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Satan Told Sarah That Isaac Was Dead, and the News Killed Her

While Abraham stood at Moriah with the knife raised, Satan told Sarah that Isaac was dead. The news killed her. When she learned he was alive, the joy did too.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What Was Happening at Home
  2. The Old Man With the Terrible News
  3. The First Death
  4. The Second Death

What Was Happening at Home

While Abraham stood on the mountain with his knife raised and the angel's voice still ringing in the air, while Isaac breathed into the altar wood and the ram struggled in the thicket nearby, Ha-Satan was somewhere else entirely. He was looking for Sarah.

She was at home in Beersheba, or she had gone to Hebron following some premonition, or she had set out to find news of her husband and son who had left three days before without explaining where they were going. The accounts differ on where she was. They agree on what Satan found when he got there.

The Old Man With the Terrible News

He came to her as an old man. It was his preferred form when approaching women, harmless and weathered, carrying the authority of long experience. He asked where her son was. She said she did not know. He said: I have just come from your husband. Do you know what Abraham did? He took Isaac to the mountain. He bound him on the altar. He raised the knife.

Sarah did not ask what had come after. Some versions of the story say he paused there, at the raised knife, without continuing, and she supplied the end herself. Some say he told her directly: your son is dead. He slaughtered him.

Sarah screamed. The sound came from somewhere deeper than grief, from the place where a mother keeps the knowledge that her child's existence is also her own existence, that a child born to her at ninety after a life of impossible waiting is not separate from her the way other people's children eventually become separate. She cried out three times, each cry corresponding in the tradition to the blasts of the shofar, and then she fell.

The First Death

She died of the news. Her soul departed in the middle of the grief, in the space between the blow landing and any possibility of recovery. The Torah places the announcement of Sarah's death in the chapter immediately following the Akedah, and the tradition takes that proximity as a signal about causation. The knife raised over Isaac on the mountain reached down and stopped Sarah's heart in Hebron at the same moment.

The Second Death

Abraham came down from Moriah with Isaac beside him. They traveled south. Somewhere along the road, or at the camp, Sarah heard her son's voice. Or she was told he was alive. The accounts arrange themselves differently on this point, but they converge on the consequence: the news that Isaac had not been slaughtered reached her, and the intensity of the relief was as fatal as the intensity of the grief had been.

Her soul came back to hear that Isaac was alive. And then the joy was too much, exactly as the grief had been too much, and she died again. The tradition calls this her final death, the one Abraham had to bury. The grief had been the first death and it did not hold. The joy was the second and it did.

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From the tradition

Sources

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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.

Book of Jubilees 19:4Book of Jubilees

Trials is often remembered as grand, sweeping events, but sometimes the most profound tests come in the quiet moments of grief.

Think about Abraham. We know him as a patriarch, a figure of immense faith. But the Book of Jubilees, specifically chapter 19, gives us a glimpse into a more human moment, a vulnerable moment. After a period described as “two weeks of years” – fourteen years – and in the first year of the third “week” in a Jubilee cycle, Sarah, Abraham’s beloved wife, passed away in Hebron.

Can you imagine the pain? The loss? The text simply states, "And Abraham went to mourn over her and bury her.." It’s so understated, isn't it? But within that simplicity lies a profound truth. The Jubilees goes on to say "and we tried him [to see] if his spirit were patient and he were not indignant in the words of his mouth; and he was found patient in this, and was not disturbed."

Wait a minute. "We tried him"? Who is the "we" here? In the broader context of Jubilees and related literature, this refers to the divine council, the heavenly court. The narrative suggests that even in his grief, Abraham was being observed, his reaction measured. It’s a powerful reminder that our actions, even in our darkest moments, can speak volumes.

The test wasn’t about performing a miracle or winning a battle. It was about his patience, his emunah (faith) – his unwavering faith and trust. It was about whether he would succumb to bitterness or maintain his composure.

And he passed. Abraham remained patient. The Book of Jubilees emphasizes that "in patience of spirit he conversed with the children of Heth, to the intent that they should give him a place in which to bury his dead." Even in mourning, Abraham acted with dignity and respect. He didn't demand, he didn't rage. He negotiated, seeking a burial place with grace. Grief can be so consuming, so overwhelming. It can tempt us to lash out, to question everything. But Abraham, even in his sorrow, demonstrated a profound strength of character. He understood the importance of honoring Sarah, of providing her with a proper resting place. He understood the importance of maintaining his integrity, even when his heart was breaking.

So, what does this brief passage from the Book of Jubilees teach us? Perhaps it’s a reminder that true strength isn’t always about grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s about the quiet resilience we show in the face of adversity. It's about maintaining our middot – our good character traits – even when we're hurting. It's about finding patience in the midst of pain, and acting with kindness, even when we're grieving. Maybe, just maybe, those are the moments when we're truly being tested.

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

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.

Full source
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 22:20Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

One of the most haunting expansions in the entire Targum is this one. In Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on (Genesis 22:20), the Aramaic explains how Sarah died: Satana came and told unto Sarah that Abraham had killed Izhak. And Sarah arose, and cried out, and was strangled, and died from agony.

A word of caution in reading this. In Jewish tradition, Satana, Ha-Satan, is the Heavenly Accuser, an angel who serves God by testing humans. He is not a cosmic rebel. In this story, he brings a false report: Sarah does not know the angel has stayed Abraham's hand. She hears only that the knife fell. Her body cannot hold the news.

The Targum of Pseudo-Jonathan is filling a textual silence. The Torah does not say where Sarah was during the Akeidah. The Aramaic places her in Hebron, receiving rumors. Her death at the start of the next chapter (Genesis 23) suddenly has a cause.

The older midrash in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer (chapter 32) preserves the same tradition. The Akeidah cost two lives, one on the altar, stayed at the last moment; one in the tent, who could not survive the news.

The verse then pivots to Milcah, Abraham's sister-in-law, who bears sons. Life continues elsewhere, even as Sarah dies at home.

The Maggidim took this as a warning about the weight of rumor. The takeaway: a false word, spoken at the wrong moment, can kill. Guard what you say. The Accuser has done enough damage already.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:261Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Sarah Beyond the Firmament.

Abraham, the story goes, did indeed return to Beer-sheba, a place that held so many happy memories for him. But Isaac? Well, he had a slightly different journey. The angels, it's said, whisked Isaac away to Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden, paradise), Paradise itself, where he spent three years.

Can you imagine?

Meanwhile, Abraham arrived home alone. And when Sarah saw him, a wave of sorrow washed over her. According to Legends of the Jews, when she saw Abraham, she cried out, "Satan spoke truth when he said that Isaac was sacrificed!" The grief was so profound, so overwhelming, that her soul simply…departed from her body.

But how did Satan know? Or rather, how did Sarah come to believe such a terrible thing?

The narrative continues, explaining that while Abraham was on Mount Moriah, Satan, in disguise, paid a visit to Sarah. He appeared as a harmless old man, all meekness and humility. He delivered a devastating blow: "Dost thou not know all that Abraham has done unto thine only son this day? He took Isaac, and built an altar, slaughtered him, and brought him up as a sacrifice. Isaac cried and wept before his father, but he looked not at him, neither did he have compassion upon him."

Imagine hearing those words.

Satan, having planted the seed of despair, vanished. Sarah, believing him to be a kind old man who had witnessed the event, was consumed by grief. She cried out, "O my son, Isaac, my son, O that I had this day died instead of thee! It grieves me for thee! After that I have reared thee and have brought thee up, my joy is turned into mourning over thee. In my longing for a child, I cried and prayed, till I bore thee at ninety. Now hast thou served this day for the knife and the fire."

But even in her grief, Sarah's faith flickered. "But I console myself," she continued, "it being the word of God, and thou didst perform the command of thy God, for who can transgress the word of our God, in whose hands is the soul of every living creature? Thou art just, O Lord our God, for all Thy works are good and righteous, for I also rejoice with the word which Thou didst command, and while mine eye weepeth bitterly, my heart rejoiceth."

And with that, Sarah laid her head upon the bosom of one of her handmaids, and she became as still as a stone.

The story of Sarah's death following the Akedah is a powerful reminder of the emotional toll of faith, obedience, and sacrifice. It highlights the immense pain and grief that can accompany even the most righteous acts. Sarah's internal conflict, her sorrow battling with her unwavering belief in God, is a evidence of the complexities of the human spirit.

It also leaves us with a lingering question: How do we reconcile faith with the inevitable suffering that life sometimes brings? Perhaps the answer, like Sarah's own words, lies in finding a way to both weep bitterly and rejoice in the divine command, even when we don't fully understand it.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:229Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Satan Told Sarah That Abraham Had Slaughtered Isaac.

Consider the story of Abraham and Isaac – the binding of Isaac, or the Akeidah as it's known in Hebrew. It's one of the most powerful and unsettling stories in the Torah. God asks Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son, Isaac. But what about Sarah, Isaac's mother? How did she factor into this monumental test of faith?

In Ginzberg's retelling in, Legends of the Jews, Satan doesn't just sit idly by while Abraham prepares to follow God's command. Oh no. He gets involved. He appears to Sarah disguised as an old man. A seemingly harmless, perhaps even helpful, figure.

"Where did your husband go?" he asks innocently enough. Sarah, unsuspecting, replies that he's gone to work. "And Isaac?" Satan presses. Sarah tells him Isaac has gone with his father to a place of Torah study – a Beit Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary).

Then comes the twist of the knife. Satan, dripping with false sympathy, says: "O thou poor old woman, thy teeth will be set on edge on account of thy son, as thou knowest not that Abraham took his son with him on the road to sacrifice him."

Can you imagine the devastation? The sheer horror of those words sinking in? The rug being pulled out from under you in such a cruel and calculated way?

In that very hour, Sarah's loins trembled, and all her limbs shook. “She was no more of this world,” it says. A stark, almost poetic way of describing the profound shock and emotional trauma she experienced.

But here's the incredible part: even in the face of such devastating news, Sarah finds a wellspring of faith within herself. She pulls herself together and declares: "All that God hath told Abraham, may he do it unto life and unto peace." What an amazing declaration of faith, even in the face of what seems like utter catastrophe. Despite the fear, despite the pain, she trusts in God's ultimate plan. She blesses the situation, wishing for life and peace, even though everything within her must have been screaming in protest.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we encounter our own "Satans" in disguise? Whispering doubts, spreading fear, trying to undermine our faith and trust? And how can we, like Sarah, find the strength to stand firm, to choose faith over fear, and to bless the path that's been laid out for us, even when we don't understand it?

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