

God Opened Her Eyes

God opened Hagar's eyes to a well of water. She went and filled the skin and gave the boy drink.

God was with the boy, and he grew (Genesis 21:20). The Hebrew is matter-of-fact. God accompanied him. He became a skilled archer in the wilderness of Paran. He took an Egyptian wife. His mother chose her for him.

He was not punished. He was not abandoned. He was not cursed. And he was not chosen. Both things held. The well was real. The covenant still ran through the other tent.

An Angel Walked With Him

Over the nations God placed spirits in authority. Over Israel He appointed no angel and no spirit. He alone is their ruler. For Ishmael, his sons, his brothers, and Esau, God did not cause them to approach Him, and He chose them not, because they are the children of Abraham, because He knew them. He chose Israel as His people.

An angel stayed with Ishmael as he grew. The boy who had cried under a shrub now walked with a messenger at his side, and God still did not draw him into the nearness He kept for Isaac's line. The content of care was similar. The proximity was not. Ishmael heard heaven through a go-between. Isaac's house would hear without one.

That is not the same as God liking one son and discarding the other. Abraham had rejoiced over both. God had heard the discarded one when the water ran out. The structure of the relationship was the difference, and it did not cancel the well.

Hell Already Waited on the Left

Abraham did not sleep the night they left. Two thousand years before heaven and earth, seven things had already been made: the Torah written with black fire on white fire, lying in the lap of God; the Throne; Paradise on His right; Hell on His left; the Sanctuary; the name of the Messiah on a jewel; a Voice that cries, Return, ye children of men.

Darkness was not an empty gap waiting for light. "I form light and create darkness," God said (Isaiah 45:7). Forming is a craftsman's verb. Creating is a verb for what was not there. Darkness had a nature. Nations under angels had a nature. Ishmael's line, outside the covenant's direct channel, had a place that was not the negation of Isaac's place.

The boy whose cry God heard was inside the world God made, loved, accompanied as he grew. He was not inside the covenant's narrow channel. Ishmael received the world. Isaac received the covenant. God was with both of them. The two things were not the same.

IshmaelCreationGehinnomCovenantPatriarchs
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From the tradition

Sources

5 sources

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.

Book of Jubilees 15:36Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

There’s this fascinating ancient text, the Book of Jubilees, a work that retells the stories of Genesis and Exodus but with a very particular slant. It’s not part of the Hebrew Bible as we know it, but it offers incredible insights into how certain Jewish communities understood their relationship with God, with other nations, and with the divine realm.

In Chapter 15, we find a rather stark declaration: "For Ishmael and his sons and his brothers and Esau, the Lord did not cause to approach Him, and he chose them not.."

Ouch.

It continues, "...because they are the children of Abraham, because He knew them, but He chose Israel to be His people. And He sanctified it, and gathered it from amongst all the children of men.”

So, what’s going on here? Is this some kind of divine favoritism? Is God playing favorites?

Well, let's dig a little deeper. The Book of Jubilees isn’t suggesting that God doesn't care for other nations. Quite the opposite! It acknowledges that "there are many nations and many peoples, and all are His." But here's the kicker: "...and over all hath He placed spirits in authority to lead them astray from Him.”

Wait a minute. Angels leading people astray? It sounds wild. The idea here is that God delegates authority over the nations to various spiritual beings – angels, spirits, call them what you will. These beings, for whatever reason, might lead those nations away from a direct relationship with God.

But what about Israel? This is where Jubilees throws us another curveball. "But over Israel He did not appoint any angel or spirit, for He alone is their ruler." No intermediaries. No delegated authority. Just God, directly guiding and watching over Israel. This is a pretty radical idea. God, in this view, takes a particularly hands-on role with the Jewish people. The text continues, stating He will "preserve them and require them at the hand of His angels and His spirits, and at the hand of all His powers in order.”

It’s a powerful statement about divine providence and a very specific understanding of the covenant between God and the Jewish people. It suggests a direct, unbroken connection. A unique responsibility, and a unique level of divine attention.

Well, you could read it as a statement of chosenness, of special status. But maybe it’s more about responsibility. If God is directly involved in your life, guiding you without intermediaries, then you have a greater responsibility to live up to that connection, to act in a way that honors that divine attention.

It's a concept that invites introspection. Are we living up to our potential? Are we striving to connect with the Divine in a meaningful way? Perhaps the Book of Jubilees, with its ancient words, is still challenging us to consider the nature of our relationship with God, and the responsibilities that come with it.

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Book of Jubilees 15:25Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

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.

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Legends of the Jews, I. The Creation Of The World, The First Things CreatedLegends 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

Our tradition offers some pretty wild and wondrous answers!

In Legends of the Jews, that incredible compilation of rabbinic lore by Louis Ginzberg, two thousand years before our familiar cosmos sprung into being, seven incredible things were already present.

First, there was the Torah itself. Not just the words, but the very scroll, "written with black fire on white fire," resting in God’s lap.

Then came the Divine Throne, already established in the heavens above the Hayyot – those celestial, living creatures who carry God’s chariot, as described by Ezekiel.

And of course, Paradise and Hell, already prepared on God’s right and left, respectively, awaiting their future inhabitants.

Next, the Celestial Sanctuary, situated directly before God. Ginzberg tells us this wasn't just any sanctuary, but one adorned with a jewel bearing the name of the Messiah! And from this sanctuary emanated a Voice, constantly calling out: "Return, ye children of men." A powerful reminder of the possibility of repentance, even before humanity existed.

So, why these things? Why this particular order?

Well, the tradition suggests that when God decided to create the world, He consulted with the Torah. The Torah’s response? A king needs a kingdom! "O Lord," she said, "a king without an army and without courtiers and attendants hardly deserves the name of king, for none is nigh to express the homage due to him." God loved that answer. Before you can have subjects, you need a framework, a structure, a purpose. This divine consultation, as Ginzberg points out, also serves as a model for earthly rulers: seek counsel before acting.

But the Torah wasn't entirely sold on the idea of humanity. She knew we’d be prone to sin, to disregarding her precepts. So, God reassures her, explaining that teshuvah (repentance) – repentance – was created long ago, offering a path back. The Temple service would provide atonement. Paradise and Hell would serve as incentive. And ultimately, the Messiah would arrive to bring complete salvation. A whole system of checks and balances, already in place.

And here's another fascinating tidbit: this world, our world, wasn't God's first attempt! According to the tradition, He created and destroyed several worlds before this one, because none pleased Him. That creation is a process, a series of iterations, until perfection – or at least something closer to it – is achieved.

But even this world, the one we inhabit, wouldn’t have lasted if God had stuck to pure, unadulterated justice. It was only when He combined justice with rachamim – mercy – that the world could endure. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, divine goodness is essential for existence. Without it, the forces of evil would have overwhelmed humanity.

And this goodness manifests in countless ways. Take the seasons, for example. According to Ginzberg, in Nisan (the spring equinox), the seraphim intimidate the evil spirits, preventing them from harming humans. In Tammuz (the summer solstice), the roar of the behemot (a primordial beast) frightens the wild animals, curbing their ferocity. In Tishri (the autumn equinox), the great bird ziz flaps its wings, terrifying birds of prey. And in Tevet (the winter solstice), the sea becomes restless as leviathan (another primordial sea monster) spouts water, causing the big fish to restrain their appetite. These aren't just fanciful stories; they're metaphors for the constant, subtle interventions that maintain balance in the world.

And what about the Jewish people? Well, according to this tradition, we wouldn't have survived the ages without divine protection. The archangels Michael and Gabriel are our designated guardians. When other nations accuse Israel, these angels defend us, inspiring fear in our accusers and preventing them from acting on their evil designs.

The goal is for divine goodness to reign on earth as it does in heaven. To that end, the Angels of Destruction are kept far away, while the Angels of Mercy surround God’s throne, ready to act on His behalf.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of chaos and uncertainty, there's a deeper order, a divine plan unfolding. That even before creation, the seeds of redemption were already sown. And that even in our imperfect world, goodness, mercy, and the possibility of return are always present. Perhaps the real work is recognizing them, and allowing them to guide our own actions.

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Sefer ha-Zikhronot 11:11Sefer HaZichronot

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria-hosted English translation · CC-BY

Sefer HaZichronot turns to The Darkness That Existed Before Creation.

So, what do we make of that?

Is it simply an absence of light, like the "unformed and void" suggests an absence of form? Or is darkness something more... substantial? Something that pre-existed creation itself?

Isaiah offers a fascinating clue. God proclaims, "I form light and create darkness" (Isa. 45:7). Notice the difference in verbs: yotzer, "forming," and borei, "creating." The key, according to some interpretations, is that whatever God only forms – rather than creates – must have already been in existence. So, if God "forms" light, but "creates" darkness, does that imply darkness had a head start?

That's where the idea of a pre-existing darkness, lying on the face of the deep, gets really interesting. It hints that darkness isn’t just nothingness. It suggests it's a primordial element, as foundational as light itself.

Where did it go? Some rabbinic traditions have an answer. Sefer ha-Zikhronot (11:11) suggests that this original darkness is now hidden away in the seventh compartment of Gehenna – often translated as Hell. And get this: in that compartment reside six nations who can’t even see each other because the darkness is so complete. It's also said that the heretic Elisha ben Abuyah, a figure who famously strayed from orthodox belief, makes his home there.

The implication is chilling. This isn't just about a lack of illumination. It's about a fundamental separation, an inability to connect. The darkness becomes a symbol of spiritual isolation, a consequence of rejecting the divine light.

This idea of a pre-existing darkness also raises profound theological questions. If the Torah seems to imply that something (darkness) pre-existed creation, it challenges the notion of creation ex nihilo and suggests a more complex picture of how the world came into being.

So, what does it all mean? Perhaps it’s a reminder that even within the most brilliant creation, shadows linger. That even as we strive for light and understanding, there's always a corner, a hidden compartment, where the ancient darkness still holds sway.

Perhaps it is our responsibility to seek out and illuminate these spaces, both within ourselves and in the world around us.

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Book of Jubilees 17:6Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

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!

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.

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