It is safe to say that Avraham Avinu and Sarah Imeinu were the first great Jewish parents. As such, the manner in which they raised Yitzchak (Avinu) should serve as a guiding light for us. Every detail of their parenting was rooted in emunah and imbuing that faith into their only son. The discipline and love were real. They were not trying to impress anyone. Their efforts were foundational for setting up the principles upon which we – their descendants—live. Their sacrifices were unique in that they were the first people of whom Hashem demanded sacrifice. Thus, they set the standard by which we are to live. Furthermore, their life experiences and their ability to overcome their challenges define a father’s role and a mother’s role for us, independent of one another.
Hashem tested Avraham Avinu with the Akeidah – a test that would determine his loyalty to Hashem under the most challenging circumstances. To Avraham, the Akeidah must have been fraught with questions. Everything Hashem commanded him to do was contrary to anything Hashem had previously commanded him to do. The Akeidah is not just a story. It is a blueprint for life, serving as a model of how to raise a ben Torah for future generations.
Parshas Chayei Sarah, however, is about the first Jewish mother, our Matriarch, Sarah Imeinu. For ninety years she was barren – with no reason to believe that she would be the beneficiary of a miracle that would alter the destiny of the Jewish people and the legacy she would impart to her female descendants throughout the ages. Needless to say, she did everything to raise her son to achieve Patriarchal status. The fact that he is referred to as the Olah Temimah, perfect/whole burnt offering/sacrifice, tells us that Yitzchak was no ordinary young man. He did not achieve that status without a mother and father who devoted themselves to his spiritual growth. When Sarah saw that Yishmael might have a negative influence on her Yitzchak, she insisted Avraham send him away. Avraham was originally not happy about it, but he deferred to Sarah. She was the mother; she was at home and observed things that he did not. Yitzchak was only two years old and he probably spent most of his time with Sarah. Thus, she had an acute understanding of him and what he needed to thrive. Nothing would stand in the way of his spiritual ascension.
Our parsha begins with the words relating Sarah’s passing: Va’yehi chayei Sarah. Our matriarch died while her son was with his father at the Akeidah. Sarah’s time on this world had reached its end, and the Akeidah presented the potential of losing her precious son. Hashem designed the Akeidah to be the vehicle which would reflect the “natural” circumstances leading up to her “sudden” passing. Nothing is sudden. Hashem has a Master Plan, and we are all part of it. The commentators explain the fact that Sarah was in a state of shock, catalyzed by the Satan’s manipulation of her emotions. Her reaction as a mother is not unusual. Perhaps this may be listed as the “cause of death,” but any believing Jew knows otherwise: her time had come.
We can, however, derive an important lesson concerning Jewish motherhood from Sarah’s death. The fact that Sarah, the first Jewish mother, died alone, without her beloved Yitzchak at her side, bespeaks a deeply-moving reflection on the essence of Jewish motherhood. The lesson is powerful. A mother’s love is not measured by her presence at a child’s moment of triumph or even in the comfort of shared moments. We learn from Sarah Imeinu’s life and death that maternal love is expressed in sacrifice, silent suffering, prayer and a readiness to give up everything – even life itself – for her child’s destiny.
Sarah triumphed in life—and in death. Avraham Avinu eulogized her. What did he say? He “returned” from the Akeidah and declared, “This could not have been possible without Sarah’s chinuch.” Yitzchak did not just happen. His mother devoted her life to his spiritual growth. Did Yitzchak attend his mother’s funeral? No. He went off immediately to yeshivah. After experiencing such an epic spiritual moment as the Akeidah, he had to concretize it with Torah study. This is what his mother would have wanted.
The Jewish mother is willing to give everything for her child, even when she receives nothing in return. A Jewish child may not always see his mother, but he always feels her presence. Sarah did not attend the Akeidah, but Yitzchak sensed her presence. She was everywhere one saw Yitzchak. We stand in awe of this Patriarch, due to Sarah. A mother shapes her child’s future, even though she may not actually see it. Her deepest acts of love often occur in silence, behind the scenes, even at the cost of life itself.
Throughout the millennia, the Jewish mother/woman has stood at the forefront, stalwartly maintaining her faith in Hashem under the most brutal conditions. The Torah is filled with episodes of women who came forward to inspire their husbands, to save the Jewish infants in Egypt, to sing Shirah at the Red Sea. It goes without saying that each of our Matriarchs supported her husband and children. Rachel Imeinu interceded on behalf of Klal Yisrael, and Hashem listened to her, even over the pleas of the Avos. During the Inquisition, Jewish mothers in Spain taught their daughters to light Shabbos candles. To be caught meant certain death. Jewish mothers in the concentration camps and ghettos continued to bear children and, with their dying breaths, to defy their murderers. They did the same in Communist Russia, making every effort to see to it that their children proudly retained their Jewish identities. Chavah’s name reflects that she was destined to be eim kol chai, the mother of all living beings. This is the charge of womanhood. Horav Shimshon Pincus, zl, observes that the blessing we give our sons is: Yesimcha Elokim k’Ephraim u’k’Menashe; “Hashem shall place you like Ephraim and Menashe,” the two sons of Yosef who, despite having grown up in pagan Egypt, maintained their fidelity to the faith of their forefathers. They also showed extraordinary respect for one another. When we bless our daughters, however, we say: Yeshimeich Elokim k’Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel v’Leah; “Hashem shall place you like Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel and Leah.” Why, with regard to males, do we bless them to be like the sons of Yosef and, with regard to females, we bless them to be like the Matriarchs?
Rav Pincus explains that a boy is to grow in Torah and advance his spiritual ascension higher and higher. On the other hand, a female is blessed to be a great Jewish mother. This is her purpose: to raise and prepare the next generation of the Jewish People. This does not in any way suggest that Chazal relegates a woman to nothing else but focusing on her family. She certainly may assume responsibilities outside the purview of motherhood – both professional and non-specialized work – just not at the expense of her motherhood.
I conclude with the immortal words of Horav S.R. Hirsch, zl, who sees the Jewish woman in the sphere of the home as the preserver and transmitter of Jewish thought and life: “It is she who builds the spiritual atmosphere, who molds the next generation, and, through her loyalty to tradition, becomes the guardian of our eternal values.”
I was searching for an inspiring story that would capture what Jewish mothers have relinquished throughout the ages– quietly and heroically – so that their husbands and sons could learn. While we have a plethora of stories and vignettes, most are about rebbetzins, holy women who grew up in Torah homes, imbibing Torah values. What about the non-Bais Yaakov bred women whose fidelity to Torah learning was emunas chachamim based? Then I realized that I did not have far to search. I lived that story. It is the story of my mother.
My mother was a Holocaust survivor who had lost everything: family, home, stability. Despite her catastrophic losses, after the war, she and my father came to Chicago where they raised three children, of which I am the oldest. My parents sent me to Telshe, Cleveland, because that was what my rebbe suggested. They adhered tenaciously to what rebbeim suggested. They did not hesitate, even though it meant my being away from home for long stretches.
Five years later, a week before my brother’s bar mitzvah, everything changed. My mother’s world came crashing down. My father suddenly became ill. Within two days, he had passed away, leaving everyone shocked and devastated. Horav Chaim Stein, zl, attended the funeral. Following the burial, the Rosh Yeshivah returned with us to the house where he sat down and spoke with me in an attempt to ease the crushing grief. As he was about to leave, he turned to my mother and said words that took her breath away, “Leibel must return to the yeshivah immediately following the bar mitzvah.”
My mother’s response was utter shock, “How can the Rosh Yeshivah ask this of me? I am a widow with three children and a small dry goods store. Who will help me? I need my son!” But the Rosh Yeshivah was firm, “Unless you give me your word that Leibel returns, I will take him back with me now, and he will sit shivah in the yeshivah.”
My mother broke down. Her husband was gone, and now her son would have to leave. Her world had collapsed. And yet, through the tears, she acquiesced and said, “I will do what the Rosh Yeshivah asks. Please take care of my son.”
And so, I returned to yeshivah. My mother and sister stayed home— alone –since my brother soon followed me to yeshivah. Every Shabbos, Kiddush and seudah were somber, but proud, experiences. My mother, as did many other mothers, gave up so much. I have no doubt that the nachas her neshamah now experiences in Gan Eden – the joy of knowing that, as a result of her sacrifice, her children and her many descendants continue to devote themselves to the learning and dissemination of Torah. Her story is not just mine. It is the story of countless Jewish mothers who gave up the comforts of this world, so that their sons would build the next.
