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The Three Blessings That Left When Sarah Died

A light burned in Sarah's tent from Shabbat to Shabbat. Her bread stayed fresh all week. A cloud rested over her tent. All three vanished the day she died.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What the Tent Held
  2. Sarah in Pharaoh's Palace
  3. Abimelech Made the Same Mistake
  4. The Silence of Abraham's Grief
  5. What Rebecca Restored

What the Tent Held

Three things distinguished the tent of Sarah during her lifetime. The Shabbat candles she lit burned without being relit from one Friday night to the next. The bread she baked on Friday stayed fresh through the week. A cloud of divine presence rested over the tent's entrance without moving. The rabbis preserved these three details as evidence of something, though they disagreed about exactly what kind of evidence they were.

What they agreed on was the timing. All three signs were present while Sarah lived. All three were absent after she died. All three returned the day Rebecca arrived to marry Isaac. That structure, presence, disappearance, return, told the rabbis something about what Sarah was and what Rebecca was after her.

Sarah in Pharaoh's Palace

There had been a time when Sarah's protection was tested in the most direct way possible. Pharaoh took her into his household. Abraham, entering Egypt and fearing for his life, had called her his sister. Pharaoh found her beautiful and brought her into the palace. That night, according to the tradition, an angel stood beside her throughout the hours of darkness. Every time Pharaoh or one of his men approached her, the angel struck them. She remained untouched.

Plagues fell on Pharaoh's household. He could not understand why. Then the truth came out, this woman was someone's wife, and Pharaoh, astonished and frightened, returned her to Abraham with gifts and asked them to leave. The protection that guarded her in the tent had followed her into the palace. The three signs at home were one expression of something that moved with her wherever she went.

Abimelech Made the Same Mistake

The pattern repeated. In Gerar, the same story unfolded. Abraham called Sarah his sister again, and Abimelech took her. God came to Abimelech in a dream and said: you are a dead man. The woman you have taken is another man's wife. Abimelech, who had not touched her, protested his innocence. God confirmed it. God also told him that Abraham was a prophet and would pray for him, and that this prayer would be the thing that restored his household to health.

Sarah had been in Abimelech's palace while every womb in his household was stopped up. The moment she left, things opened again. The rabbis read this as the same principle expressed differently, the blessings that marked her tent extended to every space she occupied and withdrew when she was not there.

The Silence of Abraham's Grief

The Book of Jubilees, an ancient retelling of Genesis from around the second century BCE, preserved a detail about Abraham at the moment of Sarah's death. He sat with her body and wept, and then he rose and did what needed to be done. He negotiated for the cave at Machpelah. He paid the full price without argument. He buried her.

What Jubilees noticed was what Abraham did not do. He did not complain. He did not rage at the loss. He did not bargain, which was something Abraham was entirely capable of doing, he had bargained with God over Sodom and gotten the terms down to ten righteous people. At Sarah's death he was silent. The rabbis called this his final trial, and they meant it as praise. A man who had survived ten trials of his faith sat with his wife's body and endured what he could not negotiate away.

What Rebecca Restored

The three signs returned when Rebecca arrived. The candles burned again. The bread stayed fresh. The cloud settled over the entrance. Isaac brought her into his mother's tent and was comforted.

The rabbis read the return of the signs not as coincidence but as confirmation. Sarah had not created the blessings through technique or ritual. The blessings had been present because of who she was, and they were present again because of who Rebecca was. The tent was the same tent. The women were different women. The signs recognized the difference and responded accordingly.

SarahMatriarchsBlessingPatriarchsAbrahamPharaoh
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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.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 26:7Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

This particular passage, from Chapter 26, gives us a glimpse into Sarah's encounters with powerful rulers and the surprising twists that shaped her journey.

It all starts with Pharaoh. Yes, that Pharaoh, the one who would later enslave the Israelites. But before all that, according to Rabbi Joshua ben Ḳorchah, Pharaoh was completely smitten with Sarah. So smitten, in fact, that he showered her with gifts in their marriage contract – a ketubah (a marriage contract). The land of Goshen, no less, which is why, the text suggests, the children of Israel later dwelt there – in the land of their "mother" Sarah.

The generosity didn't stop there. Pharaoh even gave Sarah his own daughter, Hagar, as a handmaid! Now, where does it say that Hagar was Pharaoh's daughter? Ah, The text points us to (Genesis 16:1): "Now Sarai Abram's wife bare him no children; and she had an handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar." Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer understands that Hagar's elevated status as a gift from Pharaoh suggests a royal lineage. giving your daughter to someone speaks volumes about your feelings toward them!

Here’s where the story takes another turn. Pharaoh woke up one morning "confused because he had not approached her." What happened? Why the hesitation? He immediately summoned Abraham and, in a rather hasty move, returned Sarah to him, along with all the wealth from the marriage contract. “Behold, Sarai thy wife is before thee,” Pharaoh said, “and all the deeds of her marriage contract are with her, take (her) and go, do not tarry in this land” (Gen. 12:19). He even provided Abraham with an escort to ensure their safe passage to the land of Canaan, as we see in (Genesis 12:20): "And Pharaoh gave men charge concerning him, and they sent him forth."

Why the sudden change of heart? What made Pharaoh send Abraham and Sarah away with such urgency? The text doesn't explicitly say, leaving us to wonder about the untold story.

But the journey wasn't over. Abraham then sojourned in the land of the Philistines. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer suggests he went there "in order to be refreshed." Life on the road, especially with a wife whose beauty attracted so much attention, must have been exhausting!

And guess what? The story repeats itself! As it says in (Genesis 20:2): "And Abimelech… sent, and took Sarah." Abimelech, king of Gerar, also took Sarah into his house, intending to have children with her. It seems Sarah’s beauty continued to cause quite a stir!

The text concludes with a powerful statement: "And everything is foreseen by the Holy One, blessed be He." This emphasizes the idea that even in these seemingly random encounters, there's a divine plan at work. Even Abimelech's actions, the text hints, were part of a larger cosmic scheme.

So, what do we take away from this intriguing glimpse into Sarah's life? It’s a reminder that the biblical narratives are rich with layers of meaning, waiting to be uncovered. These stories, passed down through generations, offer us a glimpse into the lives of our ancestors and the interplay of faith, love, and destiny that shapes our understanding of the world. It invites us to delve deeper into the text, ask questions, and find our own connections to these timeless stories.

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Legends of the Jews 5:100Legends of the Jews

(Yes, that's the title of the whole collection.) It's a wild ride through the aggadah – the stories, the embellishments, the "filling in the blanks" that surrounds the more straightforward text of the Torah.

So, Pharaoh. He's got his eye on Sarah. She is, after all, strikingly beautiful. But wouldn’t you know it, shortly after taking Sarah into his house, a terrible plague descends upon Pharaoh and his entire household! Pharaoh, naturally, is frantic. He needs to figure out what's causing this divine displeasure, and fast. So, he calls in his priests. Think of them as the ancient Egyptian equivalent of consultants. And after some… consultation, they realize the plague is connected to Sarah. But how?

Well, Sarah, in a moment of courageous honesty (and maybe a little bit of "I told you so"), confirms what the priests suspect: she's married. And not just to anyone. She's married to Abraham, a man blessed by the Almighty.

In Legends of the Jews, Pharaoh then sends for Abraham immediately. He returns Sarah, untouched. Can you imagine the relief? He even offers a rather flimsy excuse, claiming he thought Abraham was just her brother and that he intended to marry into the family. Smooth, Pharaoh, real smooth.

To smooth things over even further, Pharaoh showers Abraham and Sarah with gifts. (Hey, sometimes guilt comes with perks!) And after a three-month stay in Egypt, which I imagine was quite tense, Abraham and Sarah leave for Canaan.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What if Pharaoh hadn't been struck by the plague? What if he hadn't listened to his priests? The whole narrative hinges on this moment of divine intervention. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the smallest details, the most unexpected twists, can alter the course of destiny.

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Legends of the Jews 5:187Legends of the Jews

Remember the story? Abraham, fearing for his life in Gerar, tells everyone that Sarah is his sister. Abimelech, the king, then takes Sarah into his household. But God intervenes, revealing the truth to Abimelech in a dream. It’s a tricky situation, to say the least.

Abimelech, realizing his error, gives Abraham rich gifts. Okay, that’s not unusual. A king trying to make amends. But, according to the Legends of the Jews, compiled by Louis Ginzberg, this act stands in stark contrast to what Pharaoh did in a similar situation. Pharaoh gave gifts to Sarah, but Abimelech's motivation was different. He was God-fearing and actually desired Abraham's prayers.

There’s even more. He gave Sarah a costly robe, one that covered her entirely, concealing her beauty from others. It was a sign of respect, yes, but also, as Ginzberg points out, a subtle reproach to Abraham himself. Had Abraham truly provided for Sarah in a way befitting his wife? It's a quiet jab, isn't it? A royal "tsk tsk" if you will.

The real lesson here isn’t about gifts or robes; it’s about forgiveness. Even though Abimelech had wronged him – albeit unknowingly – Abraham not only grants him forgiveness but actively prays for him. What an example!

This brings to mind a powerful teaching from the Talmud. As the Talmud teaches in Ta'anit 20a, "Man should be pliant as a reed, not hard like the cedar." A reed bends with the wind, it is adaptable. A cedar? Rigid, unyielding.

The message is clear: We should be easily appeased and slow to anger. And the moment someone who has wronged us asks for pardon, we should forgive them with all our hearts. Even if the injury is deep and serious, we shouldn’t be vengeful or hold a grudge.

It's a tall order, isn't it? Forgiveness isn't always easy. We’re human, we feel pain, we hold onto hurts. But the story of Abraham and Abimelech challenges us to rise above our initial reactions and strive for a higher standard. To be like the reed, bending towards reconciliation, rather than the unyielding cedar, stuck in its resentment.

Perhaps, that’s the true measure of a righteous person: not just in grand gestures, but in the quiet act of letting go. In the willingness to forgive, even when it's hard. What do you think? Where do you find yourself on the spectrum of reed and cedar?

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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.

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Legends of the Jews 5:264Legends of the Jews

Her death, according to Legends of the Jews, wasn't just a family tragedy. It was a blow to the whole land. Imagine the shift: while she lived, things flowed smoothly, blessings abounded. Then, suddenly, chaos. Confusion reigned.

Ginzberg, drawing from various Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, paints a picture of widespread grief. The weeping, the lamenting... it was everywhere. And poor Abraham, you know, the one who should have been comforted, found himself having to console everyone else! Can you picture it? Losing your life partner and then having to be strong for an entire community?

He steps up, though. "My children," he says to the mourning crowds, "don't take Sarah's passing too hard." A tough thing to say. But he continues, reminding them that death comes to everyone, the righteous and the wicked. As Ecclesiastes reminds us, "There is one event unto all." He knows he must be practical, even in his sorrow.

Then comes a request, a very specific one. "I pray you now," he says, "give me a burying-place with you, not as a gift, but for money." He insists on paying. This wasn't just about finding a place to bury his beloved wife. It was about setting an example, about establishing a right, and perhaps, even subtly reminding them of the value of what they had lost. What a moment. What a man.

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