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Sarah Demanded the Divorce Hold in Both Worlds

Sarah's demand that Abraham send Hagar away was not only about this life. She wanted the separation to hold in the world to come as well.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Document Abraham Had to Write
  2. The Weight of More Grievous
  3. Why Sarah Made the Demand
  4. God's Answer to Abraham's Grief

The Document Abraham Had to Write

A standard bill of divorce ended a marriage in this world. The woman was free to remarry. The man was free to remarry. The legal bond was severed and both parties could go on.

Sarah's demand was different.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, the early medieval narrative midrash from Palestine, records that Sarah told Abraham to write a get, a divorce document, for Hagar, but not just any get. She wanted the separation to hold in the world to come as well. Ishmael would not share the inheritance of the righteous at the resurrection. Hagar would not stand beside Sarah in the life after this one. The document had to say so, and it had to be written by Abraham's hand.

The midrash is matter-of-fact about this. It does not argue whether the demand was reasonable. It records that Ben Tema, a sage quoted in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, said this request was more painful to Abraham than anything else he had suffered.

The Weight of More Grievous

Genesis 21:11 says: the thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight because of his son. The Hebrew carries a weight the rabbis were careful not to flatten. Not merely difficult. Very grievous.

Ben Tema's teaching in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer holds that word against everything else Abraham had endured. The furnace of Nimrod. The command to leave his homeland. The famine that drove him to Egypt. The war against four kings. The covenant of circumcision at ninety-nine years old. The binding of Isaac on the altar. Each of those trials had been enormous. The tradition treated each one as the act of a man being refined by fire.

And this was worse than all of them.

The reason the tradition gives is the love. Abraham loved Ishmael. This was his firstborn son, the son he had raised for fourteen years before Isaac arrived. The bond between a father and a firstborn child across fourteen years of sole parenthood is not a legal or theological abstraction. When Sarah said send him away from this world and the next, she was asking Abraham to sever something that had been growing since the day the boy was born.

Why Sarah Made the Demand

The Book of Jubilees records the context in which the demand emerged. Sarah saw Ishmael's behavior at the feast for Isaac's weaning and understood it as a threat to her son's future. The tradition reads the word translated as mocking in Genesis 21:9 as covering a range of behaviors, from contempt to active harassment, and Sarah's response was not disproportionate within the logic of ancient household law. An heir who was not the child of the primary wife, who had been born before the primary wife's child, occupied a dangerous position relative to the inheritance. The risk was real.

But what the Book of Jubilees records as a domestic dispute, Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer extends into eschatology. The separation Sarah demanded was not only practical. She wanted it permanent in every dimension. The world to come had to know what this world knew: that Ishmael and Isaac were not on the same inheritance path.

God's Answer to Abraham's Grief

The tradition in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer records that God spoke to Abraham directly about the demand. The text uses the language of Sarah speaking in wisdom and Abraham listening to her voice, which echoes the Genesis verse where God tells Abraham to hearken to Sarah's voice. God confirmed that the demand Sarah was making was one Abraham should honor.

Then God made a promise to Sarah about the world to come, a promise that the tradition preserves but does not elaborate in great detail. The promise was that what she was protecting would be protected. The separation she was insisting on would hold.

Abraham rose early in the morning and gave Hagar bread and water. He placed them on her shoulder and sent her away with the boy. The separation Sarah had demanded in every world began with a morning departure into the wilderness of Beersheba.

SarahHagarIshmaelAbrahamAfterlifeWorld To ComePatriarchsMidrash Aggadah
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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 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.

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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.

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 30:3Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

The patriarch Abraham certainly did.

The story begins with Sarah, Abraham's wife, making a demand. She tells Abraham to write a get, a bill of divorce, and send away his handmaid Hagar and her son Ishmael. But this isn't just about this world; she wants them separated from her and her son Isaac in the world to come as well! Imagine the weight of that request!

Ben Tema, a sage whose teachings are recorded in the Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, emphasizes the emotional toll this took on Abraham. More than any other misfortune he had faced, this request was "exceedingly evil in his eyes," as it says, "And the thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight on account of his son" (Genesis 21:11). from Abraham's perspective: He loved Ishmael, his firstborn. How could he possibly send him away?

Then, Rabbi Jehudah steps in to offer a deeper insight. He says that in that very night, HaKadosh Baruch Hu, The Holy One, Blessed be He, revealed Himself to Abraham. Can you imagine the scene?

God says, "Abraham! Dost thou not know that Sarah was appointed to thee for a wife from her mother's womb? She is thy companion, and the wife of thy covenant." He reaffirms the special bond between Abraham and Sarah. God emphasizes that Sarah is not a mere handmaid, but his wife. Conversely, Hagar is called his handmaid, not his wife.

And then comes the crucial instruction: "All that Sarah has spoken she has uttered truthfully. Let it not be grievous in thine eyes," as it is said, "And God said unto Abraham, Let it not be grievous in thy sight" (Genesis 21:12). God is essentially validating Sarah's feelings and telling Abraham to trust in the divine plan.

This passage highlights a recurring theme in Jewish tradition: the importance of marriage and the unique role of the matriarchs. Sarah isn't just being demanding; she's acting as a protector of the covenantal line, ensuring that the inheritance and promise pass through Isaac. The Zohar, the foundational text of Jewish mysticism, often speaks of the spiritual power and insight possessed by women, particularly the matriarchs.

According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this divine intervention was crucial in resolving Abraham's inner conflict. He was torn between his love for his sons and his commitment to God's covenant.

What do we take away from this ancient story? It reminds us that even the most righteous individuals face difficult choices and emotional turmoil. It shows us that sometimes, even when we don't understand, we need to trust in a higher purpose. And perhaps most importantly, it emphasizes the importance of communication and understanding within relationships, even when those relationships are as complex and challenging as the one between Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar. Sometimes, the greatest tests lead to the deepest understanding.

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