Parshat Chayei Sarah: Love Story

 

If I were to ask you to provide a definition of the Torah, how would you describe it?

You could say that, on a superficial level, it was a history book.  Perhaps you might think of it as a guide to Jewish law and ritual.  A third idea might point to it being a manual of morality (or the lack of it, as described so vividly in last week’s Parsha when focussing on the men of Sodom).  But could you ever consider it to have elements of being a love story?

I’m not necessarily referring to the relationship between our nation and Gd, although there is a deep bond that runs throughout the five books, even if it is sometimes difficult to comprehend why some events took place and whether these could be considered as pertaining to the kind of loving interaction that we can readily understand.

But, looking at this week’s Parsha, I can come to no other conclusion other than its key ingredients can be summarised in one single word:

Love.

Chayei Sarah, literally ‘the life of Sarah’ is a Parsha that is unique in the Torah.

Its structure is bookended by the deaths and burials of our first Matriarch and Patriarch, Sarah and Avraham/Abraham respectively.  Its middle section is a tender and moving description of a dedicated servant’s journey to find a wife for his master’s son.  These elements blend to detail the loving relationships between human beings.

When Rivka/Rebecca is introduced to Yitzchak/Isaac, we are told that she became his wife and that not only did he love her, but she also comforted him after the sudden death of his mother.  This is indeed true love.

Our Parsha takes us on a journey through life, and the love that accompanies it, from youth to old age.  Mills and Boon eat your heart out!

When I think of couples whose love grew throughout their married life, my memories turn to my own parents.

They should have celebrated their 60^th wedding anniversary on 29^th October, had my mother not passed away earlier this year.  Like Yitzchak and Rivka, theirs was an initial relationship that was separated by long distances.  In their case, my father is Yitzchak and my mother was Rosette (although her mother’s middle name was Rivka as is that of my youngest daughter, Shira).

Antwerp to New York may be further in distance than Be’er Lachai Roi to Aram Naharayim but in both cases two individuals came together and created a new life together.

It wasn’t easy.  My mother’s father was in ill-health and my father’s mother had also been very unwell.  The war had taken its toll on both in different ways and their children, who became refugees in childhood, bore the scars of the war that had ended only 15 years before their initial meeting in 1960.

They were married at the Machzike Adath shul in the Ooestenstraat in Antwerp by Rabbi Kreiswirth, the renowned Chief Rabbi of the community, and they promptly set about arranging to travel to New York to settle in Manhatten near my paternal grandparents.  My mother, raised in the close-knit community of Antwerp didn’t feel at home in the gigantic sprawl that is New York City and after two years, convinced my father to leave and settle in Golders Green in order to be near to my uncle and other members of our family.

So, in 1963, my prenatal roots were established in the United Kingdom.

Life was not easy for my parents at first, but their friendship and growing love kept them together through some very trying times.  Their journey from Antwerp, through New York to London, as the archetypal wandering Jews brought its challenges but at the same time, many rewards, not least a wonderful circle of close friends.  And in their golden years, before Covid struck, they lived a highly fulfilling life in their second home on Limes Avenue, otherwise known as the ‘Sobell Centre’.

My mother’s life was bookended by the outset of war when she was three and Covid when she was in her early 80s.  She refused to let it defeat her and would have done anything to be able to reach their special anniversary, but it was not to be.  My father, in his own special way, continued the journey they had started together and now resides in the home adjacent to the centre.  It is as though he is now ending their journey, albeit on his own.

Life leads us in strange and unpredictable ways, and we don’t know how long it will take for us to reach our destination.  The story of Avraham and Sarah, Yitzchak and Rivka in this week’s Parsha lets us know that, even with the passing of a loved person like Sarah, life has to go on.

Rashi tells us that during Sarah’s lifetime, a light burned in their tent from one Shabbat to the next; the dough she made was blessed and a cloud hung over the tent.  All three disappeared when she died and all three reappeared when Rivka entered the same tent.  Love can ignite even the most extinguished traces of human relationships.

You may similarly notice that in the Hebrew in Verse 2 of Chapter 23, the ‘kaf’ in the word ‘velivkotah’ – and Avraham wept for Sarah is small.  This is the same in the Torah.  Avraham wept privately for his life’s partner, who had been there by his side through so much, but he knew that there had to be a limit to his mourning.  In sending his servant, Eliezer, to seek a wife for their son, he was indicating that life had to carry on, despite everything.  It is a message that has not been lost on me in the last six months.  For I too, am continuing, as is my father.

Although we may not be able to celebrate my parent’s Diamond Anniversary, this doesn’t mean that we can’t remember and value their partnership together.  Through thick and thin theirs, like our Patriarchs and Matriarchs, was indeed a love story and my very being is its witness.

So, after all, The Torah is a book of love and it is in this spirit that although they may no longer be physically together, the anniversary of their marriage is something to cherish and remember.

Shabbat Shalom.