The Midrash (Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer) depicts what transpired when Avraham “saw” Har HaMoriah, his reaction to Yitzchak also perceiving it, and his dismay when the two lads accompanying them were clueless to what father and son were seeing. Avraham saw a cloud hovering above the mountain and recognized it as signifying Hashem’s Divine Presence. When Yitzchak Avinu told him that he, too, had perceived this cloud, Avraham understood that Yitzchak had achieved a spiritual plateau rendering him worthy of being an offering. The reaction changed when he asked the two lads what they were seeing. They replied that they were seeing nothing. Avraham realized that they were insufficiently elevated to join them at the Akeidah. He said, “Remain with the donkey. The donkey sees nothing, and you see nothing. Therefore, stay here with the donkey.”
These were pretty sharp words spoken to none other than Yishmael and Eliezer, neither of whom was spiritually deficient. Yishmael had repented and had a Bris Milah, and Eliezer was Avraham’s primary student. Nonetheless, they had not reached the pinnacle of spirituality critical to participating in the Akeidah. At first glance, the difference between them and Avraham and Yitzchak was spiritual elevation. They just did not attain as high a level as the Avos. Both are tzadikim; just two are greater tzadikim than the others.
Not so, explains Horav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, zl, the Alter of Slabodka. Chazal are teaching us that the span from spiritual achievement to spiritual achievement is not about who stands higher on the spiritual ladder of achievement. No! Avraham and Yitzchak are considered tzadikim worthy of the Akeidah, while Eliezer and Yishmael are compared to donkeys! Avraham did not mean to insult them when he said, “Remain with the donkey.” He defined them. The difference between the Patriarchs and their students was not merely one of spiritual degree – but of identity. They simply were not the same people. A person who lives only within the physical realm cannot perceive holiness. One who elevates himself lives in a different world, sees a different world, and ultimately becomes a different human being.
We often forget how quickly a person’s direction in life can alter his very identity. Two close friends entered yeshivah together – after having attended the same yeshivah ketanah from primary through eighth grade. They had similar backgrounds, abilities and aspirations. At one point (post-high school), one of them accepted an invitation to spend time (for kiruv purposes) in an environment that was less conducive to spiritual growth (on his yeshivah’s level). It was only for a few short weeks. His friend, however, remained in the yeshivah, maintaining his schedule and surroundings.
When the two met again some time later, they were no longer the same people. Their outlook on life, perspective on Yiddishkeit and religious priorities, had diverged so much that it was hard to believe that they once had been inseparable. The brief detour – albeit brief, but nonetheless, a detour – altered one man’s spiritual trajectory, while his friend, who never “abandoned” the bais ha’medrash was elevated to an exalted spiritual plane. People often think they are changing locations or schedules when, in fact, they are changing themselves.
Horav Yisrael Meir Lau, Shlita, recounts that, after the Holocaust, he met children with whom he had shared the same horrors. They had entered concentration camps together, suffered together, and were liberated together. Yet, after the war, their lives took different directions. Some were brought to Torah institutions where they were nurtured and spiritually rebuilt. Others were absorbed into secular environments where they gradually lost virtually every vestige of their Jewish identity. Years later, when they met, they were almost strangers to one another. Although only a short period had separated them after liberation, they now possessed different values, different aspirations, and different identities. They had not merely changed; they had become different human beings.
