Rabbi Motty Weinstock Parashat Vayechi, November 2008
Abraham and Sarah’s reaction seemed quite justified. An elderly couple, eighty nine and ninety nine years of age respectively, are visited by seemingly ordinary wayfarers. Abraham goes all out to provide them a gourmet dinner. In fact, he does much of the preparation personally, his advanced age and recent surgery notwithstanding. The three guests, feeling very much indebted to their host, seek to convey their goodwill by offering a blessing.
He said, “...and behold! A child [will be born] to your wife Sarah. Sarah overhears..."
Sarah overhears the blessing and, laughingly, gives herself a knowing look. Is it possible, after all these years? My husband's age will certainly not help the matter.
"Hashem said to Abraham. Why is it, that Sarah laughed, saying 'is it true then, that I shall give birth when I am so old?' Is anything inconceivable from Hashem?...Sarah SHALL have a son."
Bereishit (18:13-14)
The Midrash (Bereishit 48:19) offers a parable. Into a smithy walks a young farmer with a pair of iron utensils. "By any chance, are you capable of repairing these?" he inquires innocently. "Young lad," replies the blacksmith, "I can forge those from scratch. Are you doubtful that I can fix that small problem?" Similarly here, so goes the exchange. God says, “I can create Man entirely; can I not restore her youth?"
But Sarah’s was a realistic reaction by most standards. Would any of us think otherwise? And yet, God did think otherwise.
Even before any of us wondered about this, Nachmanides had already raised the question. To all appearances, these three wayfarers were ordinary Arabs. Why should anyone, even the righteous Sarah, ascribe any value to their well-wishing? Could there be any hope for such a miracle?
Nachmanides explains in no vague terms. Herein lies a lesson for every challenging situation. Sarah was found—on her lofty level, of course—to be lacking in her emunah (faith), lacking a complete understanding of G-d's ability. While it may not have seemed likely, Sarah should have believed that it could happen! Perhaps she should have responded to the blessing with "Amen. May God fulfill your words!"
Rabbi Yechezkel Levenstein (Ohr Yechezkel, p.14) expounds on this subject. A true understanding of God comes with a realization of His Hand in the natural order. A law of nature, when recognized as His Will, is no more a limiting factor than a never-before phenomenon. To be sure, miraculous occurrences abound in the Torah. Week by week, parsha by parsha, we encounter stories stranger than, or perhaps even an inspiration for, modern fiction. In the scheme of things, a very late birth ranks low on the list of humanly difficult feats. After a world is created ex-nihilo and a global flood forever changes the face of the earth the possibility of miracle is greatly increased.
This can and should be applied to our daily lives and their challenges. At times, we may feel as if we have reached a brick wall. Examining our options carefully seems to yield no way out. Is our conclusion despair? Logically, perhaps, it seems justified. But the Torah seeks to inculcate us with a very different approach.
Even if a sharp sword is lies on the neck of a person, he should not despair of [Heavenly] mercies.
Talmud, Berachot 10b
This is what was meant by the Midrash above. "I created them to begin with. Can I not repair them?" That said, a look into our own mindsets quickly reveals a variation in thinking. How many of us are on the level that Sarah was expected to be at? Is our normal outlook so hopeful? Dare I say, probably not. Yet, we find a demand of us for more.
A person is obligated to say to himself, “when will my actions reach those of my forefather's?”
Talmud
Apparently, we can do more. What we learn from our matriarch's standard is that this is an integral level of our own emunah, of our cognizance that this world is continuously and actively run by its Creator.
Rabbi E. E. Dessler (MichtavM'Eliyahu, vol.1) characteristically provides us with an insightful explanation. Imagine this scene. You attend the funeral of a casual acquaintance and watch the person be laid to rest. Upon leaving the cemetery, you reflect on the inevitable process of the deceased. Decomposition, the scriptural "returning to the earth," for better or for worse, is just a part of the world's cycle. Now, suppose sometime later you take a walk past this peaceful resting place. Noticing some movement, you take a closer look and find yourself awestruck. From beneath the ground arises the form of a human. Then, with a new set of flesh and organs, the cheerful fellow stands up, shaking off some remaining dirt. "Miraculous," you mutter. “Extraordinary!”
For contrast purposes, visualize now a seed. After the seed totally rots, a whole new plant takes shape. Farmer James is unimpressed, to put it mildly. "That's how it goes" he replies to City Jim's incredulity. "How else can you grow stuff?" he concludes smugly.
Seriously speaking, what is the primary difference between a corpse emerging fully alive and a seed germinating? Can it not be argued that the difference between the natural and the miraculous lies in only in its frequency and our familiarity? That to which we are accustomed falls into the category of normal while the unheard of lands in the "miraculous" folder.
Nachmanides (Shemot 13:16) reminds us to keep our eyes, and our minds, open. When one witnesses great miracles, one realizes that even the humdrum is not random. Just as a complete break from natural order indicates a higher force at play, in a similar way are we to perceive the routine of Mother Nature as equally indicative. So the next time you hear of a miraculous event and the skepticism kicks in, think about old Grandmother Sarah who started her family at age ninety.
