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(Library of Hebrew Bible 468) Omri Boehm - The Binding of Isaac - A Religious Model of Disobedience-Continuum International Publishing Group (2007)
(Library of Hebrew Bible 468) Omri Boehm - The Binding of Isaac - A Religious Model of Disobedience-Continuum International Publishing Group (2007)
468
Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series
Editors
Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University
Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge
Founding Editors
David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn
Editorial Board
Richard J. Coggins, Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon,
Norman K. Gottwald, Gina Hens-Piazza, John Jarick, Andrew D. H. Mayes,
Carol Meyers, Patrick D. Miller, Yvonne Sherwood
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THE BINDING OF ISAAC
Omri Boehm
A\
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NEW Y O R K • L O N D O N
Copyright © 2007 by Omri Boehm
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To fear God is not the same as to be afraid of him. We are afraid of God when we have
transgressed and feel guilty, but we fear him when we are so disposed to conduct
ourselves that we can stand before him.
—Kant
INTRODUCTION 1
PRELIMINARY METHODOLOGICAL REMARKS:
ON TEXTUAL INTERPRETATION 4
Chapter 1
ABRAHAM: A MODEL OF OBEDIENCE? 12
Chapter 2
THE ORIGINAL VERSION OF THE STORY: ABRAHAM DISOBEYS 20
Chapter 3
THE TRIAL OF SODOM IN THE BACKGROUND:
ABRAHAM'S ETHICAL PROTEST 34
Chapter 4
ABRAHAM'S JOURNEY TO MOUNT MORIAH: OBEDIENCE,
INTERNAL STRUGGLE OR PREDICTION OF DISOBEDIENCE? 41
Chapter 5
THE RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE OF THE AKEDAH:
ETHICAL RESPONSIBILITY, CHILD SACRIFICE
AND THE EXISTENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF ISRAEL 49
Chapter 6
"ABRAHAM'S PREVENTION OF THE SACRIFICE":
IBN CASPI'S INTERPRETATION OF GENESIS 22 58
Chapter 7
THE FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLE OF PROPHECY:
MAIMONIDES' ESOTERIC INTERPRETATION OF GENESIS 22 73
viii The Binding of Isaac
Chapter 8
"HE DESTROYS BOTH THE INNOCENT WITH THE WICKED":
BETWEEN JOB AND ABRAHAM 86
Chapter 9
ON FEARING GOD WITHOUT BEING AFRAID OF HIM:
FROM KIERKEGAARD TO KANT 101
Chapter 10
A RELIGIOUS MODEL OF DISOBEDIENCE 121
Bibliography 137
Before you lies a book that, long before I met its author, I yearned to
read. Perhaps no passage in all of Scripture—surely no passage in the
Tanakh—has provoked so broad and deep a literature of commentary as
Gen 22, the story of the heart-stopping human sacrifice that somehow
never took place. But this literature, many centuries in the writing, comes
down to us in three streams that no one before Omri Boehm has brought
fully to confluence. The first and oldest stream is that of traditional
Jewish and Christian religious commentary: midrash, hagiography, and
rabbinic or patristic exegesis. The second stream is that of philosophical
and theological commentary, Jewish and Christian, again, but rising and
subsiding in powerfully different waves: what Maimonides and Aquinas
do with this haunting story is not what Spinoza and Kant do, and theirs
was far from the last wave to break. The third stream is that of modern
historical commentary, reading the ancient Israelite text critically by
reading it in and against its context in the recovered literatures and
reconstructed cultures of Semitic antiquity.
Even the oldest of these streams continues to flow in a new way.
Aggadic midrash—commentary by artful narrative expansion—lives on
as biblically inspired poetry and fiction, now being written by women as
well as men. As for philosophical and theological speculation inspired by
Gen 22, it has been given a grim but overwhelmingly powerful new
impulse by the Shoah, Finally, as regards the unfinished enterprise of
historical-critical Bible scholarship, there awaits the still unexcavated
and inexhaustible immensity of the ancient Near East. In the present
context, I might mention, as just one example, the Harvard Punic Project,
which unearthed the tiny skeletons of literally thousands of sacrificed
infants from the "Tophet" of ancient Carthage.
Because this trio of discursive streams continues to flow, but not for
that reason alone, the last word about the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac,
will never be written, and Omri Boehm makes no claim to the contrary.
He has produced, nonetheless, an original thesis about the righteous
x The Binding of Isaac
But Job will not be provoked. His terse and enigmatic rejoinder ends, in
the Jewish Publication Society translation:
I had heard You with my ears,
But now I see You with my eyes;
Therefore, I recant and relent,
Being but dust and ashes. (Job 42:5-6)
I have argued elsewhere for the translation:
Word of you had reached my ears,
But now that my eyes have seen you,
I shudder with sorrow for mortal clay.
The wording aside, the effect upon God is beyond dispute. As before
with Abraham, so now with Job, it is God who must be satisfied with his
defiant creature's response rather than the creature with God's. In both
exchanges, divine rhetoric inadequately masks a divine defeat.
These two paradigmatic biblical encounters come together in the cli-
mactic eighth of Boehm's ten chapters: "'He Destroys Both the Innocent
With the Wicked': Between Job and Abraham." At the end of Job's
career as at the beginning of Abraham's, the issue is divine destruction of
innocent life, and the reader must determine whether God's Favorite—
the father of Israel or the archetype of all righteous Gentiles—is to be
celebrated for his gracious submission or for his terminal defiance.
In our day, as never before, theology has come round to theodicy. By
bringing his exceptionally rich consideration of the Binding of Isaac to a
focus on the death of the innocent, Omri Boehm—Israeli by birth and
early education, American and European in his more recent formation—
has written a commentary on one chapter of one book of the Bible that
becomes, in its most cogent moments, an apology for the continuing,
fertilizing relevance of the Bible as a whole and a refreshing reminder of
why the wise look back as often as they look ahead.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I began thinking about the ideas presented in this book when I was
eighteen, and still a high-school student. Special thanks are due to Leiki
Saban and Tami Ezer, my Tanakh Hagbarah teachers, for inspiring my
initial interest in the subject. I wish to thank also my friends, Ortal, Eliel,
Alex, Shuvi, and Haggai, who encouraged me in pursuing the first steps
of the writing. Professor Avi Horvitz, of the Hebrew University in
Jerusalem, read an early draft of my first paper on Gen 22, and Professor
Ed Greenstein offered a great deal of help, criticizing and commenting
on the material in the second and the fifth chapters. I have benefited
greatly from my teachers, including Robert Adams, Sara Klein-Breslavi,
Robert Burt, John Hare, Yair Hoffman, Menachem Fisch, James Ponet,
and Osnat Zinger, as well as from the help of Christoph Levin, Hanna
Kasher, liana Arbel, and Mati Schechtman. My grandmother, Shoshana
Boehm, has provided much help with German texts, and Mira Reich
proofread and corrected the manuscript, preventing many embarrassing
errors. Special thanks are due to the red head girl, Anat Schechtman, for
giving my book its name.
Three institutions supported me in the period of writing the book: the
"Adi Lautman Program for Outstanding Students," Tel Aviv University
(2001-2003), the "Shalem Center," Jerusalem (2003), and Yale Univer-
sity (2004).
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INTRODUCTION
"Take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love and go to the
land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering..." Must Abra-
ham obey his God? It is usually thought that the Akedah presents not
only an ethical question but also an ethical reply. But for the intervention
of the angel, Abraham would have killed his son. The moral to be drawn
would be that obedience to God takes precedence over morality as
humanly conceived. However, in a textual study of Gen 22 (first pre-
sented as a paper in Vetus Testamentum 52 [2001]: 1-12), I suggested
that the figure of an "angel of YHWH" (w. 11-12), apparently checking
Abraham at the last moment before he kills Isaac, is a secondary
interpolation in the original text (together with the second angelic speech
which is usually considered as such). If this is so, in the original narrative
Abraham actually disobeyed the divine command to slay his son,
sacrificing the ram "instead of his son" (132 firm, v. 13) on his own
responsibility:
Then they came to the place of which God had told him, and Abraham
built an altar there and placed the wood in order, and he bound Isaac his
son and laid him on the altar upon the wood; And Abraham stretched out
his hand and took the knife to slay his son... But Abraham lifted up his
eyes and looked, and behold behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by
its horns. And Abraham went, and took the ram, and offered it up for a
burnt offering instead of his son. (Gen 22:9-10, 13)
The assumption that Abraham obeyed God's command has been
commonly accepted by generations of readers. It is adopted not only by
biblical scholars—philosophers, poets and painters have presumed it in
their works, as well as Jewish and Christian theologians.1 In Judaism,
Abraham's readiness to kill his son symbolizes the moment when the
blessing of his children—Abraham's "seed"—is confirmed. "Because
you have done this..." the angel proclaims, "I will indeed bless you";
"your offspring shall possess the gate of their enemies" (w. 16-18). In
2. Throughout the book I refer to Gen 22 as the "Binding" or the Akedah (mpr)
interchangeably.
3. "Lower criticism" is the scholarly effort to recognize in the biblical text phe-
nomena as copying errors and accidental mistakes, occurring during the transmission
of the text; "higher criticism" is the attempt to recognize in the ancient text deliber-
ate—sometimes even ideological—changes, created by later redactors.
Introduction 3
Faith" and the "teleological suspension of the ethical." Can these con-
cepts be sustained after Abraham's disobedience is argued? Kant too
referred to the story in his religious and political writings, condemning
Abraham's readiness to slay his son. Abraham should have disobeyed,
Kant contends, since he could never have been certain that the command
was truly divine. In the third part of the book, I re-open the philosophical
debate between Kant and Kierkegaard. It will become clear that the
reinterpretation of the biblical text is relevant to both, shedding new light
on their argumentation.
In earlier days Abraham's readiness to sacrifice his son was perceived
as a supreme act of faith. In our liberal-democratic culture people often
regard it as a distressing and unethical religious submissiveness—per-
haps even as an act of insanity or domestic violence. These views seem
to me erroneous and misleading. Given the divine command to sacrifice
Isaac—a situation perhaps inconceivable to a modern reader who is not
ready, or able, to concede—disobedience cannot be regarded a "better"
alternative to obedience. There is no "better alternative" for Abraham in
this narrative, neither rationally nor ethically: killing one's son and
disobeying a direct divine command are both unthinkable. Therefore, this
book does not discuss such questions as what Abraham should have done
or whether he in fact did the right thing. I do not know how to answer
them and, in fact, would be suspicious of any account that claims to do
so. Instead, I shall remain as close as possible to the narrative itself,
attempting to verify textually what Abraham did. Having established his
disobedience, I will go on, in the concluding chapters, to inquire into its
philosophical significance and religious implications.
Religious faith, drawing on the Binding as a model, has often been
understood in terms of obedience. By reinterpreting Gen 22 I seek to
argue against this conception. The monotheistic model of faith presented
by Abraham was actually a model of disobedience.
PRELIMINARY METHODOLOGICAL REMARKS:
ON TEXTUAL INTERPRETATION
1
Can there be a "correct" interpretation of a biblical text? This question is
closely related to the question of the reader's objectivity, a matter much
treated in current philosophical and hermeneutic discussions without
much agreement being reached. In recent years there is a growing inter-
est in the "subjective" hermeneutic approaches (best represented in the
work of Derrida and Barthes), which challenge the very possibility of
assigning a text an objective significance. According to these views, a
text does not have a fixed meaning, determined in the act of writing and
waiting to be discovered by the reader. Rather, they consider it as created
by the act of reading: the meaning of a story, a sentence or even a word
is determined finally only in the context of reading, which readers bring
with them to their encounter with the text. Therefore, a text's meaning is
essentially in a flux: each reader, as a subject responsible for a different
and individual worldview, is also the final and only authority for its
"correct" interpretation. Clearly, if such a view is adopted it becomes
impossible to conduct an "objective" study of the biblical text.1
1. For a full discussion, see Semeia 51(1990), an issue devoted to the impact of
subjective, or post-structural theories, on biblical criticism.
Preliminary Methodological Remarks 5
modern text and consequently from any text that the criterion can be
made to suit. While most modern texts are products of an instantaneous
one-act composition (the final form being determined almost imme-
diately after the writing process), the Bible is the result of a progressive
process. Most scholars agree that this is a composite text, a product of
writing, rewriting and editing, taking place in different places, times and
even centuries.5 During this time period, the Israelite culture was under-
going through conscious struggles of determination of a new identity.
Religious-political changes were continuously taking shape as the Israel-
ites were not only breaking apart from the pagan world of without, but
also struggling within as to the form of the monotheistic culture they
constituted. Such an atmosphere naturally stimulated controversies and
disagreements: What is the "identity" of the new monotheistic deity?
What would be the correct way to worship it? Many traditional stories
had to be continuously edited and revised by different authors of differ-
ent schools, in order to be assimilated into changing world views.
Hence Austin's criterion becomes problematic: it is difficult to ascribe
a given biblical text to a definite author, or to determine its target of
readership. Furthermore, since many biblical themes were formulated
to carry religious significance and become canonical, their appeal to a
contemporary readership is elusive: some may have been consciously
designed to appeal to a future readership as well. This is not to say that
Austin's approach should be dismissed altogether in the biblical context;
but it must be closely accompanied by the methodological assumptions
of biblical criticism, and modified by the specific characteristics of the
biblical text.
seems to suggest, though not in explicit language, that these passages are
in fact later interpolations, incorporated into the text by human authors.6
In 1670 Spinoza published his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus (The
Theological-Political Treatise), contesting the authority of Scripture and
insisting that the sacred text must be subjected to scientific methods of
examination. It was only in 1753, however, six hundred years after Ibn
Ezra's commentary on the Torah, that a modern critical approach was
explicitly pronounced, in Astruc's "First Documentary Hypothesis."
Astruc observed that some narratives in Genesis consistently refer to the
Deity as (YHWH) iTliT while others equally consistently use (God)
DTD^X, and suggested that Genesis was composed of two originally inde-
pendent sources. The first he titled Elohiste (E), the second Jehoviste (J).
Ever since Astruc first proposed the criterion of divine names for dis-
tinguishing different sources of the biblical texts, scholars have argued
and disagreed about its correct elaboration and implication in biblical
exegesis.7 In 1823 Stahelin offered his "Supplementary Hypothesis,"
arguing that the Torah is basically an E text into which J passages were
only inserted. In 1853 Hupfeled revisited this assumption, pointing out
that what had generally been recognized as the "Elohiste" should in fact
be analyzed into two sources, differing in their style of writing,
worldviews and age of composition (he recognized the first as the author
of the basic text, identified today as E, the second as a much later source,
identified today as the Priestly source [P]). In 1876 these hypotheses
received a more stable articulation in the so-called Graf-Wellhausen
"critical hypothesis." Graf and Wellhausen agreed that the text of
Genesis basically belonged to two parallel sources, E and J, which were
incorporated into one composite text by a later redactor (referred to today
as RJE). They suggested that the latest source was P (dating to the exilic
or post-exilic period), interpolated into the composite text of Genesis that
had previously been redacted.
In recent years there is a growing disagreement among biblical schol-
ars as to the correct implications of the "documentary hypothesis," the
"critical hypothesis" and the like. The uncertainty involved in them has
even caused some scholars to suggest that they are inadequate for bibli-
cal criticism and should be abandoned altogether,8 It is beyond the scope
of the present study to address these controversies here, which are not
intimately related to my purpose. In what follows I shall briefly sketch
the critical assumptions that are related and, it seems to me, can be
generally agreed upon.
The Bible is a composite text, created by several authors of different
schools and different world views. These authors can sometimes be iden-
tified and distinguished by their usage of divine names, their style of
writing and the manner in which they represent the Deity. If applied with
caution, these criteria may be valid; some biblical texts do persistently
prefer one divine name to another (this principle is somewhat asymmet-
ric: E is particularly persistent in avoiding the term JTBT while J may at
times use DVrfPK). The different sources were assimilated and fitted into
one composite narrative (sometimes referred to as JE) by an act of gen-
eral redaction; the relatively ''young source," P, was inserted into this
composite text only after it had been redacted (actually there is some
disagreement on this last point; however, this disagreement is irrelevant
to my discussion of Gen 22).
Even though they should not be taken uncritically, these assumptions
are important; if applied responsibly they may adequately explain many
biblical phenomena that otherwise cannot be accounted for (such as
interpolations, repetitions of stories, different versions of the same story
and so forth). But what, then, would count as a responsible application?
To the best of my knowledge there has not been much methodological
reflection on this matter by biblical critics. I shall briefly offer two
necessary, though admittedly not sufficient, criteria.
3
a. The Ockham 's razor criterion is originally an ontological imperative:
"Entities are not to be multiplied beyond necessity." One must not
believe in the existence of more objects than a minimum necessary, since
no entity exists without reason and hence would not be if it were not
necessary. But it is the epistemological version of this reasoning and its
methodological application that are of interest for the biblical scholar.
When explaining a given phenomenon, one must appeal to the smallest
number of factors required. That is, any phenomenon must be explained
by the least number of explanatory elements.
This criterion, which is frequently appealed to in the empirical
sciences, can easily be made to apply to biblical interpretation: when
explicating the meaning of a biblical text, a difficulty in it or any other
biblical phenomenon, the interpreter should attempt to do so by the
smallest number of explanatory factors possible (indeed, only the
Preliminary Methodological Remarks 9
with the truth values of judgments and utterances, it does not appear
usefully applicable for textual problems of biblical interpretation. It was
elaborated on by Ronald Dworkin, however, who extended it to account
for a wider range of interpretational questions.12 Dworkin writes that
when a text has more than one alternative interpretation, the one to be
preferred is that yielding the most excellent literary work. This means
that, pace Quine, logic should not necessarily be the only criterion of
charity but may be supplemented by literary, aesthetic and other criteria.
The best interpretation would be the one covering all aspects of the text
(aesthetic, verbal and logical), maximizing their merits to the highest.
It is interesting to see that the traditional exegetes of the Bible, on the
assumption that the text is divine, actually applied the Charity Principle
in their works quite persistently. They often comment not only on stories,
words or phrases, but also on the significance of parts of speech and
letters, not permitting the text to have even one logical error, flaw of
formulation or even redundancy of words. Abrabanel, for instance, in his
commentary on Gen 22:13 ("and Abraham went, and took the ram and
offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son...") points out what
appears to be an extremely minor literal flaw:
How did Abraham know that the ram that he saw was there in order to be
sacrificed "instead of his son" 031 nnn)? He [God] did not command him
[to slay the ram]. This ram could have belonged to another person's flock,
so that the burnt offering would turn out to be a theft.13
This gap of information—Abraham sacrifices the ram without first
receiving a direct order—is not a minor deficiency in Abrabanel's eyes,
making possible some uncharitable meanings in the text (for instance
that the ram was a "theft" and therefore impure). On the assumption that
the text is divine, this cannot be possible, and must be interpreted away.
Abrabanel expends much effort to show that there was some satisfying
reason to be found in the text, a good argument explaining why Abraham
sacrificed the ram instead of his son, even though God had never com-
manded him to do so.
It is not by coincidence that another aspect of this verse was criticized
by a traditional interpreter. R. Yaacov Kuli, a well-known collector of
Hagaddah stories, notes that the verse contains slightly more information
than what is necessary: "Why does the text say 'and he offered it up as a
burnt offering instead of his son'!" He asks, "Obviously it was instead of
his son, so why does the text have to explain?"14 As Abrabanel found it
perplexing that Abraham sacrificed the ram instead of his son without
being specifically ordered to do so, Kuli could not agree that the verse
might be redundant. In his view, there must be a reason why the text
mentions that the ram was sacrificed "instead of (in nnn) Isaac: by this
time Isaac supposedly had already been saved by the angel (v. 12); why
then is it explained that the ram was sacrificed "instead" of him?
To modern eyes, this meticulousness may often seem exaggerated or
even obsessive. As will become clear in the following chapters, this is
actually a fruitful systematic application of the Charity Principle, yield-
ing some of the most precise explanations of the biblical text; in this
case, a most accurate one of Gen 22.
Most biblical scholars no longer share the assumption that the text is
sacred and divine, tending to analyze it according to ("higher"/"lower")
critical methods, thus emphasizing the assumption that it is only man
made. This tendency is problematic. Dworkin's Charity Principle reminds
us that, man made or not, if we wish adequately to interpret the Bible, we
must assume that it is of the highest possible perfection.
A responsible interpretation, then, strives to discover the objective
meaning of the biblical stories by asking: How did the author intend to
influence the reader's mind? In answering this question a biblical inter-
preter should consider the possibility that the text may have more than
one author (thus carrying with it more than one intention), and be able to
account for such a phenomenon. Sometimes, this can be done by dis-
tinguishing different authors from each other according to their usage of
divine names, their style of writing and other philological criteria. How-
ever, since these methodological assumptions are not definitive, any
interpretation should be evaluated by the criteria of Ockham's razor and
the Charity Principle. Among competing interpretations, that which
observes them more successfully is the one to be preferred.
I would like to emphasize that even though this book employs (par-
ticularly in the first two chapters) methods of biblical source criticism, it
is by no means committed to them. As pointed out in the Introduction,
this fact should be made clear in Chapters 6 and 7, dealing with Maimon-
ides' and Ibn Caspi's interpretations. Clearly, Ibn Caspi and Maimonides
did not approach the Bible with a modern-critical perspective. Yet, as I
shall argue, their interpretations of the Binding come extremely close to
the one elaborated in this book.
Abraham, don't let your thoughts grow proud! You built one altar and did
not offer up your son, but I built seven altars and offered up my sons on
them! ("The Woman and her Seven Sons," Yalkui)
It is usually thought that the purpose of the Binding was to put Abra-
ham's obedience to the test. In order to examine him, God commands
that he makes the most terrifying sacrifice conceivable. Is his faith strong
enough? From this conception follows the common appreciation of
Abraham's religious conduct; namely, that in his readiness to sacrifice
his son he performed an exceptional act of obedience, presenting a model
of unprecedented devoted faith. "The founding father's willingness to
sacrifice his son as a proof of devotion," says Sarna, "created an inex-
haustible store of spiritual credit upon which future generations may
draw."1 Vermes similarly writes that by consenting to offer his son
"Abraham proved his perfect love [for God], and his example became the
cornerstone of the whole Jewish theology... "2
If we look more carefully, however, it appears that this common
understanding cannot be adopted without reservations. The obedience
Abraham displays in the narrative was in fact nothing out of the ordinary
in the Near East, where stories of child sacrifice—in which the son is
actually slain by his father—are frequently encountered. His sacrifice
was no more tremendous, to give only one example, than that of Mesha
the king of Moab who, observing that a battle was going against his city,
"took his son who was to reign in his stead, and sacrificed him for a
burnt offering upon the wall" (2 Kgs 3:26-27). Why not acclaim Mesha
as a religious ideal, a "knight of faith"?
1
God's command to Abraham, that he sacrifice his only son Isaac is a
distressing order on the personal level, that of a father's love for his son.
As S0ren Kierkegaard puts it, Abraham's relation to Isaac is "simply
expressed by saying that a father should love his son more dearly than
himself."3 What is actually at issue in this narrative, however, goes far
beyond the personal. The trial is set in order to pose a matter of principle:
God is the monotheistic deity, Abraham the symbol of the monotheistic
believer, and the sacrifice of the son constitutes a pagan ritual, where a
grave moral sin is inherent. The impossible meeting of the three (God,
father and son) presents a paradigmatic dilemma: "Must the father of
monotheism obey his God?"4
That Abraham is a symbol of the monotheistic believer is recognized
in a wide range of traditional texts, both in and outside the Bible. The
clearest biblical expression is found in Gen 12:1, where God commands
Abraham to leave his country and his father's house, and travel to a new
land which he shall point out to him: "Go-you away [^7 *]*?] from your
country and your kindred and your father's house, to the land that I will
show you."5 This command marks the moment at which Abraham, who
at that time still followed his father's pagan tradition, is ordered to break
away and make a new beginning.6
3. S0ren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling (trans, and ed. H. Hong and E. Hong;
Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 59.
4. Ibid. Problem one: "Is there such a thing as a teleological suspension of the
ethical?"
5. Translations do not do justice to the Hebrew, "]*? "]*?. This is an unusual
rhyme, which echoes again in Gen 22: ITmQn fHK*? "]*? "]bl (translated in the KJV as
"go to" and in the NSV as "Go from"). In both instances I have opted to read "go-you
away."
6. Abraham's sort of "natural" monotheistic tendency was also reflected in a
famous Midrash, describing the ten years old Abraham as he searches for his God:
"Then he [Abraham] arose and walked about, and he left the cave, and went along
the edge of the valley. When the sun sank, and the stars came forth, he said, 'these
are the gods!' But the dawn came, and the stars could be seen no longer, and he said
'I will not pay worship to these, for they are no gods.' But again the sun rise, and he
said, 'He is my god, him will I extol.' But again the sun set and he said 'He is no
14 The Binding of Isaac
god,' and beholding the moon, he called her his god to whom he would pay Divine
homage. Then the moon was obscured, and he cried out: 'This, too, is no god! There
is one who sets them all in motion.'" See L. Ginzberg's The Legends of the Jews
(trans. H. Szold; Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1909),
189.
7. See also von Rad, Genesis, 234.
1. A braham: A Model of Obedience ? 15
(sacrifice it, if you will), the second time he is ordered to sacrifice his
Israelite future.8
Since the command of sacrifice sets forth a paradigmatic trial, it is
reasonable to expect that the narrative presents an exceptional moment of
faith. Since Abraham was ready to do the inconceivable—checked by the
angel at the very last moment and praised for not "sparing" his son—this
paradigm has often been interpreted in terms of obedience. Indeed, to
modern eyes this may seem obvious: a father's readiness to sacrifice his
beloved son presents an exceptional act of submission. To earlier readers,
however, this was not quite as obvious. On the contrary, as I already
said, stories of child sacrifice were frequently encountered in the Near
East; there was nothing out of the ordinary in Abraham's readiness to
sacrifice Isaac.
The Near Eastern stories all share a common pattern: they tell of a
noble leader of a people or a city who, in a time of impending danger of
destruction, sacrifices his son in order to appease the gods. The act of
sacrifice and the death of the leader's son (who is often termed, like
Isaac, his "only son," TIT9) are thus the key to the survival of the people:
because the son was sacrificed, the people are saved. Isaac's case,
indeed, is very similar in this respect. As the child of the promise, he too
is the key to the survival of the people, though in a different way than
that common in the Near Eastern tradition. If the people of Israel are to
exist, Isaac has to live. This un-coincidental similarity indicates that the
Akedah is not only similar to the Near Eastern traditions but must be
somehow connected to them. I shall explore this relation in detail in
Chapter 5. Suffice it to say here that in light of this association, Abra-
ham's obedience, his readiness to go to the last moment, becomes quite
immaterial. In the Near Eastern stories, the father is not only willing to
slay his son but, unlike Abraham, eventually does so.
2
4 Maccabees reports an incident (167-164 B.C.E.) which later became
known as the case of "the woman and her seven sons." A Jewish woman
had to choose between eating from the meat of the Roman sacrifices or
dying together with her sons, and chose death (4 Mace 14:26). A later
8. See also ibid., 239: "Above all, one must consider Isaac, who is much more
than simply a 'foil' for Abraham, i.e., a more or less accidental object on which his
obedience is to be proved. Isaac is the child of the promise. In him every saving
thing that God has promised to do is invested and guaranteed."
9. See J. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 25-31.
16 The Binding of Isaac
When they see my son returning with me, they will say that I proved the
liar to God on high and despised His words, and they will not believe that
the cause [of restraint] was the Lord's. Then let the Holy one, blessed be
He, take note that I have not rebelled against His commands and may He
be my Witness.1^
As we have seen, the Akedah is formulated as if to introduce a model of
faith, putting the father of monotheism to a paradigmatic test. We may
justifiably assume, therefore, that the narrative was designed to present
an exceptional moment of religious conduct. Yet the perplexity
expressed by generations of readers excludes the usual understanding.
This is not a paradigm of exceptional obedience.
3
Philo of Alexandria, polemicizing with Hellenistic critics who ridiculed
Abraham's obedience, invested much effort in dismissing such claims.14
There is a crucial difference between Abraham's "sacrifice" and those of
other Near Eastern fathers, he argues. Whereas they served God to
achieve a definite purpose, Abraham served God purely, with no inten-
tion of gaining anything in return. In the Near Eastern traditions fathers
did indeed sacrifice their sons in order to gain something in return,
namely, the rescue of their people.15 Thus Abraham, who does not embark
on a sacrifice to rescue his people (but on the contrary jeopardizes their
existence), is unique. His is a pure religious sacrifice.
Kierkegaard adopts the same line of argument. He too finds himself
defending Abraham's obedience, comparing it to the apparently superior
religious conducts of noble fathers who actually sacrificed their sons (he
calls them "tragic heroes"). The crucial difference, Kierkegaard says, is
that while they were acting in an "ethical dimension" (that is, in so far as
they sacrificed their sons for the purpose of saving their people their
conduct was not murder but could be deemed "good") Abraham was not.
His is not an ethical sacrifice made in order to save the public. It is solely
religious, performed out of duty to God:
The difference between the tragic hero and Abraham is very obvious. The
tragic hero is still within the ethical. He allows an expression to have its
telos in a higher expression of the ethical; he scales down the ethical rela-
tion between father and son or daughter and father to a feeling that has its
4
The difficulty in explaining the religious significance of the Akedah has
led more recent scholars to suggest other alternatives. The first thing that
strikes the reader as exceptional in this story is the fact that Isaac was not
eventually killed. It has therefore been suggested that the story is
intended as a polemic against the ritual of child sacrifice: it presents the
well-known tradition of the noble father who sacrifices his son, but
changes the outcome. The son survives; God does not will the death of
the son. Thus Spiegel writes that "Quite possibly the primary purpose of
the Akedah story may have been only this: to attach to a real pillar of the
The view of the Akedah chapter is that the one who puts to the test and
commands the Akedah is God (Elohim), and the one who prevents it and
makes the [subsequent] promise is the angel of YHWH. (Nahmanides'
commentary on Gen 22:12)
Now it came to pass after these things that God tested Abraham. And said
to him, "Abraham," and he said "Here I am." Then He said "Take your
son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of the
Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains
of which I shall tell you"; So Abraham rose early in the morning and
saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him and Isaac
his son; and he split the wood for the burnt offering and arose and went to
the place of which God had told him; Then on the third day Abraham
lifted his eyes and saw the place afar off; And Abraham said to his young
men, "Stay here with the donkey; the lad and I will go yonder and
worship, and we will come back to you"; So Abraham took the wood of
the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac his son; and he took the fire in his
hand, and the knife, and the two of them went together; But Isaac spoke
to Abraham his father and said "My father" and he said "Here I am, my
son" Then he said "Look the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for
a burnt offering"; And Abraham said "My son, God will provide for
himself the lamb for a burnt offering." So the two of them went together;
Then they came to the place of which God had told him and Abraham
built an altar there and placed the wood in order, and he bound Isaac his
son and laid him on the altar upon the wood; And Abraham stretched out
his hand and took the knife to slay his son; But an angel of the Lord
called to him from heaven and said "Abraham Abraham" so he said
"Here I am" and he said "Do not lay your hand on the lad or do any harm
to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld
your son, your only son, from me"; And Abraham lifted up his eyes and
looked, and behold and behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by its
horns. And Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up for a burnt
offering instead of his son; And Abraham called the name of the place the
Lord-will-provide; as it is said to this day "In the Mount of the Lord it
2. The Original Version of the Story 21
1
On the face of it, the story hardly calls for further interpretation: God
commands Abraham to sacrifice his only son; Abraham wakes up the
next morning, takes Isaac to the land of Moriah, binds him on the altar
and seizes the knife. The angel intervenes, freezing the scene and saving
Isaac's life at the last moment; Abraham then sees a ram and sacrifices it
on the altar instead of his son. The most intimate emotions are expressed
in this story without any cumulation of language. The most difficult phi-
losophical dilemmas are expressed without overt appeal to complicated
concepts. But for the intervention of the angel, Isaac would have been
slain by his father; the moral to be drawn therefore is that obedience to
God takes precedence over the moral, as humanly conceived.
In spite of the apparent clarity of the narrative, however, its style and
composition are quite elusive. It has been widely accepted by scholars
that Gen 22:1-13, 19 is the original story, traditionally ascribed by
source critics to E. This conclusion is based on the extensive use of God
(DTTl^X) for the deity, the strong allusions to the story of Hagar (also
usually ascribed to E) and a few other stylistic and structural compo-
nents. The "second angelic speech" (w. 14-18) is, in this view, usually
considered a later interpolation to the original account. In contrast to the
body of the story, this angelic address uses the divine name YHWH
(HUT), not God (DTn^K), and differs also in style and composition, being
repetitive in wording and using long explanatory arguments; the rest of
the story is economical in manner.1 Furthermore, if we simply disregard
these verses, which come after the event has actually come to an end, the
narrative remains coherent and the reading flows well. This point is
striking, especially when keeping in mind the precise and delicate
formulation of the narrative:
And Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up for a burnt
offering instead of his son... So Abraham returned to his young men and
they rose and went together to Beersheba; and Abraham dwelt in Beer-
sheba.(Gen22:10, 19)
Recent studies, however, have questioned this analysis. Genesis 22:1-13
also recognizes the divine name YHWH (the "first angelic speech,"
w. 11-12), making the traditional identification with E questionable.
Moreover, the distinction between vv. 1-13, 19 as original and w. 14,
15-18 as secondary has also been questioned. Scholars have argued that
Abraham's obedience to God, his successful emergence from such an
extreme test, actually call for the extra blessings, which are bestowed on
him only in the second angelic speech (w. 15-18). In light of Abraham's
obedience, in other words, the story could not have been concluded
without the angelic address of w. 15-18 that provides the indispensable
reward. This being the case, this angelic speech cannot be reasonably
regarded as a secondary interpolation simply inserted into the original
narrative. G.W. Coats, for instance, holds this view, contending that
these verses are uan integral part of the narrative arising from the test."
He argues that since the emphasis is so strongly focused on Abraham's
obedience, a reward for it is most appropriate.2 So does J. van Seters,
who contends that without w. 15-18 "the whole purpose of testing
would have no real consequence... [I]t is only with the inclusion in the
second speech...that the ultimate aim of the testing becomes clear.
Because of Abraham's obedience his children will be blessed."3
It may be concluded that there is a discrepancy between two, well-
established observations. On the one hand, on stylistic grounds it is evi-
dent that the second angelic speech is not an integral part of the early,
original episode. J. A. Emerton actually considered it a "clumsy addition"
to what is otherwise a "beautifully written story."4 On the other hand, on
narratory grounds, this speech is an indispensable part of the original
account: Abraham's obedience necessitates a blessing which he receives
only in the second angelic speech, which, therefore, could not have been
simply interpolated in the original account5 This discrepancy has brought
scholars to suggest that the author responsible for w. 15-18 left his mark
also on the text and content of what has so far been considered the origi-
nal account (Gen 22:1-13, 19).6 Thus Wenham writes that there may
have been "a simpler, shorter account of the sacrifice of Isaac, but to
identify the original account with w. 1-14 is too simple, for the author
responsible for w. 15-18 has also left his mark on w 1-14, so that
identifying the limits and content of earlier versions of the story is
elusive."7
Wenham's observation that the author responsible for w. 15-18 influ-
enced the text as well as the content of the original account is accurate. If
there is some part which is not original to the narrative but is neverthe-
less an indispensable one arising from Abraham's obedience, it follows
that the very nature of the original account must have differed from the
story as it is known today. However, to my mind, to renounce explanation
of the text—dismissing the limits of the original account as "elusive"
without attempting to recognize them—is proper only in the absence of a
reasonable alternative interpretation. This is implied by the Ockham's
razor criterion (see discussion in the Methodological Remarks): in
searching for an explanation, we should prefer the simpler one.
I suggest that w. 11-12, where the angel checks Abraham at the last
moment, bear the imprint of the author responsible for w. 15-18 in the
original story, that is, that Gen 22:1-10, 13, 19 constitutes the original
account. This is supported by textual considerations (usage of divine
names and style of writing) as well as by the structure of the text. If this
is so, in the original account Abraham actually disobeyed the divine
command to slay his son, sacrificing the ram "instead of his son" (nnn
133, v. 13) on his own responsibility. This interpretation thus brings
together the textual and narratory understandings of the text, explaining
the reason for the later redaction of this story: anxious to conceal Abra-
ham's disobedience, a later redactor interpolated the figure of the angel,
thereby shifting responsibility for interrupting the test from Abraham to
the angel.
2
The first evidence for the secondary nature of the first angelic speech is
that, like the second speech, it uses the divine name YHWH (HIPP). This is
at odds with the divine name used throughout the narrative, which is
always God (DTn^K). As noted above, scholars used to hold that the
original story was an Elohistic composition while only the later inter-
polations use YHWH.8 However, such a simple distinction has proved
problematic. Whereas w. 14-19 (containing the angel of YHWH) can
readily be considered a later insertion in the original episode, we are left
with the "angel of YHWH" of w. 11-12, apparently an integrated partici-
pant in the story. In fact, the angel appears to be not only an integrated
but also a very necessary part, indeed, the climax of the whole. It is hard
to imagine the story as logical without the angel. Thus, if one does not
consider the possibility that these verses are secondary, one cannot
distinguish between "original" and secondary on the basis of the divine
names used.9 This was pointed out by Moberly, who observed that
the criterion of usage of divine names, which has often been appealed to in
this context is problematic. Gen 22:1-14 does in general use "elohim," while
w. 15,16 both contain "yhwh." But 22:1-14 is not, in fact, consistent.. .the
angel of verse 11 is the angel of yhwh... [This] usage is particularly sig-
nificant since there is no good reason to consider it redactional.10
However, not only can this speech be redactional, there is in fact good
reason to consider it as such. There is a strong polemical motive in this
verse, since the angel stops the action at a volatile moment. As the angel
explains at some length, this is just before Abraham sacrifices his son:
"for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your
son, your only son, from me." Yet, discounting the angel's presence in
the text, this is actually the moment just before Abraham lifts his eyes,
sees, and sacrifices the ram instead of his son:
•jron naton ns nrroa DB pr\ rrrrfacn *b IQK -HDK mpnn ^K •ana*)...
rfpan .m&sh *?I>QQ naton hv mi* o&n m pmr na *npm m&n HK
TT0 HK omaK awn ...m nK Dine?1? rtotfan HK np'n TT HK nrroK
irfwi *rtfn DK np'n oman -fri vnpa "poa ?nK2 nmt *nt nam irn
rac& ->Kaa omax aan .in nnn rhzh
Then they came to the place of which God had told him, and Abraham built
an altar there and placed the wood in order, and he bound Isaac his son and
laid him on the altar upon the wood; And Abraham stretched out his hand
8. It is not my present aim to address the recent disagreements regarding the use
of the divine names as a guide to source analysis (e.g. Alexander, "Gen 22 and the
Covenant Circumcision"; and Coats, "Abraham's Sacrifice of Faith"). The different
use of divine names is mentioned here only in order to try and distinguish two
different styles of writing.
9. See n. 3 above.
10. Moberly, "The Earliest Commentary on the Akedah," 308.
2. The Original Version of the Story 25
and took the knife to slay his son... But Abraham lifted up his eyes and
looked, and behold, behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by its horns.
And Abraham went, and took the ram and offered it up for a burnt offering
instead of his son. (Gen 22:9-10, 13-14)
The criterion of the divine name can and should be appealed to for the
distinction between original and secondary. It explains at once the style
of writing and the content of the story: the exceptional verses which,
with w. 14-18, differ in style and in the use of the divine name, taken
together mark the difference between a story in which Abraham disobeys
and a story in which he obeys. The "angel of YHWH" of the first angelic
speech was interpolated in order to conceal Abraham's disobedience.
The second angelic speech, undeniably a secondary interpolation, was
thus necessitated by Abraham's apparent obedience.
This observation is even more telling in view of the fact that the style
of the first angelic speech, as the style of the second, is repetitive, poetic
and full of explanatory arguments. This is in strict contrast to the eco-
nomic manner of the body of Gen 22. As was pointed out by E. Auer-
bach, it is an essential feature of this story to avoid any descriptions and
explanations; the text says only a necessary minimum, thus creating its
forceful effect:
The externalization of only so much of the phenomena as is necessary for
the purpose of the narrative, all else left in obscurity; the decisive points
of the narrative alone are emphasized, what lies between is non-existent;
time and place are undefined and call for interpretation; thoughts and
feelings remain unexpressed, are only suggested by the silence and the
fragmentary speeches; the whole, permeated with the most unrelieved
suspense and directed toward a single goal...remains mysterious and
fraught with background.11
Auerbach's words have certainly often been in the minds of scholars
when they point out the secondary nature of the second angelic speech.
Moberly, for example, comments (with specific reference to Auerbach)
that "the story is noted for its taut and economic style of telling, heavy
with suggestion of background context and meaning which is passed
over in silence. By contrast, the style of w. 15-18 is repetitive and
cumulative, with the use of synonyms and similes."12 The same stylistic
criteria are applicable also to the first angelic speech. Verses 11-12 have
a cumulative style, using synonyms and similes, in contrast to the short,
clipped manner of w. 1-10, 13:
But an angel of the Lord called to him from heaven and said "Abraham
Abraham" so he said "Here I am" and he said "Do not lay your hand on
the lad or do any harm to him; for now I know that you fear God, since
you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me."
In fact, these stylistic differences have been repeatedly noticed and
pointed out by commentators. The fact that the angel of YHWH's call to
Abraham from heaven (v. 11) is a double call (i.e. "Abraham Abraham"),
in contrast to Elohim's single call in v. 1, has attracted much attention. A
midrash asks:
BUT THE ANGEL OF THE LORD CALLED UNTO HIM OUT OF
THE HEAVENS... He said to him (in vs 11): ABRAHAM ABRAHAM.
And why two times? It is simply like a person who is walking on a
remote road with his companion and leaves him behind. Then he calls to
him: My companion, my companion! So the angel called: ABRAHAM
ABRAHAM, what are you doing? And why did he talk to him hurriedly?
Because Abraham was in a hurry to slaughter him.13
This midrash explains the double call from heaven as a sign of Abra-
ham's devoted intention to sacrifice his son. This is implausible: why
should Abraham "hurry" to do so? If anything, such an apologetic expla-
nation, raising more difficulties than the problem it seeks to solve,
indicates that the double call is problematic and demands an explanation.
Ibn Caspi too finds it necessary to comment on the angel of YHWH's
double call in v. 12 as against Elohim's single one in v. 1. In his explana-
tion, he refers to the midrash cited above, remarking that according to the
Rabbis the double call from heaven suggests that "the sword was already
placed on Isaac's neck, out of Abraham's urgent desire to slaughter
him."14 He dismisses that explanation, however, as addressed only to the
common people, who are unable to understand the "secrets of the Bible."
The knowledgeable reader, Ibn Caspi explains, who is able to understand
such clues as the angel's double call, will be able to grasp the "true, con-
cealed meaning" of the story. In Chapter 6 I discuss Ibn Caspi's inter-
pretation in full, arguing that when he talks about an esoteric meaning of
Gen 22, he is thinking along the lines I suggest here.15 Here it suffices to
say that in Ibn Caspi's view the key to the secret of this story is the
alternation of the divine names (mrP/OTT^X) throughout the narrative.
13. See Tanhuma Wayyeray Gen 4 in Midrash Tanhuma (trans. J. Townsend; New
Jersey: Ktav, 1989), #128.
14. See Ibn Caspi's Gevia Kesef (throughout this work the following English
edition will be cited: Joseph Ibn Kaspi 's "Gevia Kesef: A Study in the Medieval
Jewish Philosophical Exegesis [trans. B. Herring; New York: Ktav, 1982]).
15. For the text of Ibn Caspi and a full discussion, see Chapter 6.
2. The Original Version of the Story 27
The double call from heaven is not the only stylistic difference that
marks the first angelic speech in the context of Gen 22. The angelic
command "lay not thine hand upon the lad" in v. 11 is immediately
followed by a poetic repetition "and neither do thou any thing unto him."
This too has attracted much attention. Wenham writes that "Though the
words of the third panel so often echo the first, how different is their
thrust! The original order is now explicitly countermanded. The parallel-
ism, "Do not lay... Do not do anything," gives the prohibition a quasi-
poetic flavor.. ."16 C. Westermann writes that the unusual style must be
due to the fact that this is the climax of the story: "at its high points, the
narrative often takes on poetic form."17 Since this is, apparently, the
climax of the story, the narrative might well take on a poetic form.
Nevertheless, as we are looking for the imprint of the later author on the
original account, we may keep in mind that these verses, which in the
first place use YHWH (?T)fP) and not God (DTH^K), also show a striking
stylistic difference.
Furthermore, it is suspicious that the angel takes on the burden of inter-
preting the story for the reader. It is the most essential characteristic of
this text to avoid unnecessary explanations. In fact, the writer puts much
effort into avoiding even some necessary ones as well, thus demanding
from the reader an independent, subtle interpretation. "Thoughts and
feelings," observes Auerbach, "remain unexpressed and are only sug-
gested by the silence."18 This remark cannot be made to apply to the
words of the angel. His speech provides detailed information of Abra-
ham's internal states of mind, emphasizing his apparently unquestionable
intention to kill his son. Why should Abraham's "unshaken intentions,"
which have so far remained in the dark, be so meticulously emphasized
by the angel?
In fact, the mere presence of a figure of an angel in this episode and
the manner of its appearance—the call from heaven—are unexpected and
unusual in this cycle of stories. This is especially true when we consider
the context of the God-Abraham relationship which is notable for its
face to face encounters. One need only recall their meeting in the story of
Sodom (Gen 18) in order to sense the discrepancy. In this encounter God
first asks himself "shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing?" (Gen
18:17-19) and immediately shares with Abraham his plan to destroy the
city (Gen 18:20). Abraham's response is by no means less direct. He
stands up, "and Abraham came near," and says: "would you also destroy
the righteous with the wicked? ... [F]ar be it from you to do such a thing
as this... Shall not the judge of all earth do right?" (Gen 18:23-25). In
the Akedah too it was God himself, not an angel, who commanded the
sacrifice (Gen 22:1-2). Why, then, is he not the one to call it off?
Yaacov Kuli asks: "As for the text, 'But the angel of the Lord called
out to him from heaven,' it is known that the dwelling of the angels is in
the firmament. So why did not the Holy One blessed be He himself in all
his glory speak to him?"19 H. C. Brichto too points out the inconsistency
involved in this angelic appearance, posing the questions: Why does an
angel appear and not God (Elohim) himself as at the beginning of the
episode? And if an angel instead of God (Elohim), why an angel of
YHWH and not of Elohim?20 A famous midrash puts this difficulty in
Abraham's own words:
"BUT THE ANGEL OF THE LORD CALLED UNTO HIM. " Abraham
said to him: Who are you? He said to him: I am an angel. Abraham said
to him: When the holy one told me to sacrifice him, he told me so him-
self. So now I ask that he himself tell me [to stop].21
Most scholars seek to resolve the difficulty of the angelic call from
heaven by suggesting that the urgency of the moment caused this unusual
manner of intervention. As Sarna writes: "the critical urgency of the
moment precludes their usual personal appearance...and dictates this
exceptional mode of angelic intervention, just as it did [in the Hagar
story] in 21:17."22 But could not God himself have stopped Abraham in
time? Moreover, the angel who appears to Hagar in Gen 21:17 was
called the angel of "God" (DTr6K -p6a) whereas in Gen 22:12 it is an
"angel of YHWH" (miT "J*6a). Like Gen 22:1-19, Gen 21 is ascribed to
E. Therefore the angel's presence here again presents the problem of the
appearance of an "angel of YHWH" (mrp ""JX^fc) in the thick of what
seems to be—but for this exception—a composition of E.
Moberly comments on this issue, suggesting that since the expression
"Angel of YHWH" is common in the Bible, the problematic use of the
divine name here could be dismissed as "purely formulaic." However, he
observes, the fact that "angel of Elohim" is used in the Hagar story in
Gen 21:17 (also E) indicates that it could have been used here too and,
therefore, "YHWH" must be more than merely formulaic in this verse.23
Comparing this angelic speech to the speech made to Hagar seems, then,
to compound the problem rather than resolve it.
C. Westermann also comments on the unusual nature of this angelic
appearance. He observes that the angelic "call from heaven" is highly
exceptional since, when there is an angelic intervention in the patriarchal
stories, the narrative ordinarily refers to an "earthly messenger." Wester-
mann associates this problematic difference with the fact that this episode
is a late narrative.24 Genesis 22 is indeed a late narrative. Yet most schol-
ars, including Westermann, recognize that in its original form it is early,
and an integral part of the patriarchal stories.25 Could, then, this "angel of
YHWH" appearing to Abraham in w. 11-12 have had a part in it?
3
The secondary nature of the first angelic speech is further suggested
by its inaccurate placement at the climax of the story. It is remarkable
that if we omit these verses, which are usually considered so vital a part
of the episode, the narrative remains logical. In fact, it moves even more
coherently.
Abraham's actions in w. 1-10 follow on from each other, forming a
rapid and laconic sequence, and heightening the tension up to the climax:
"...they came...he built...he laid...he bound...he laid...he stretched
forth.. .he took..." At this point, the intervention of the angel arrests the
economical flow of the episode with wordier and more detailed phrases.
This could seem a natural course of events, since the tension of the story
does not have to increase at this point, but rather, to be resolved.
However, the angelic speech tends to over-explicate Abraham's obedi-
ence, which does not seem to require explanation at this point. It comes
instead of a sharp resolution of the tension, focused on the safeguarding
of Isaac, which would be desirable here. G. W. Coats, for example, has
noted that as we approach v. 11, "the tension must break with either the
death of the son or his miraculous preservation."26 He therefore finds it
problematic that at the peak of the tension the focus is instead on the
angel's emphasis on Abraham's obedience—which, in his view, is not at
all in question. This suggested to him that the angel's speech might be a
dividing line between two different versions of the narrative.
Instead of his son (133 nnn)—Abraham said before him: Master of the
whole universe, behold, I am slaughtering the ram; do Thou regard this as
though my son Isaac is slain before thee. He took the blood of the ram
and said: Do Thou regard this as though the blood of my son were being
poured before Thee. As Abraham skinned the ram, he said: Do Thou
regard this as though it were the skin of my son Isaac which is being
flayed before thee. As he coated the ram with salt, he said: Do Thou
regard this as though the salt were being poured on my son Isaac. As he
offered the limbs of the ram he said: Do Thou regard this as though these
were the limbs of my son Isaac being offered to thee. As he burned the
ram he said: Do Thou regard this as though the Ashes of my son Isaac
were heaped up on top of the altar before thee... (Gen. Rab. 13)
This midrash is troubled with the word "instead" (nrm), interpreting it as
"as though." This is revealing: why should Abraham ask that the ram he
sacrifices "instead of his son" be considered "as though" it were Isaac if
the angelic voice from heaven had already checked the act? Isaac's
sacrifice has, apparently, already been announced as unwanted. Spiegel
famously suggested that this midrash transmits an echo of an "archaic"
rite.29 But it is more plausible that the obsessive insistence with which it
makes Abraham ask that God would regard the ram "as though" it were
Isaac is intended to reflect the anxiety of the moment: the phrase "instead
of indicates that this was the moment of disobedience—the instant
when the ram was substituted for Isaac without Abraham being previ-
ously stopped by the angel. Abraham pleads with God to accept the ram
as a legitimate substitute.
Genesis Rabbah provides another version of the same midrash, differ-
ing only slightly in detail. Here Abraham does not ask God to accept the
sacrifice of the ram "as though" it were Isaac, but "as though" Isaac had
actually been slain:
"And he offered it up as a burnt offering nnn (instead of) his son"—he
said to Him: Master of the whole universe, do Thou regard [what I have
done] as though first I sacrificed my son Isaac and thereafter I sacrificed
the ram nnn, after him. (Gen. Rab. 56)
It is impossible to make sense of such a request if the angel had already
announced that Isaac's blood is not required. This is a plea that the
sacrifice of the ram nnn, "instead of Isaac—not previously author-
ized—should be accepted. Indeed, many traditional commentators found
it perplexing to begin with that Abraham offered the ram as a sacrifice,
even though God never actually commanded him to do so.
30. M. Berdichevsky, Sinai und Garizim: Uber den Ursprung der Israelitischen
Religion (Berlin: Morgenland, 1926), 35 n. 55.
31. Ibid.
2. The Original Version of the Story 33
is clearly distinguishable from the rest of the story, and they contend that
it is a later interpolation. Emerton even considered it a "clumsy addi-
tion."32 Others, again, have argued that the verses could not simply have
been inserted into the original account. According to this view, since the
focus is placed strongly upon the testing of Abraham, the story could not
have been concluded without the extra blessings that he receives in
return for his extraordinary obedience. As Wenham says:
Had Abraham not undergone the test, there would have been no risk of
losing Isaac's life. For God to spare Isaac's life, which would not have
been at risk without Abraham's obedient submission to the test, and then
merely to say "now I know you fear God," is somewhat of an anticlimax.
Surely God should say more.. ,33
We can close this gap, and confirm both observations. The second
angelic speech is secondary, though indeed necessitated by Abraham's
obedience: his apparent obedience, created by the interpolation of the
first angelic speech into the original account by the later author.
4
In the previous chapter I argued that the model Abraham presents in Gen
22 cannot be one of obedience: his "readiness" to sacrifice Isaac is not as
convincing (in fact less so) than various contemporary fathers' actual
sacrifice. Note that this difficulty was associated with the angelic person-
age who—acclaiming Abraham's obedience as the story's unequivocal
center of gravity—creates a perplexing discrepancy: on the one hand,
obedience cannot be the exceptional element of the story; on the other, it
has to be, since this is what the angel actually says.
We may now overcome this difficulty. The model presented by Abra-
ham was indeed exceptional in the Near East, though not as an act of
obedience; it was an act of disobedience.
Should Abraham execute God's command under any circumstances,
even though it is manifestly immoral? In the light of this episode it has
constantly been argued that God's command takes precedence over the
rule of ethics; as Kierkegaard formulated it, this is the "teleological
suspension of the ethical." However, if Abraham actually disobeyed
God's manifestly illegal order, it was he, the monotheistic believer, the
"Knight of Faith," who was responsible for the determination of good
and evil—not God. He thus presents us, not with the "suspension of the
ethical," but with a preference for it.
He is wise in heart, and mighty in strength; who has resisted Him and
succeeded? He who removes mountains and they do not know it when he
overturns them in his anger... He snatches away; who can stop Him?
Who will say to Him "What are you doing?" (Job 9:4-12)
Like Abraham, Moses too attempts to prevent the deity from carrying out
its intention, praying and asking to have mercy on his people:
And Moses said to the Lord: "Then the Egyptians will hear it, for by your
might you brought these people up from among them. And they will tell it
to the inhabitants of this land. They have heard that you, Lord, are among
these people; that you, Lord, are seen face to face and your cloud stands
above them. .. .Now if you kill these people as one man then the nations
which have heard of your fame will speak saying, 'because the Lord was
not able to bring this people to the land which he swore to give them,
therefore he killed them in the wilderness.' Pardon the iniquity of this
people, I pray, according to the greatness of your mercy just as you have
forgiven these people from Egypt even until now." (Num 14:13-19)
Since Moses says "if you kill these people as one man" it is clear that he
too, like Abraham before him, is confronting a divine injustice; God does
not intend to distinguish between the righteous and the wicked. Yet their
speeches are very different. Abraham does not plead for his sons, the
sons of Israel, as Moses does, but for the almost unknown people of
Sodom; his speech expresses a sole concern with the divine plan: "Shall
not the judge of all earth do right?" Since his reasons are not the same,
his argumentation is also different. Abraham does not try to convince
God by quasi-political arguments as Moses does (".. .the nations which
have heard your fame will speak saying 'because the Lord was not able
to bring his people to the land which he swore to give them, therefore he
killed them'") but poses a strict ethical demand: "Far be it from you to
do such a thing..." Lastly, he neither prays to God nor pleads for mercy
as is the case with Moses (".. .1 pray according to the greatness of your
mercy...), but sees himself responsible for changing God's unethical
way: "...[I] have taken upon myself to speak to the Lord..." Since the
actual lives in Sodom are irrelevant to Abraham in Gen 18, due to the
fact that his personal destiny was supposed to be irrelevant in Gen 22—
his concern being strictly with divine injustice—one must wonder why
he did not question the divine order in Gen 22 as he did in the story of
Sodom.
Moreover, the story of Sodom, as the Akedah, is in fact a trial of faith:
God first says "I have known him in order that he may command his
children... that they keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and
justice..." and then, in Abraham's performative speech one can realize
what doing "righteousness and justice," keeping the way of the Lord,
actually means: "Shall not the judge of all earth do right?" Levenson
writes:
3. The Trial of Sodom in the Background 37
Whereas in chapter 18 Abraham passes the test God assigns him (w 17-
19) by speaking up in protest against God's own counsel, in chapter 22 he
passes the test by obeying the divine command unquestioningly.4
Since this is the case, the disparity between the stories lay in more than
Abraham's personal character; it reflects a contradiction in theological
worldviews: not so much a tension in what Abraham actually did and
how he acted, but in the evaluation of what he should have done. But let
us re-examine the world view that underlines the story of Sodom; we
will see that the contradiction is even sharper.
2
Abraham's rhetorical reaction to God's unethical plan can be analyzed
into two arguments. "Will you also destroy the righteous with the
wicked?" he asks, "Suppose there were fifty righteous within the city;
would you also destroy the place..?" First, there is a demand for individ-
ual justice ("would you also destroy the righteous with the wicked?"),
and second, a plea that if a certain number of righteous men will be
found in the city it will be spared for their sake. These two arguments are
rather different; while the first is strictly ethical in content, posing a
demand to distinguish between good and evil, the second is nothing but a
deal—a bargaining for mercy.
In his reply, God meets only the second request, leaving the first unan-
swered: "If I find in Sodom fifty righteous within the city," he says, "I
will spare all the place for their sakes." From now on, the dialogue does
not extend much beyond this level. Abraham attempts to reduce to a
minimum the critical number of righteous necessary to save the city
while God complies with his pleas, reducing the amount. As they com-
promise on ten, the debate is over and the consequence well known:
Then the Lord rained brimstone and fire on Sodom and Gomorrah, from
the Lord out of the heavens. (Gen 19:24)
We are never told how many righteous men were eventually found in
Sodom at the time of its destruction, but we assume that they were fewer
than ten; for God had given Abraham his promise—the city would be
saved if ten righteous men were found in it. It is surprising, therefore,
that even though God did not reply to Abraham's ethical demand, he did
not altogether ignore it, pulling Lot and his family out prior to the
destruction of the city:
And it came to pass, when God destroyed the cities of the plain, that God
remembered Abraham, and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow,
when he overthrew the cities in which Lot had dwelt. (Gen 19:29)
Abraham's ethical protest, which appeared to have been forgotten, even-
tually achieved a small success. Not only did he not endure any angry
reply to his disobedient words—he actually contrived to modify God's
intentions. With this in mind, a re-examination of the opening scene of
the story is worthwhile. In Gen 18:17-19 God asks:
Shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing? Since Abraham shall surely
become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be
blessed in him? For I have known him, in order that he may command his
children and his household after him, that they keep the way of the Lord
to do righteousness and justice...
What does "to keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and justice"
(BSOai np"TX rmsh 7I *]-n niOB^) mean here? Most scholars under-
stand it as "Abraham will command his children to keep on going in
God's way."5 However, as M. Fisch has pointed out, on this understand-
ing God's question ("Shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing? .. .For
I have known him in order that he may command his children.. .that they
keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and justice...") does not
make sense.6 This question conveys an argument: "I, God, tell Abraham
my intentions because he keeps my ways and will command his children
to keep my ways." In the common understanding of this verse, this is
illogical: why should the fact that Abraham commands his children to
continue ("keep on going") in God's way be the reason for God to share
his divine intentions with Abraham? As Fisch says, "A commander in
the army does not share his intentions with his soldiers because he
knows that they will unquestionably comply."7
"To keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and justice" cannot
be interpreted, therefore, as "Abraham will command his sons to keep on
going in God's way, to do justice" but rather as: "Abraham will com-
mand his sons to keep God's way (i.e. guard his way)—to do justice."
(The Hebrew remains just as valid: ...1JT3 DK iTCr n»X ]SCb TTUTP "O
BSOQI fTpTO rtWSh mrp "pi inaen.) In fact, Rashi understood these
words in the same way. He writes,
followed by others in his true and valuable opinions when they were
heard from him, so also the principles should be accepted that may be
learntfrom his actions; especially from the act [= the Akedah] by which
he confirmed the principle of the truth of prophecy.10
"I know him, in order that he may command his children..." is a
quotation of the verse treated above, meaning that "because Abraham
commands his children to keep the way of the Lord"—God does justice.
What did Maimonides mean by quoting this verse and saying that the
same opinions that people may learn from Abraham's words can be also
taken from his actions? Is he not suggesting that the 'Valuable opinions"
drawn from Abraham's words in the story of Sodom are the same drawn
from his actions on Mount Moriah? In Chapter 71 shall discuss Maimon-
ides's interpretation of Gen 22 at some length. It should become clear
that he here gives a hint of his esoteric, "true" meaning of the story.
10. Maimonides, Guide 111:24 (my emphasis) (throughout this work the follow-
ing edition is cited: M. Maimonides, The Guide for the Perplexed [trans. M. Fried-
lander; London: Routledge, 1928]).
Chapter 4
1
Since Abraham's intentions remain in the dark throughout the narrative,
nothing definitive concerning the story can be drawn from them. Never-
theless, if we follow a different methodology, the enigmatic silence may
tell something of value. Rather than speculate on Abraham's intentions,
we may inquire into the author's: What is he trying to suggest by this
manner of writing? What is the sentiment of this journey made to sig-
nify? The answer to these questions has not remained unarticulated; it is
disclosed in the history of this text's interpretation. As proposed by many
commentators, this silence progressively hints, up to the moment that
Whether Abraham could think clearly or not is left for the reader to
wonder. That this question reflects a real difficulty in the text is evident.
When describing a reasonable sequence of proceeding an author may
write somewhat loosely, without paying attention to details. In order to
create such an illogical order, however, this author must have deliber-
ately violated the logical one. This is an illogical order of proceeding in
what is probably the most meticulously narrated story in the Bible. We
must therefore inquire not only into Abraham's intentions but also into
the author's—what was he trying to convey?
As the journey continues the confusion grows worse. In contrast to
Abraham's first swift actions (rising early in the morning, saddling the
donkey, gathering the men, cutting wood), there comes a rather long,
slow sentence: 'Then, on the third day, Abraham lifted up his eyes, and
saw the place that God had told him from afar off' (v. 4). This sentence
is awkward. First, the reader must query the content: "Why did the
journey take so long if Abraham was moving so fast? Why did it take
Abraham three days to travel from Hebron to Mount Moriah? The rabbis
have asked. This is a mere eight hour walk!"3 Was he confused? Was
he deliberately delaying his arrival? There is also the style of the
As they walked along, they suddenly encountered an old man, who was
actually the Satan in disguise. He asked Abraham "Where are you going?"
"To worship" replied Abraham. "And why are you bringing along wood
and a slaughter knife?" "We may have to stay there a day or two. It's best
to have what we need in case we need to prepare food." "Do you take me
for an idiot?" asked the stranger. "Do you think that I do not know what
you are doing?" The Satan then began to scream "You old fool! You
were given a son when you were a hundred years old, and now you are
going to kill him!"
The Midrash puts the voice of reason in Satan's words—not in God's or
Abraham's. As the dialogue goes on and Abraham is not persuaded, the
devil increases his attempts: "Maybe you were mistaken," he suggests,
"who knows what the message really was"; "If you kill the boy, God will
punish you for taking an innocent life.. .you will be nothing but a mur-
derer." Yet Abraham is not convinced. He goes on his way, determined
to carry out God's command. Satan then takes a step further, putting
physical obstacles on the way:
Seeing that he could not convince them [Abraham and Isaac], the Satan
sat down in their path and disguised himself as a raging river. Upon
approaching the river, Abraham went into it alone, wading up to his
waist. Thinking that they would be able to ford the river, he summoned
Isaac and took his hand. They had taken but a few steps, when the water
reached up to their necks... (Gen. Rab. 56:4)
As with Ibn Caspi's reading, this Midrash explains the delay by ethical
arguments, put in the devil's voice of reason. It would not be too much
of a speculation to suggest that this Midrash actually expresses Abra-
ham's thoughts, only transferring them to Satan.
Verse 5 presents another difficulty. "Stay here with the donkey,"
commands Abraham his servants: "the lad and I will go yonder and
worship, and we will come back to you" (Gen 22:5). "We will come
back?" ask the rabbis, "if Abraham intended to sacrifice his son, how
could he say, 'we will return to you'? He should have said 'I will return
to you.'997 This would not seem to be a significant difficulty for it admits
a simple explanation: Abraham is plainly lying to his servants, thereby
hiding the truth also from his son. But is this in fact the case? Once
again, the meaning of Abraham's words is obscure and open to specula-
tion; as Wenham writes, he can be understood in various ways:
He [Abraham] simply but enigmatically states "stay by yourselves... So
that we can worship and return." In light of the command to sacrifice
Isaac, it is odd that he says "we shall return." Is this economy with the
truth a smokescreen, hiding the true plan from the servants and Isaac? Is
Abraham perhaps having second thoughts about sacrificing his son? Or
does he hope that somehow Isaac would return as a result of Divine inter-
vention? His remark leaves us to speculate, and the narrator does nothing
to stop us.8
Again, it is the narrator's intention that we ought to inquire. Wenham
envisages in the passage above three possibilities: a lie, disobedience and
an affirmation of faith (that Isaac will eventually be saved). Another
possibility, which he did not consider, is that his second and third pro-
posals may converge into one: Abraham's words convey disobedience,
which is nothing but the true affirmation of his faith. After what has been
said in the previous chapters, this would seem a most appropriate
understanding of the text. Ibn Caspi comments that Abraham was leaving
his servants behind in order to conceal from them the true meaning of the
Akedah. These servants "were inferior people," he says, "...not fit to
accompany Abraham"; "they were not compatible with the revelation of
so important a secret as this."9
There are some traditional interpreters who suggest that Abraham's
phrase "we shall return" was a prophecy. Rashi is most explicit: "He
[Abraham] prophesied that both of them would return."10 At first glance
this line of interpretation simply indicates, once again, that Abraham's
use of the dishonest "we" is obscure and requires explanation; but it
perhaps discloses a more interesting possibility: What is the nature of
such a prophecy? What does it mean, in other words, to "prophesy"
Isaac's return? Maimonides says that "In truth," Abraham's religious
actions in this narrative 'Validated the fundamental principle affirming
the truth of prophecy."11 Could it be that Abraham's "prophesying"
Isaac's return from the mountain is in fact related to his disobedience—
to his thought not to sacrifice Isaac after all? However Abraham's words
are explained, his intentions remain unclear. His obedience must not be
taken for granted.
2
The confusion reaches a climax in v. 8. Isaac turns to his father with an
innocent question—"Look, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb
for the burnt offering?"—but the father's reply is obscure: HXT DTTl^K
^32 rb*\xh ntDn 1^ ("God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt
offering, my son"). In fact, so obscure is this wording that the translation
is not at all self-evident: The Hebrew HXT may be translated literally as
"see," so that God would be the quiescent agent, "God shall see the
lamb...," or as "show," so that God would become active: "God shall
show the lamb." However, the word TOT is followed by another accusa-
tive, "6, which may be understood as "him," "himself or "for himself."
Since such a combination, !*? TOT ("see himself), is exceptional in
Hebrew, it is certainly crucial for understanding Abraham's words,
placing a strong emphasis on God's passivity. This is not merely "God
shall see" but "God shall see himself a lamb for a burnt offering" or even
"God shall see for himself..." The KJV actually gives "for himself but
escapes the provocative result that "God shall see for himself the lamb"
by translating TOT not literally as "see" or "show," but as "provide":
"God shall provide for himself..." While this is a possible interpretation
of the Hebrew, there is no reason not to use here a simple translation.
Thus the verse is more responsibly translated as "God shall see for
himself the burnt offering, my son." In fact, the English reader may take
into account that TOT could be also translated as "find out": "God will
find out for himself the lamb, my son."
Jack Miles writes:
As for the sentence "God will see to the sheep..." ...Is this sentence
spoken past Isaac to God? Is it a plea? Is it a challenge? The verb form
translated "will see to" may be either future or jussive; that is, either
"God will see too" or "let God see to."12
To my mind, it is striking that Abraham's answer is—in whatever
interpretation we may assign to it—actually very accurate. Eventually,
this is precisely what happens: God does "provide himself with—or
"finds out for himself—the ram for the burnt offering. Is this a prophecy
again?
Up until the very last moment, as Isaac is already bound on the altar,
the narrative is obscure:".. .And Abraham built an altar there and placed
the wood in order; and he bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar,
upon the wood" (v. 9). A modern reader unacquainted with sacrifices and
burnt offerings may not grasp how strange these words are. Yet what
Abraham does is actually wrong—this is not the correct procedure for
making a burnt offering. "If Abraham intended to sacrifice Isaac and
brought fire and wood for the purpose," R. Yaakov Kuli asks,
12. Jack Miles, God: A Biography (New York: Random House, 1996), 59.
4. Abraham's Journey to Mount Moriah 47
why did he arrange the wood, bind Isaac, and place him on the wood
without first igniting it? According to the laws of sacrifice, one must first
kindle the fire, and only then can one slaughter the sacrifice.13
Levenson is even more informative:
The ordinary procedure for the burnt offering is to slay the victim first,
then to flay and section it, and finally to lay the pieces over the burning
wood as "an offering by fire of pleasing odor to the Lord" (Lev 1:3-9).
Abraham's act of tying Isaac to the altar, atop of the wood, is altogether
anomalous.14
In other words, if Abraham was intending to follow God's command and
sacrifice his son as a "burnt offering," he should have killed him first,
then dissected the body and only afterwards laid the pieces on the altar
flames. This is neither more nor less than the information conveyed in
God's specific command (v. 2). Levenson tries to resolve this anomalous
procedure by suggesting that we do not recognize it since this story is the
only evidence we have for a ritual of human sacrifice. It seems to me,
however, that this explanation is not very likely, however; for the
narrative specifically defines the required procedure as "burnt offering"
(n^lU ni^JWf?). As Levenson himself points out, we do have a clear
understanding of what such a procedure consists, and Abraham's actions
do not fit.
It seems more plausible to explain the abnormality of Abraham's
actions in that, here too, as throughout the narrative, his actions never
completely suggest compliance. If we look back at Abraham's journey
we find that it actually moves in two opposite directions: the background
of the narrative leads in a direction opposite to Abraham's external
moves, so that as he comes closer and closer to slaying his son the con-
fusion surrounding his final decision progressively develops. Was this
confusion supposed to break from the background of the narrative into
the external moves at the very last moment, as Abraham seizes the knife
but lifts his eyes and sees the ram? I do not wish to be drawn into
speculation; one thing can be stated with certainty: up to the very last
moment, when Isaac is bound on the altar, the reader cannot take it for
granted that Abraham is going to obey.
Of all the writers commenting on Abraham's hesitations, Miles seems
to have gone the farthest. He points out that Abraham had never actually
agreed to God's request and that he "resists even as he goes through the
motions of compliance" and therefore ventures to doubt Abraham's
***
There is an early tradition, well known among biblical scholars, in which
Isaac was actually sacrificed by his father. We are not acquainted with an
extant version of such a narrative, but it is preserved obliquely, it seems,
in quite a few traditions. Midrash Hagadol on Gen 22:19, for instance,
relates that after the Binding God brought Isaac "into the Garden of
Eden, and there he stayed three years." According to this Midrash, he
apparently returned only when, eventually, he had to meet his beloved
Rebecca.
This tradition relies on one textual hint in particular. When Abraham
leaves his servants behind, taking his son and starting the climb to "the
place that God had shown to him," he says, "the boy and I will go over
there; we will worship, and then we will come back..." (v. 5). When he
comes back, however, the narrative for some reason speaks in singular:
"...and Abraham returned to his young men..." (v. 19)—where was
Isaac? "In heaven" is the answer, from where he returned only in order to
get married.
This tradition was apparently widespread during Ibn Ezra's times,
since he was careful enough explicitly to reject it. Isaac was simply
under his father's custody, Ibn Ezra explains, and for that reason not
mentioned in the text: ".. .and any one who says that he slaughtered him
and left him and that afterwards he came back to life has said the
opposite of the text pirDH TD)."16 Ibn Ezra's words are well known and
frequently recited. Yet their significance, it seems to me, has remained
overlooked. Why opposite to the text? Surely the ordinary reading, in
which Abraham was ready to kill his son and was only stopped by an
angel, is nothing like opposite here. Surely, being ready to kill Isaac is
not opposite actually to killing him. What was the meaning assumed by
Ibn Ezra?
1
According to the common understanding, Abraham's religious signifi-
cance lies in his readiness to obey: he is commanded to make the most
precious sacrifice conceivable; by complying, he presents an unprece-
dented act of faith. As observed in Chapter 1, however, this is untenable.
Similar stories of child sacrifice are frequently encountered in the ancient
Near East where fathers are not only ready to sacrifice their "only
beloved sons," but, unlike Abraham, also eventually do. It was therefore
hard to see what is supposed to mark Abraham's model of obedience as
exceptional; it is, in fact, inferior to that of his contemporaries. A dif-
ferent approach accounting to Abraham's religious significance, an
approach which has been widely accepted among biblical scholars,
explains the Akedah as a polemic against the ritual of child sacrifice: the
story presents the well-known myth of child sacrifice but changes the
ending; God does not wish the death of the son. As such, it apparently
50 The Binding of Isaac
form. Like an image and its reflection in a mirror, the inverted image and
its movements become an antithesis of the original one. A reader who is
able to trace the relation between such stories and understand it—in
similarities but especially in differences—will be able to re-evaluate
them; their participants, actions and contents.7
It will become clear that the striking resemblances between the
Abraham narrative and the ancient myth of child sacrifice, together with
the equally striking contrasts (such as those that suggested to Sarna that
there is no relation between the stories at all), form such a reflection.
The dissimilarities, in other words, are not without meaning; they are
"opposite parallels." Only when we have recognized the details of the
reflection, will we be able to appreciate the religious significance of the
moment it introduced in the ancient Near East.
2
Shortly before engaging in battle against the children of Ammon,
Jephthah vows a vow:
And Jephthah made a vow to the Lord, and said "If you will give the
Ammonites into my hand, then whoever comes out of the doors of my
house to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites, shall be
the Lord's, to be offered up by me as a burnt offering." So Jephthah
crossed over to the Ammonites to fight against them; and the Lord gave
them into his hand. He inflicted a massive defeat on them from Aroer to
the neighborhood of Minnith, twenty towns, and as far as Abel-Keramim.
So the Ammonites were subdued before the people of Israel. Then Jeph-
thah came to his home at Mizpah; and there was his daughter coming out
to meet him with timbrels and with dancing. She was his only child; he
had no son or daughter except her. (Judg 11:30-34)
The daughter lived for two more months, bewailing "her virginity on the
mountains" (cf. Judg 9:34), but eventually returned willfully to her
father, who "did with her according to the vow he had made" (Judg
11:38-39).
Disregarding obvious differences, the similarities between this story
and Gen 22 are striking.8 Jephthah's daughter is called his "only one"
Compare "and he took his firstborn son..." (in DK Hp^l, 2 Kgs 3:27)
with "take your son" ("p HK X3 np) in the Binding (Gen 22:2) and also
".. .and offered him as aburnt offering" (nbwh irnim, 2 Kgs 3:27) with
"and offer him there as a burnt offering..." (Tlbwb DC0 ir6um),
occurring also in the vow made by Jephthah: ".. .to be offered up by me
as a burnt offering..."(rfTU) inform, Judg 11:31). Further, while Abra-
ham sacrifices the ram "under [i.e. instead of] his son" (133 Dnn, Gen
22:13), the king of Moab sacrifices his "firstborn son" who will rule
"under [i.e. after] him" (ITinn, 2 Kgs 3:27). The verbal similarities are
striking; it is difficult to argue as Sarna that the Akedah has "nothing in
common" with the pagan myth of child sacrifice.9 As Levenson observes,
"The terminology of Mesha's sacrifice of his first born is almost identical
to the language of YHWH's initial command to Abraham.. .and to that of
Jephthah's vow"; "At the very least, this argues for more continuity
between Israel and its neighbors to the east.. ."10
(his daughter being his "only" one), Abraham (as Isaac is termed as
his "only son who you love") and in the writings of Philo. This term
reoccurs in the Bible: Amos threatens that God will make the earth
mourn as "for an only child" (Amos 8:10), and Jeremiah adheres to the
same language, drawing the connection of the only son's sacrifice to the
context of the impending disaster in a forceful lament: "My poor
people.. .strew dust on yourselves, mourn as for an only child (TP *73K).
Wail bitterly for suddenly the destroyer is coming upon us" (Jer 6:26).
Third, the protagonist of the story takes action in order to save his
people. He initiates the sacrifice—a "burnt offering" of his "only son"—
in order to appease the angry deity. According to Philo's testimony, he
also circumcises himself and his men. Fourth, these actions prove
effective: it appears to be an accepted belief that the sacrifice of the only
son and the act of circumcision are good ways to appease the gods and
save the people. Thus, Jephthah vows on the assumption that this may
help him gain a victory (and it actually does); Moab is saved because of
Mesha's sacrifice; and, in Jeremiah's lament, we see that the people
should moan as for an "only child" because the "destroyer is coming"
upon them.
In short, according to this scheme a people is safeguarded by its
leader's sacrifice of his "only beloved son" as a "burnt offering." (Indeed,
it is hard not to think here of Jesus, more precisely of the Crucifixion, in
which the world is redeemed through God's sacrifice of his only beloved
son. I discuss this issue in some detail in the conclusion of the book.)
The recurrence of similar motifs is striking. But it is the joint recur-
rence of the verbal motifs that, it seems to me, really puts beyond doubt
the existence of some common origin, a myth of child sacrifice, the
motifs underlying which were reconstituted above.
3
We may now return to the initial question: What is intended by the pur-
poseful composition of the Abraham narrative using traditional accounts
of child sacrifice, but in a modified way? On a first comparison, the
recurrence of two important motifs is evident: child sacrifice (Gen 22)
and circumcision (Gen 17), Many commentators have observed these
common features, noting that while both elements are found in Genesis,
they are very different from the variants current in other versions of the
myth. This was mentioned by Sarna, who observed that it is not Abra-
ham who takes the initiative (like the hero of the ancient myth) but God
himself, and even more important, that those motifs occur out of their
56 The Binding of Isaac
the picture is inverted, and the reflection appears: the people would exist
not through Isaac's sacrifice, but though his getting off the altar safely.
Now that we recognize this inversion, we are in position to re-evaluate
the religious significance of Gen 22—the narrative uses the ancient Near
Eastern myth to introduce a daring theological conception: in the usual
story the people are saved because its leader was ready to sacrifice his
"beloved son"; in this story they are saved because of his refusal to do
so. Abraham's ethical integrity thus becomes an essential foundation,
underling the very existence of his seed.
Chapter 6
1
Yosef Ibn Caspi was born in 1279-80 in Argentiere, a small town in
southern France.1 In 1315 he traveled to Egypt, hoping to study the
Guide with Maimonides' grandchildren in the land where it was written.
1. For a complete discussion of Ibn Caspi's life and thought, see Herring, trans.,
Joseph Ibn Kaspi 's Gevia Kesef.
6. "Abraham's Prevention of the Sacrifice " 59
His later references to his Egyptian visit indicate that there he acquired
some important exegetical skills, gaining acquaintance with Near Eastern
traditions and some knowledge of the Arabic language. On his return to
Europe in 1318 his first scholarly effort, Sefer Hasod (The Book of the
Secret}, appeared. This work, which is a systematic study of methodo-
logical questions of biblical exegesis, was greeted most unfavorably by
Ibn Caspi's contemporaries, most notably Kalonymus b. Kalonymus, the
famous Jewish poet. Using exceptional sardonic language and addressing
Ibn Caspi as "our master" and "the great prince who performs miracles,"
Kalonymus criticized many of the arguments presented in the book as
"too pretentious," dismissing others as altogether wrong. The incident
had a crucial effect on Ibn Caspi's attitude to contemporary scholars. He
wandered throughout Europe in search of a teacher or a study companion
in order that, as he once said, "the Lord may work a miracle for me, so
that I find a disciple after my mind, to whom I may bequeath [my] inmost
thoughts and opinions."2 He seems never to have found such a disciple or
even a suitable place to settle, spending his mature years in continuous
movement throughout Europe.
But if Ibn Caspi's relation to contemporary scholars can be described
as somewhat problematic, his attitude to the general Jews surrounding
him may be regarded as truly hostile. In his attack on Ibn Caspi,
Kalonymus once accused him of addressing the masses of the people as
"nothing but animals." This was accurate; this attitude is indeed implied
by his writings, considering common folk as "fools" who cannot think
freely and whose thought is "wholly dependent on customary supersti-
tious beliefs." Surrounded by enmity, he came to the conclusion that a
person's quality stands in the opposite relation to his/her popularity:
someone who is unpopular in his/her community has the chance of being
a righteous person; a scholar not accepted among his/her contemporaries
is very likely an innovative one.
This hostility to the common people is beyond anecdote; it constitutes
an important element in Ibn Caspi's thought. Basing his social ideas
mainly on Averroes' commentary on Plato's Republic and on Maimon-
ides' Guide-, he held that a religious community is essentially divided
into two classes: the "common people" (DI?H Jion) and the "selected
individuals" (rfr'tton TTP), Whereas the first group is constituted of the
masses who are incapable of philosophical reflection, the second is com-
prised of the few who think freely and are independent of superstitious
2
The most fundamental assumption of Ibn Caspi's biblical exegesis, as
already noted, is the idea that the text has two layers of meaning: one
addressed to the common people, the other to knowledgeable individuals.
Whereas the one presents the plain meaning of the text, the other is to be
interpreted philosophically, according to the ideas found in the writings
of the Greeks. This assumption is based on a traditional view, generally
adopted by Jewish exegetes in the Middle Ages, that philosophy was
completely known to the Hebrews as early as the Mosaic period but was
lost in exile. Ibn Caspi thus found it not only appropriate to apply meta-
physical and logical arguments as a means of explicating biblical texts—
but absolutely necessary. One of Aristotle's fundamental metaphysical
ideas, for instance, is his classification of the "four causes": "material,"
"formal," "agent" and "purpose." (In his book MitsrafLakeseflbn Caspi
lists the four different Hebrew terms that signify causality, suggesting
that each corresponds to one of the Aristotelian causes. These terms are,
respectively, "lema'an" []OSb]9 "biglal" [^»], "ba'avur" [TDM] and
"ya'an" []IP]. Later, the application of this classification to the biblical
text would enable him to account philosophically for stories such as the
creation, divine revelations and miracles.)
Nevertheless, even when he appeals to complicated metaphysical
notions, Ibn Caspi's first commitment is to the plain meaning of the text.
As someone who wrote books on the methodology of interpretation, his
position is very firm and well articulated:
Everything should retain a simple meaning together with a hidden mean-
ing as is proper and as our sages have said "a verse cannot depart from its
plain meaning" (BT Sabbat 63a) unless Scripture indicates that it
occurred in a prophetic vision, or else if the plain meaning is rationally
impossible.5
When a biblical narrative involves a prophetic vision it is necessary to
depart from the "simple" interpretation (thepeshai), on the assumption
that in order to account for the way divine visions are perceived by
human beings some philosophical explanation is required. Ibn Caspi
would usually appeal to Aristotelian metaphysics or neo-Platonic theo-
ries of emanation, according to which prophetic visions are intellectual
emanations overflowing from the "Active Intellect" to the human intel-
lect, which in turn constructs them in the imagination as images and
figures. (We will consider such explanation later as, with Maimonides,
Ibn Caspi interprets Abraham's vision of the angel in the narrative as
strictly prophetic.)
Another necessary departure from the plain meaning of the text is
dictated when it is "rationally impossible." This is actually an application
of an idea similar to the Charity principle: on the assumption that this
text is divine (and that the deity is the "separate intellect"), it cannot have
any logical error. Its interpreter, therefore, must depart from the plain
meaning in order to resolve any contradictory appearance.
5. Yosef Ibn Caspi, Maskiyot Kesef, 26, in Amudei Kesefand Maskiyot Kesef,
Shnei Perushim al Sefer Hamore LeHarambam (ed. S. Werbluner, Frankfurt am
Main: J. F Baeck, 1848). Ibn Caspi refers to Maimonides' Guide 1:8.
6. "Abraham's Prevention of the Sacrifice " 63
3
In his book on Ibn Ezra, Kevusat Kesef, Ibn Caspi says that from the
names of God mentioned in scripture, "one can learn the most wonderful
and sublime things."71 remarked earlier that Ibn Ezra gave the criterion
of the divine names a central place in his exegesis, long before it was
identified by the first biblical critic, Astruc, in 1757. Ever since Ibn Ezra
first enunciated this criterion, traditional exegetes, including Maimon-
ides, Halevi and others, applied it extensively in their commentaries. Ibn
Caspi's remark shows that he too finds it fruitful. Discounting minor
differences, he generally accepts Maimonides' view that the difference
between "Elohim" (DTT^K) and "YHWH" (mm) should be explained
philosophically: while the first is supposedly an "equivocal term," refer-
ring to God by the mediation of his attributes, the second is the deity's
proper name, referring directly to his essence.
As Maimonides observed in the Guide, "God" (DTTl^X) is not used
solely in reference to God, but also to other beings, including deities,
rulers and judges; he infers that this is a homonymous term which the
Torah uses in describing any entity that has the attribute of judgment.
The Tetragrammaton (mm, YHWH), by contrast, is never used with
reference to any being other than the supreme deity; Maimonides there-
fore interprets it as the deity's proper name. Based on God's saying to
Moses, "Ehyeh asher Ehyeh" (mflX n»X mnx, "I'll be whatever I'll
6e"), Maimonides holds that both its letters (mm) and the pronunciation
indicate the notion of "existence." And since God's essence is identical
with his existence, he argues that this name is a direct, "unequivocal"
reference to it.8
Ibn Caspi opens his account of Gen 22 by saying that God's command to
Abraham that he sacrifice his only son constitutes a twofold moral sin:
the "sin of murder" and "the sin of committing an abomination before
6. "Abraham's Prevention of the Sacrifice " 65
the Lord."9 The first sin is that of taking innocent human life, the second
is the contempt for religion involved in this act; that is, the performance
of a moral sin in the name of an apparently religious conduct. Having
taken such an extreme stand against the command, Ibn Caspi then has to
reconcile his position with the story's central place in the Jewish
tradition. How is it possible that "God" commands such an abomination
and Abraham is supposed to obey? Why has the story become the most
basic model of the Jewish faith?
The solution is found in the twofold semantic axis of the biblical text.
The first, addressed to the common reader, is that involving the abomina-
tion of God's demanding Isaac's sacrifice and Abraham, apparently,
being supposed to obey. "However," Ibn Caspi says, "notice the differ-
ence between the lesson that a fool will glean from the verses of the
Torah, and what a treasured individual will take from them." He offers a
twofold explanation to four stages of the narrative, each addressed to a
different class of readers. As the true meaning of each of these stages is
uncovered, it turns out that the story has nothing like an abomination, but
introduces what is actually one of the most fundamental principles of the
monotheistic faith.
"[A]nd God tested (TO3) Abraham" (v. 1). What does "tested" mean
here? Why did God test Abraham? "Maimonides excelled greatly," writes
Ibn Caspi, "when he said at length in the Guide 111:24 that the intended
meaning (of 'God tested Abraham') was 'to make known and inform'."
Yet "not every one," he continues, "will understand what he said."
Ibn Caspi is alluding here to Maimonides' explanation in the Guide
111:24 that all the "trials" (niarcra) mentioned in Scripture were not
intended as examinations or tests, but in some cases as exhibitions—
demonstrations of religious models. In this view, when God tests a cer-
tain individual, commanding him to perform a particular act, the purpose
of the test is not "the accomplishment of that particular act" but the
demonstration of the tested individual's being "a model to be imitated
and followed." Accordingly, Gen 22 was not intended to examine
Abraham's faith but to demonstrate two fundamental religious principles.
First, "the limits of love for God and...fear of him," and second, that
"the prophets consider as true that which comes to them from God in
prophetic revelations."10
At first, it may seem that Ibn Caspi is simply repeating Maimonides'
explanation in his own words. "Firstly," he says, "[the writer of Torah]
wanted to inform us that God tests people in order to show that there are
among them ones who love Him..."; "the second benefit (that we are to
learn) is that it is correct for the Lord, as it is for us, to command some-
thing and then later to command its opposite—as was the case here."
However, having given such a clear reference to the Guide, Ibn Caspi
continues: "The third benefit, besides the ones mentioned by Maimon-
ides, is the one that is most precious, and the greatest principle for which
the chapter was recorded."11 Was there then a "third matter" which
Maimonides does not mention explicitly? Ibn Caspi says: "It was the fact
that Abraham prevented carrying it [the sacrifice] out at the point when
he was approaching the act." On what grounds does Ibn Caspi arrive at
this conclusion? At this point he goes on to speak of the continuous
"hints" provided by the writer of the Torah. ".. .Then, on the third day,
Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off (Gen 22: 4). As
observed in Chapter 4, the rabbis repeatedly observed that this was
actually too long: "why did it take him [Abraham] three days to travel to
the Moriah?" they ask; "it should have taken him eight hours!"12
Maimonides argued that the delay in the journey indicates that Abra-
ham's readiness to kill his son was not shrouded in "confusion or fear,"
but reached after careful, rational consideration. Ibn Caspi expounds:
"Maimonides excelled further in saying that the intention of the Torah in
informing us that the actual binding took place three days after the
command, was so that we should not imagine that it was carried out in
confusion or haste but rather after considered thought.. ,"13 Yet here too
he goes on to ascribe to the interpretation ideas that are not found—at
least not explicitly—in Maimonides: "...For Abraham must have
wondered," he says, "how the Lord could command him to perform such
an abomination—as was proven by [the story's] end." The "end" of the
story, then, shows that Abraham's "careful considerations" were actually
expressions of his ethical doubts. The story's end, of course, is the
"prevention of the act" (HinDil).
"Stay here by yourself," says Abraham to his servants, "and I and the
lad will go yonder and worship, and we will come pITTO] again to you"
(Gen 22:5). As we have seen, the rabbis found this difficult. Why "we
will come again?" they asked; "he should have used the singular, he was
supposed to slay his son!" This is actually another hint, Ibn Caspi
proposes. Abraham's servants, he says, "were inferior people... [They]
were not fit to accompany Abraham in such a holy place"; "they were not
compatible with the revelation of so important a secret as this, nor with
This last statement makes it clear that the key to Ibn Caspi's account of
the story is to be found in his philosophical explanation of the divine
names. As we have seen above, "God" (DTD^X), is a homonymous term,
referring to other beings as well—such as kings or other deities. A
prophetic vision involving this term accordingly originates in "the
heavenly spheres" (inferior to the "separate intellect"); it is mediated by
the prophet's imaginative faculty, as opposed to prophetic visions
perceived by his intellect:
When the Torah refers to Abraham's act it is careful to say "thou art a
God-fearing man (DTH^K K"V), seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thy
only son..." for the sacrifice of his son was because he feared God, i.e.
the heavenly spheres. Such an act was also the result of the imagination,
for such was, and still is, the custom of the nations in making offerings
and sacrifice.17
In other words, Abraham's being ready to slay his son—his being a
"God-fearing" person—actually puts Abraham in the problematic posi-
tion of idol worshiping, carrying out the pagan custom of child sacrifice.
As Ibn Caspi writes at some length, lesser men than Abraham have
already carried out such abominations, completing them by actually
sacrificing their sons:
The significance [of the custom of making child sacrifice] is known from
the Torah and Prophets, in that the ultimate sacrifice in those generations
was to offer their children as a sacrifice to their Gods. Whether that be by
passing them through the fire, or to burn them completely, or to slaughter
them and cast their blood as a food offering to their Gods... One could
find a specific instance of this in the Book of Kings where the King of
Moab sacrificed his eldest son, which was certainly a burnt offering to his
God. It is known that one of our sins was that our people were unable to
overcome such beliefs, in spite of all the prophylactic measures used by
the Torah to make us understand the matter. Even Jephthah, who was not
one of those considered wicked but only vain in that he was not wise,
actually meant to fulfill the will of the Lord when he swore saying
"Whatsoever cometh forth out of the doors of my house to meet me.. .it
shall be the Lord's and I shall offer it up for a burnt offering"... Jephthah
did not consider the sacrifice of a human being as an abomination.. .[and]
his fate proves his lack of wisdom. For...had he been wise he would have
withdrawn his vow. Instead he imagined that the consummation of his
vow was an act of great piety ...It is possible that Jephthah expected an
angel to call out to him "lay not thy hand upon the lad, " but continued to
wait for it.18
Jephthah, then, had to "withdraw his vow" but, as a fool, waited for an
angel to stop the sacrifice. Abraham was not a fool, however; as Ibn
Caspi observes, the command to prevent the sacrifice is not associated
with "God" (DTr6«) but with YHWH (mm). He infers from this that
Abraham—as an individual human subject—is actually the one responsi-
ble for the prevention of the sacrifice. "The prevention," he says, "is
necessitated of the intellection by the separate intellect and emanation
from him [YHWH]." And, further, when our intellect emanates from the
separate intellect, we "bring God inside our heads."
5
"And Abraham went, and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt
offering in the stead of his son" (Gen 22:13). In Chapter 2 I argued that
this was originally the climax of the story, where Abraham independently
sacrifices the ram "instead of his son." Here too Ibn Caspi suggests a
twofold interpretation. First, the story is supposed to mark a turning
point: from human to animal sacrifice. As he observes, Abraham's sacri-
fice of the ram gave rise to traditions of animal burnt offerings, relying
on the rationale that "God had prevented him [Abraham] from making
such sacrifice to him by substituting a ram, and it is proper to us to do the
same." A similar reasoning, it may be observed, has been adopted by
modern scholars who hold that the narrative serves as a polemic against
child sacrifice.19 Spiegel (quoted earlier) is most explicit, saying that the
purpose of the story was "to abolish human sacrifice." Ibn Caspi rejects
this view as that of the common reader. "While this was to be communi-
cated to the masses," he writes, "it [v. 13] was also to be understood by
the selected individuals"; "...it is stated that Abraham, of his own
volition, took the ram and offered it up for a burnt offering instead of his
son." He draws that the "first intention" (mitwn milD) of the verse is
"the mentioned prevention" (mDT3f7 rUP3Qn). "The ram's sacrifice," he
says, is only "reminded in it." Had Ibn Caspi thought that by the time
Abraham sacrificed the ram "instead of his son" (133 nnn) the angel had
already stopped the sacrifice, the sacrificing of the ram as a burnt offering
would not have been merely "reminded" in the act of prevention.
Shortly after Abraham sacrificed the ram, the angel of YHWH called
from heaven a second time (w. 14-18). To be sure, it is generally agreed
by modern scholars that this speech is secondary, interpolated by a later
redactor. For a traditional exegete, however, holding as Ibn Caspi did
that Abraham's true conduct was disobedience, these angelic words pose
a problem: while he cannot dismiss them as "secondary," they praise
Abraham, rewarding his obedience:
Then the angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time from heaven;
And he said "By myself I have sworn, says the Lord, because you have
done this thing and have not withheld your son, your only son blessing I
will bless you and multiplying I will multiply your descendants as the
stars of the heaven and as the sand which is on the seashore; and your
descendants shall possess the gate of their enemies; in your seed all the
nations of the earth shall be blessed because you have obeyed my voice.
(Gen 22:15-18)
Yet, the plain meaning of this speech is, according to Ibn Caspi, not the
true one; Abraham was rewarded "twice," he says: first for the apparent
obedience, but then for the "prevention":
The Torah is careful to allude twice to reward. The first was at the begin-
ning when saying "because thou hast done this thing and has not withheld
thy son, thy only son," which refers to the command [to sacrifice]. The
other was at the conclusion of his words, saying "because thou hast
hearkened to my voice," which refers to desisting, which was superior.20
6
Thus, from v. 1 to v. 19, Ibn Caspi's interpretation consistently moves on
two levels of meaning: one addressed to the general public, the other to
the knowledgeable few. According to the first, God put Abraham to the
test in order to examine his obedience; Abraham withstood the test
successfully, being ready to slay his son; God then prevented the
sacrifice at the last moment and Abraham—having sacrificed the ram—
was rewarded for his obedience. The true meaning, however, is opposed
to the common one. God's (DVrfTX) command of sacrifice is not imposed
by the monotheistic deity but by the pagan tradition common to Abra-
ham's times; on his way to carry out this "abomination" Abraham pro-
crastinates, submerged in his ethical doubts—"how could God demand
such an abomination from him?"; at the last moment on the mountain he
sacrifices the ram instead of his son, by the command of the angel of
YHWH. This angel, in contrast to God (CTTn^X), stands for the emanation
of Abraham's intellect from the monotheistic deity. As Ibn Caspi holds,
in such an emanation "we bring God inside our heads"; thus, the original
intention of the ram's sacrifice "instead of Isaac" is actually the act of the
Ibn Caspi, at all events, greeted the elder: "[May] your heart be
blessed for putting my mind to rest."
7
More than once, Ibn Caspi insists that this account of Gen 22 is in fact an
explicit explanation of Maimonides' own esoteric words; did indeed
Maimonides himself suggest this interpretation? The possibility should
not be ruled out. Ibn Caspi defines his Gevia Kesefas an explicit expla-
nation of Maimonides' esoteric interpretations of the Torah; he even
dwells on this fact in the opening of his account of the narrative, saying
that "There are deep things in this matter [Gen 22] that are discussed
elsewhere, but I will write here what is appropriate to the intention of
this work." As noted earlier, Ibn Caspi never hesitates to criticize
Maimonides or explicitly depart from his views wherever he sees fit. We
may therefore safely assume that, as here he insists that this is actually
Maimonides' interpretation, he sincerely believed so.
In his first reference to the Guide 111:24 Ibn Caspi wrote that Maimon-
ides stressed two important "benefits" for the sake of which this narrative
was written, but that a third one, other than those openly discussed by
Maimonides, is actually the most important. "The third benefit, besides
the ones mentioned by Maimonides, is the one that is most precious, and
the greatest principle for which the chapter was recorded"; "It was the
fact that Abraham prevented carrying it out at the point when he was
approaching the act."
Can such a third benefit actually be traced in the Guide!
Chapter 7
5. Ibid., 70.
6. This was best pointed out by L. Strauss in Persecution and the Art of Writing
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1952). I discuss this issue in relation to Gen
22 in the Conclusion.
7. Ibid., 15.
76 The Binding of Isaac
this Treatise contains..." he writes, "you must connect its chapters with
one another."8 The true opinions of the Guide, in other words, are never
presented in full at any one point. Its arguments, deliberately broken into
fragments, are scattered throughout the treatise. In this way the reader is
assigned an unusually active role of interpretation: to apprehend Mai-
monides' true opinion on some issue, he/she has to gather the various
allusions to it from throughout the Guide and independently reconstruct
it. Finally, such a reconstruction should make us able to perceive also
the third concealing method, namely, that of writing in contradictions.
Maimonides says that he included in the work some self-contradictory
arguments: one line of argument may be developed on the basis of a
certain premise and another on the basis of a second premise—contra-
dicting the first. A reader encountering such arguments is left to specu-
late: Which did Maimonides genuinely intend?
It may be noted that while these writing techniques are designed to
conceal the true ideas of the Guide, they are at the same time also the key
to their discovery. Wherever some word seems of particular, uncoin-
cidental importance, whenever one paragraph sheds important light on
another or when a contradiction occurs—the reader may rightly assume
that Maimonides' true opinions should be looked for.
In the Introduction to the Guide, Maimonides specifies two elements
of the Bible's language that enable it to carry its twofold dimension of
meaning: equivocal terms and parables. Equivocal terms are single
words that can be understood in more than one sense; their signification
is not unique. Parables are more composite units of narrative (such as
verses or whole passages) that should be interpreted as allegories: they
have both an "external" sense and an "internal" one, the first being the
plain meaning of the text, the second the true one it encodes.
One of the most important biblical words interpreted as an equivocal
term is "God" (Elohim; DTTl^K). Needless to say, interpreting this word
as equivocal may shed crucial light on many biblical stories, including
the Binding. According to Guide 1:2, this word has no less than three
different senses. "Every Hebrew knew," Maimonides writes, "that the
term 'Elohim* [God] is equivocal, designating the deity, the angels and
the judges governing the cities." "God" is not the deity's proper name,
then, but only a general term. In 11:6, Maimonides is more specific. He
argues that this term is not simply equivocal but derivative: originally
designating the judges, it later came to signify also the angels and the
deity; these beings too, he says, share the attribute of judgment.
8. Ibid.
7. The Fundamental Principle of Prophecy 77
deity (= the "separate intellect") but the "heavenly spheres," standing for
traditional customs and conventional beliefs (even the pagan gods).
Unlike Maimonides, he did not adduce the story of the Garden of Eden
to demonstrate his argument, but the Binding of Isaac: "When the Torah
refers to Abraham's act, it is careful to say 'thou art a God (DTTl^X)-
fearing man'," he wrote. "For the sacrifice of the son was because he
feared God (DTD^S), i.e. the heavenly spheres...; for such was, and still
is, the custom of the nations making offering and sacrifice."11 Maimon-
ides, in the light of his interpretation of the Fall, would have no quarrel
with these words.
2
As has been noted, Maimonides interprets God's command to sacrifice
Isaac and the angelic command to desist as moments of prophetic
revelation. It is necessary therefore to consider first his theory of proph-
ecy, before moving to his account of Gen 22.12
In the Guide 11:36, Maimonides analyzes the process of acquiring
prophecies as the following:
Know that the true reality and quiddity of prophecy consists in its being an
overflow overflowing from God.. .through the intermediation of the Active
Intellect, toward the rational faculty and thereafter toward the imaginative
faculty. This is the highest degree of man, and the ultimate term of per-
fection that can exist for his species; and this state is the ultimate term of
perfection for the imaginative faculty.
In this process, intellectual data overflowing from the Active Intellect
reach the human rational faculty which in turn constructs them as images
in the imagination. Apparently, then, the imaginative faculty of the
prophet is only a secondary element of the process; indeed, the percep-
tion of divine ideas is possible also without it. However, the prophet's
imaginative faculty in fact plays an essential role in any prophetic
activity, for a prophet is not only a medium perceiving the divine over-
flow—he/she is also a medium communicating it to the public, a task that
the figurative construction of prophecies enables him/her to carry out. It
is only by the figurative expression of prophecies that the prophet can be
understood by the multitudes, instruct them with the divine message and
gain social and religious authority. When a prophet reaches the highest
degree of perfection, Maimonides explains, his/her entire soul becomes a
prophetic medium: his/her intellect perceives the divine overflow from
the active intellect while his/her bodily organs—not only his/her imagi-
nation and speech organs—act according to its influence.
Following al Farabi, Maimonides believes that not all prophecies are
of the same degree of perfection. In 11:45, he enumerates eleven different
degrees of prophetic activity, into which the prophetic instances recorded
in the Bible can be classified. His first, general division is between
prophetic "dreams" and prophetic "visions." Images appearing in a pro-
phetic dream are experienced while the prophet is asleep and, in most
cases, have a subjective manner of appearance. Images appearing in a
prophetic vision, however, which are experienced while awake, are per-
ceived as almost real, objective figures. A prophet seeing them, Maimon-
ides writes, "sees a thing as if it were outside" (11:45).
These two general divisions are later further classified into subdivi-
sions. The lowest kind in the sequence is one where, in a prophetic
dream, a prophet perceives and understands what Maimonides calls
"prophetic parables" (that is, not plain articulated speech). From this
stage there follow in ascending order hearing articulated speech, seeing a
man speaking, seeing an angel speaking and seeing God (DTn^K) speak-
ing, which is the highest degree of the lower kind of prophecies—those
experienced while asleep.
From this stage begins the classification of the prophetic visions. It
follows a similar path: the lowest kind is that in which a prophet per-
ceives parables while awake, from which follow hearing articulated
speech, seeing a man speaking and, lastly, seeing an angel speaking. At
this point Maimonides raises the question whether it would be possible
also to see God in a prophetic vision, ruling this possibility out. The
human imaginative faculty, he argues, is unable to construct an objective
image of the deity. This is crucial: the highest possible prophetic degree
is not that of seeing God speaking, but that of seeing an angel. "The
eleventh degree," Maimonides writes, "consists in the prophet's seeing
an angel who addresses him in a vision.. .as Abraham in the time of the
Binding. In my opinion, this is the highest of the degrees of the prophets
whose states are attested by the prophetic books..." (11:45).
3
Having conducted a comprehensive study of the story of Job, Maimon-
ides turns in 111:24 to a more general treatment of the subject of "trials"
recorded in the Bible. This subject, he says, is very difficult. "It is one of
80 The Binding of Isaac
the great difficulties" of the Torah.13 In practice, it seems that his inten-
tion in this discussion is to go beyond a general treatment of the biblical
concept of trial; for having discussed the conceptual difficulties involved
in the biblical trial stories, he undertakes an extensive interpretation of
one in particular: the Binding of Isaac. Maimonides offers some subtle
argumentation, developing what seems an esoteric account of the narra-
tive. I will therefore quote rather extensively, and comment on Maimoni-
des words in some detail.
The fundamental religious difficulty involved in the notion of trial is a
problem of theodicy: How is it possible that the good deity torments a
righteous man in order to test him, when he had not first committed a
sin? Maimonides opens the chapter with an exposition of the common,
vulgar solving of the problem, according to which "God sends down
calamities upon an individual, without their having been preceded by a
sin, in order that his reward be increased."14 Apparently, there is some
equilibrium between righteousness and reward so that in order to increase
a reward to a certain individual, God will first have to balance it by
adding to his suffering. Maimonides rejects this explanation, however,
contending that a fundamental principle of the Torah runs counter to it.
This principle, expressed by a famous dictum of the sages, is that the
deity is free of any such ethical flaw: "There is no death without sin,"
they said, "and no suffering without transgression" (b. Shabbai).
At first, Maimonides' contention may seem an innocent insistence on
the fundamental principle of theodicy. Any reader of the Torah "who is
endowed with intellect," he writes, must know that it is impossible to
ascribe such injustice to the deity. The context of these words, however,
should also be borne in mind. Maimonides has just finished commenting
on the story of Job and, a few lines later, he gives his interpretation of the
Binding of Isaac. While a reader "endowed with intellect" would agree
that no kind of injustice may be ascribed to the deity, such a reader will
at the same time require a satisfying explanation. Maimonides' inter-
pretation of the narrative will therefore have to supply a reasonable
solution to the tremendous injustice (apparently?) ascribed to "God"
(D'TTfrX) in these stories. (I deal with the story of Job in the next
chapter.)
From the theological problem of theodicy, Maimonides goes on to
comment on the philosophical problem of omniscience. Particularly, why
should the monotheistic deity, which is omniscient, examine its servants?
Maimonides writes that the idea of examination is contained "externally"
in all the biblical trial stories. On this view, the trials took place "in order
to test and to receive information so that one could know the degree of
faith or the degree of obedience in the individual or nation in question."15
Yet, as we have seen, "externally" means for Maimonides that the trial
stories are actually parables, where the idea of examination is not the true
one. According to Maimonides, it is impossible that the omniscient deity
would test his servants in order to receive information about their faith.
He "already knew it," Maimonides says.
Against these misguided conceptions Maimonides introduces his own:
"Know that the aim and meaning of all the trials mentioned in the Torah
is to let people know what they ought to do or what they must believe."
The biblical trials are not intended as examinations but, rather, as exhibi-
tions: demonstrations of religious models. "The notion of trial," he con-
tinues, "consists as it were in a certain act being done, the purpose being
not the accomplishment of that particular act, but the latter's being a
model to be imitated and followed."16 From this conception follows Mai-
monides' famous insistence that the Binding of Isaac was not intended to
examine Abraham's obedience but to become a model of faith: it was
supposed to "to make known" two great ideas that are "fundamental
principles of the Law." The first, he writes, is the extent to which the
"limits of love for God.. .and fear of Him" may reach: the story expresses
that notion in Abraham's readiness to make a sacrifice that "bears no
comparison," going beyond the value of property or even that of human
life. "Because of his fear of God and his love to carry out His command,"
Maimonides explains, "Abraham held his beloved son as little."
It follows from Maimonides' words that the notion that the story
conveys is not the limits of love for God and fear of him but the fact that
there are actually no such limits, for in relation to Abraham's love and
fear, the sacrifice Maimonides defines as "bearing no comparison"
becomes "little." His love and fear are therefore infinite.
The second "fundamental principle of the law" (= the Torah) that the
story is meant to make known is that prophets possess a certain, absolute
knowledge of the divine messages they perceive. This, apparently, is
demonstrated by Abraham's readiness to obey: "Even though this com-
mand came to Him in a dream or in a vision," writes Maimonides, "he
hastened to slaughter." Were Abraham not certain of the divine message
he had perceived, so the argument goes, or had some doubt intervened,
he would not have found the strength to slay his son.
15. Ibid.
16. Ibid.
82 The Binding of Isaac
17. Ibid.
7. The Fundamental Principle of Prophecy 83
comes from "God" (DTD^K) to them. Yet, for some reason, he confused
prophetic visions together with dreams. Let us consider this passage in
full:
[Scripture] wished to make it known to us that all that is seen by a
prophet in a vision of prophecy is, in the opinion of the prophet, a certain
truth, that the prophet has no doubts in any way concerning anything in it,
and that in his opinion its status is the same as that of all existent things
that are apprehended through the senses or through the intellect. A proof
for this is the fact that [Abraham] hastened to slaughter, as he had been
commanded, his son, his only son whom he loved.. ,18
How can the narrative demonstrate that what is perceived in a vision
has the same status "as that of all existent things"? The command to slay
Isaac was imposed by God and, therefore, must be ranked at the more
subjective mode of dream prophecies. The confusion grows worse in the
next lines. Abraham hastened to slay his son, says Maimonides,
.. .even though this command came to him in a dream or a vision. For if a
dream of prophecy had been obscure for the prophets, or if they had
doubts.. .concerning what they apprehended in a vision of prophecy, they
would not have hastened to do that which is repugnant by nature.19
Again, what is the reason for Maimonides' insistence on the alterna-
tive of vision? Why the mixing of visions with dreams?
Furthermore, is it at all possible that God's (DTTI^X) command to
Abraham should have the absolute status of an objective truth? As we
have seen, "God" in Maimonides is not the deity's proper name but a
derivative one. It stands for contingent judgments of "good and evil,"
relative to cultural changes, which are not assigned with absolute truth
values. Could anything coming to Abraham from "God" have been
perceived as a "certain truth"?
That it could not is demonstrated also by the angel's command to
desist. Had God's (DTTl^K) word been absolutely certain, the command
could never have changed and negated by the angel. This problem was
expressed in the following Midrash of which Maimonides, it is reason-
able to assume, was aware:
But the angel of the Lord (mm) called unto him (v. 12) Abraham said to
him: who are you? He said to him: I am an angel. Abraham said to him:
when the holy one told me to sacrifice, he told me so himself. So now I
ask that he himself tell me [to stop].20
It is not only that the angel contradicted God's word that is striking,
but the fact that Abraham somehow eventually trusted it, violating God's
initial command. Had God's command, perceived in a prophetic dream,
been absolute, Abraham would not have trusted the angel. Moreover had
the angel's command, perceived in a prophetic vision, had any doubt in
it, Abraham would not have found the strength to violate God's initial
command. The Akedah thus makes known a fundamental truth of proph-
ecy: prophets doubt what comes from God (which may be interpreted
here as the relative norms of the religious community) but do not doubt
the direct revelations, emanating their intellect in prophetic visions.
For that reason Abraham trusted the angel of YHWH—violating God's
command of sacrifice. It is worthwhile here to remember again what
Maimonides had said of the angel's appearance: "The eleventh degree
consists in the prophet's seeing an angel, as Abraham at the time of the
binding. In my opinion, this is the highest of the degrees of the prophets
whose states are attested..."
Maimonides' words contain yet another clue to his opinion on Abra-
ham's act. In the concluding passage he refers to God's words about
Abraham at the beginning of the story of Sodom, quoting the divine
voice saying that "...I have known him (TH^T *O), to the end that he
may command his children and his household after him, that they may
keep the way of the Lord, to do righteousness and judgment..." (Gen
18:19). (We have considered these words in Chapter 3.) Maimonides
compares them to the Binding of Isaac: "thus just as they followed his
[Abraham's] correct and useful opinions, namely, those that were heard
from him, so ought one to follow the opinions deriving from his actions"
(11:24). The opinions drawn from what is "heard" of Abraham in Sodom
are well known to his descendants. "Far be it from thee to do such a
thing.. .shall not the judge of all earth do no right?" The same opinions
are "made known," then, also from Abraham's "actions." "Especially,"
Maimonides writes, "from the act in which he verified the fundamental
principle affirming the truth of prophecy" (nxiiwn nrPDK nr3).
Let me conclude by repeating the main course of the argument. First,
Maimonides writes in the conclusion of his discussion of the Binding
that, "in truth," Abraham demonstrates in the narrative the "fundamental
principle affirming the truth of prophecy" (nX*Q3n nrPQK nr55). As I
have argued, these words suggest that we should study Maimonides'
interpretation of the Binding in the light of his theory of prophecy.
Second, when this is done, it becomes clear that Abraham receives in the
narrative two kinds of prophetic revelations: prophetic dreams, which are
the lower kind, and prophetic visions, which are the higher. Third, the
command to sacrifice Isaac, imposed by God (DTH^X), belongs to the
7. The Fundamental Principle of Prophecy 85
21. Ibn Caspi, Gevia Kesef, 150 (my emphasis). Compare the emphasized state-
ment to Maimonides' saying (repeatedly dealt with in this chapter) that, "in truth,"
Abraham verifies in the narrative "the fundamental principle affirming the truth of
prophecy" (nX*Q3n nTTQK Drs). It is important to point out that the English trans-
lation of Ibn Caspi's Gevia Kesef gives here something altogether different ("the
third benefit is that the holy king tests its servants"). But this is mistaken. The
Hebrew—as confirmed also against Ibn Caspi's own hand-writing manuscript—says
nmin nrVQX nra ("the fundamental truth of prophecy"). I do not know what the
origin of the translation error is. It could be related to the fact that the original
thirteenth-century Hebrew manuscript is, after all, in Ibn Caspi's handwriting. Yet I
would like to emphasize that this manuscript is not vague, but quite clear. I would
like to thank Hannah Kasher for bringing this translation error to my attention.
Chapter 8
Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the
wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Far be that from you!
Shall not the judge of all the earth do what is just?
—Abraham to God in Gen 18
The rabbinical literature presents a question concerning the opening
words of the Binding. It reads: "'And after these things, God tested
Abraham' (Gen 22:1)—but after what things!" (Sanhedrin 89). A
famous answer given as a midrash in the name of R. Yohanan is: "after
the things said by Satan." Doubting the motivation underlying Abra-
ham's faith, Satan in this midrash urges God to set Abraham a test. This
personage, who of course does not take any actual part in the Binding, is
imported from the story of Job. For in response to God's question in the
midrash "where have you come from?" Satan replies: "Master of the
whole universe, I have traveled in the whole world, but did not find a
person like Your servant Abraham, a blameless and upright man..."
(Sanhedrin 89). The echo is clear. This dialog duplicates the dialog
between God and Satan in the book of Job, only putting Abraham in
Job's place. (Compare to Job 1:6-9: "The Lord said to Satan, 'Where
have you come from?' Satan answered the Lord, Trom going to and
from on the earth'... The Lord said to Satan, 'Have you considered my
servant Job? There is no one like him on the earth, a blameless upright
man, who fears God and turns away from evil.'")
This is not the only instance where motifs from (he story of Job are
borrowed for the interpretation of Abraham's and vice versa. The rabbis
saw themselves justified in interpreting each by the other since there is,
in fact, a close relation between them. Abraham and Job are the only
individuals in the Bible to be subjected to a divine trial; and both are
designed thereby to present a model of religious faith. It was therefore
considered appropriate to compare the two and assess one character in
light of the other.
8. "He Destroys Both the Innocent with the Wicked" 87
3. This parallel must be of particular significance here, for, as is well known, the
application of the root "bless" (3"Q) in Job is highly unconventional. It is not used to
indicate God's blessing of Job only, but also to describe Job's "blessing" of God,
which is the Hebrew Bible's language for "curse."
4. See, for instance, Yefet's "The Trial of the Binding," and, more recently,
T. Veijola, "Abraham und Hiob: Das Literarische und Theologische Verhaltnis von
Gen 22 und der Hiob-Novelle," in Vergegenwdrtigung des Allen Testaments: Bei-
trdge zurbiblischen Hermeneutik. Festschrift fur RudolfSmendzum 70. Geburtstag
(ed. C. Bultmann; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2002): 127-44.
8. "He Destroys Both the Innocent with the Wicked" 89
2
The commonly accepted explanation of the relation between the stories is
given by Y. Leibowich, in a paper titled "The Trial and the Fear of God
in the Book of Job."5 The core of the relation, he suggests, is that for both
personages the trial represents a moment of transition in their relation to
God: from "improper" to "proper" "fear of God" (miMO TlfoVh naiQX
na®b x'XD). He draws a distinction between the two kinds of fear based
on their motivations. Whereas the first is moved by the anthropocentric
interest—either personal or ethical ("ethical" meaning here "the good" of
society rather than of one's self)—of obtaining divine protection, the
second kind, essentially theocentric, is based on the desire to fulfill
God's will. "There is a very big difference" Leibowich writes, "between
faith in God as his being as God, and faith in the function attributed to
Him, the belief in providence and protection."6 The first kind is relative
—being determined in relation to human desires, understanding and
ethics—but the second is absolute; it is an end in itself and requires no
human or rational justification in order to be fulfilled.7
An example of such a distinction can be demonstrated in Kierkegaard's
Fear and Trembling* As I observed in Chapter 1, Kierkegaard had to
defend Abraham's role as "knight of faith" from comparison with what
Kierkegaard calls "tragic heroes" (such as Jephthah or Agamemnon):
those heroes were not only ready to slay their children, but also, unlike
Abraham, actually did. Kierkegaard explains that while their sacrifices
were performed in a human, ethical dimension (as long as the telos, i.e.
the purpose, of their acts was to save their peoples the sacrifice can be
deemed "good"), Abraham's was not. The telos of his sacrifice, if it had
any, was solely the fulfillment of God's command.9 Leibowich and
Kierkegaard would agree on that point. The fact that there is no telos for
Abraham's sacrifice makes him the "knight of faith"; in Leibowich's
words, his sacrifice thus is a "proper" religious conduct.
5. See Y. Leibowich, "The Trial and the Fear of God in the Book of Job," in
Mazor, ed., Job, 34-44.
6. Leibowich, "The Trial and the Fear of God."
7. For a further elaboration of the distinction between the two kinds of faith, see
Y. Leibowich's "Abraham and Job," in Yahadut, Am Yehudi, u'Medinat Israel
(Judaism, Jewish People and the State of Israel; Jerusalem: Schocken, 1975): 73-94.
8. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling.
9. Ibid., 59.
90 The Binding of Isaac
10. This can be inferred from "The Trial and the Fear of God," where Leibowich
mentions an "important figure, both morally and intellectually very well established
in the world of Judaism" who recently said that "after Auschwitz he has lost his faith
in God." Leibowich says, "My reply is: this means that you never believed in God;
you only believed in God's help" (p. 36).
8. "He Destroys Both the Innocent with the Wicked" 91
3
Leibowich's explanation is attractive. His reading of Job, however, as
well as his account of the story's relation to the Akedah, is problematic
and hard to defend. The first objection with respect to his reading of Job
concerns the way he understands God's reply. In Leibowich's view, the
divine answer is the moral of the story; it is what made Job withdraw his
improper wish to know the reason behind his suffering. However, if
placed in the correct context, God's reply cannot serve the function
Leibowich ascribes to it; for the answer uttered from the tempest—that
there is no answer and that there need not be one—is actually ironic.12 As
has been pointed out by scholars, there is a straightforward answer to
Job's demand to know the reason. Even though Job himself is not aware
of it, the reader is—and so is God: the reason is God's wager with Satan.
In this light, Job did not suffer in spite of his "fear of God," but actually
because of it, for he would not have been tested if he were not "God
fearing"; indeed, he would not have suffered in the first place if God had
not been boasting about him. This irony must be a key for understanding
the moral of this story, since the author very carefully devised it as the
context of the trial.13 And it would seem highly implausible therefore to
suggest, as Leibowich does, that the moral of the story is to be found in
God's words. We will see later on that the moral of the story is to be
found elsewhere, not in God's reply to Job, but in his reply to Eliphaz
(who serves as a model of an ordinary dogmatic believer).
But there is yet another, more serious objection to Leibowich's view.
As noted earlier, one motif that both stories share is a relation between
the "fear of God" and the divine "blessing." We have seen that Job's trial
is devised in order to make sure that his "fear of God" is not a mere
result of God's blessing, and that Abraham was blessed (by the fulfil-
ment of the divine promise to multiply his seed) because he withstood
his trial; because he demonstrated his "fear of God" he was blessed by the
angel. But here there is a fundamental defect in Leibowich's argument.
4
Job's trial begins immediately after Satan introduces his philosophical
doubts, proposing a challenge: "... stretch forth your hand (*]T JC n^C)"
he suggests to God, "and touch all that he has; will he not blaspheme you
to your face?" (Job 1:10-11). The first thing that comes to mind on read-
ing this line is that the devil's words contain a verbal echo of the Akedah.
Compare "stretch forth your hand..." ("]T K3 H^tD) to the description of
Abrahams action in v. 10, "and Abraham stretched forth his hand"
(..."TP nx DIT"QK n^ETI), as well as to the angel's cry from heaven in
v. 12, "Do not stretch forth your hand..." (ninn ^K "]T n^BTI bx). God,
at all events, accepts the challenge: "Behold, all that he has is in your
hands," he says, "Only upon him do not stretch forth your hand... (^K
*JT n^BD)" (Job 1:12). The consequence is well known. Job loses his
cattle, his servants and his children but keeps his faith. "Despite all this,"
we are informed, Job "did not sin and did not ascribe unseemliness to
God" (Job 1:22). Yet Satan is not convinced. "Stretch forth your hand,"
he insists, "and touch his bones and his flesh; will he not blaspheme you
to your face?" (Job 2:4).
As is well known, Job eventually does break down, soon after his
friends come to comfort him but remain silent. "Nobody said a word to
him," we read, "because they perceived that the pain was very great."
94 The Binding of Isaac
And so—as if to break the silence—Job suddenly opens his mouth and
begins to lament—cursing the day of his birth.
At this point, Job apparently utters no direct attack on God, limiting
his complaint to the cruel fate that has forced him into life. "Would the
day in which I was born be lost," he begs, "let God not seek it from
above and let no light shine upon it"; "Why did I not emerge from the
belly and perish? Why did knees receive me and why were there breasts
that I should suck?" It seems that some insult is conveyed in these words.
What Job is asking here is to have not taken part in God's creation: "That
night—may pitch darkness take it; shall it not rejoice among the days of
the year" (Job 3:2-3).
As soon as Job falls silent Eliphaz, the oldest and most respectable of
the friends, begins to reply, saying that Job himself should know the
answer to his complains. He reminds Job that he was the one who used to
comfort suffering men by arguing that there is justice in the world: no
righteous man ever suffers without reason.
It has been observed that Eliphaz's words are somewhat ambiguous.
They may convey some indirect criticism on Job since one plausible
interpretation is "if you were as righteous as you claim, you would not
have suffered." However, even if this be so, at this point Eliphaz is still
pretending to be Job's friend. He is not accusing him but only trying to
strengthen his faith. His next speeches, at all events, will become less
ambiguous, as well as less polite. We shall return to this.
In contrast to Eliphaz, Job's two other friends, Bildad and Zophar, go
on the offensive from the first moment. "How long will you speak such
things," asks Bildad immediately as he starts to answer Job, "seeing that
the words of your mouth are [like] a mighty wind." It is clear that he
does not intend to console his friend but to accuse him. He continues:
"Does God prevent judgment? Or does the Almighty prevent justice?"
This, of course, is a rhetorical question. In Biblical Hebrew, the name
"God" (DTH^K) often stands for the property of judgment. Bildad's ques-
tion is therefore bold: "is it possible that the judge will distort judg-
ment?" Indeed, here Abraham again offers an analogy. He presented a
similar rhetorical question, using the same logical assumption: "Shall not
the judge (BBW) of all earth do justice (BBBD)?" But the difference
between Abraham and Bildad is evident. While Bildad addresses his
rhetoric to his friend, Job, Abraham addressed the deity. His assumption
was not that God necessarily does justice, but that he necessarily has to.
It is outside my scope here to present a full account of Job's debate
with his comforters. Bildad and Zophar are never developed into full
blooded characters; they serve merely as Job's background, and never
present any sound theological argumentation that could resolve Job's
8. "He Destroys Both the Innocent with the Wicked" 95
14. R. Gordis, The Book of God and Man (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1965), 76-92
15. Hoffman, Blemished Perfection, 145-^8.
96 The Binding of Isaac
16. See, for instance, S. H. Scholnick, "The Meaning ofMishpat in the Book of
Job,"/#Z 101 (1982): 521-29.
98 The Binding of Isaac
different from his friends. While they state the paradox as a rhetorical
argument (Job is necessarily guilty for his innocence contradicts God's),
Job confirms it only as a definition of the problem. He is well aware of
the idea of divine justice, but at the same time aware also that it clashes
with the truth.
Eventually, Job too reaches the conclusion that appealing to the idea
of judgment would be impossible for him, for it involves going against
the Almighty. History teaches us, says Job, that no human has come back
safely from a confrontation with God: "who hardened his heart against
him and remained whole?" (Job 9:4). Even if we disregard that argument,
he continues, who will have the courage to call God to justice? "Who can
hold him back?" he asks, "who will say to him 'what are you doing ( HQ
iTOUn)?'" (9:12). Lastly, even if God is proven wrong by one of his
servants he will never change his course of action, he will "not turn back
his anger..." (9:13). This set of arguments leads him to renounce the
notion of judgment altogether. He declares, "'He [God] destroys both the
blameless (DTI) and the wicked (JflEn)" (9:22), and asks to die.
But is bringing God to justice truly impossible? The terminology of
Job's declaration recalls much of Abraham's speech in the story of
Sodom: "Far be it from you to kill the righteous (p'HJS) with the wicked
(flan)," he protested, "Far be it from you to do such a thing." Job uses
this terminology in arriving at the conclusion that it is impossible to enter
into juridical proceedings with God; he states God's injustice as a fact.
But Abraham, using a very similar formulation, has shown otherwise.
God's injustice can be reversed.
In fact, the verbal similarity between Job's argument and Abraham's
can be even more closely connected, if we consider Job's unusual
employment of the word innocent (DPI). Abraham uses the formula
"righteous (p*nx) and wicked (U8n)," but Job changes the first term to
"innocent." The fact that he does not use "righteous" cannot be acciden-
tal. The combination "righteous and wicked" is a recognized idiom in the
Bible while "innocent and wicked" is not Statistically, for every time
that one of the synonyms of the term "righteous" (such as "innocent")
appears in Psalms or Proverbs, the actual term appears about twice. In
Job, however, for every use of the word "righteous," one of its synonyms
is seen four times.17 The word "wicked" (SVH), it is interesting to
observe, appears at the same rate as in the rest of the Bible. I have no
explanation for the author's avoiding "righteous" (thus blurring the
relation to Abraham). R. Zarhia ben Isaac, a medieval exegete, once said
of Job that it was "written and arranged in order to suggest and hint
17. The statistics are drawn from Hoffman, Blemished Perfection, 341.
8. "He Destroys Both the Innocent with the Wicked" 99
secrets..." He asserts further that had the writer openly revealed his
intentions, "most human beings, or all human beings, would have run
from it."18 At all events, it seems clear that when Job is made to say that
God "destroys both the innocent and the wicked," his words actually
refer to Abraham, who prevented God from doing precisely that. Abra-
ham is the counter of Job's arguments, refuting the reasoning that led Job
to declare judgment impossible. Abraham is the one who confronted God
but "remained whole," the one who had the courage to bring God to
justice. Contrary to Job's argument, God changed his course of action
when he was proved wrong by Abraham. "Who will say to him 'what are
you doing (!TO17n HD)?'" asks Job, which appears to be a rhetorical
question. But in the esoteric dimension of the text there is an answer—
Abraham has actually said: "Far be it from you to do such a thing"
(mn nrro rntayo).
5
"And it came to pass after the Lord had spoken these things to Job, that
the Lord spoke to Eliphaz the Temanite..." (HIIT im "IPTX rpm
n^XH D*H3"Tn DS. ..). Here, in God's reply to the dogmatic believer, not
in his reply to Job, the real moral of the story is expressed. His words to
Eliphaz are much shorter than his words to Job, but also much more to
the point: "My wrath is kindled against you and your two companions,"
he says, "because you did not speak correctly, as did my servant Job"
(Job 42:7). Eliphaz thus confirms Job's earlier contention that uttering
dogmatic lies is worse than "blessing" God to his face. It is in light of
this understanding of the story that its relation to Abraham is better
accounted for: Abraham and Job are both seeking to ground their faith
without adopting the dogma of divine justice. Their ideal is one of bring-
ing God to judgment, or even of guarding his ways (see the discussion in
Chapter 3). Only Abraham, however, achieves this aim.
Leibowich would contend that this kind of faith is grounded on
anthropocentric principles. This is true, as long as it subjects God to
human understanding. It is not true, however, that this conception yields
the shallow religious attitude that Leibowich so persistently argues
against; reason-based religion is not necessarily the vacuous religious
attunement Leibowich opposed. For without insisting to subject God to
human understanding—if based merely on absolute surrender before
God—faith would be drained of substantial value. Kant addressed that
issue, commenting specifically on Job:
19. Immanuel Kant, "On the Miscarriage of all Philosophical Trials in Theodicy"
[ 1791 ], translated by Allen Wood in Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason
and Other Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 26.
Chapter 9
1. These propositions follow Adams, with slight changes (see R. Adams, Finite
and Infinite Goods [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999], 277-91 [280ff.]).
Adams uses the terms "morally right" and "morally wrong" according to specific
definitions which are not directly relevant to my present discussions of Kant and
Kierkegaard.
102 The Binding of Isaac
God tested Abraham and said 'take your son, your only son whom you
love, and offer him up for a burnt offering..." (Gen 22:2). If one wishes
to question this premise, one has to apply some sophisticated strategy of
textual interpretation. (The Maimonidean interpretation considered in
Chapter 7, for instance, is a good example of such a strategy. It denies
the second proposition by explaining the "God" [DTTI^X] commanding
the sacrifice as "public norms and opinions," or even pagan gods. That is,
it is not the monotheistic deity who issued the command.) Lastly, it is
wrong for a father to kill his son (Proposition 3) both ethically and
religiously: ethically, since this involves taking innocent human life (of a
son whose existence depends on his father's protection); religiously,
since it is a pagan ritual, forbidden by the monotheistic law (cf. Jer 7:31;
19:1-10).
The story brings these propositions into conflict; its force lies in the
formal inconsistency among them: if compliance with God's command is
morally justified (Proposition 1), and God commanded Abraham to slay
Isaac (Proposition 2), then it is not wrong for him to kill his son (i.e. not-
Proposition 3). Contradiction would arise from any of the combinations:
if 3 and 2 are granted, then not-l; if 1 and 3, then not-2. In short, to
resolve Abraham's Dilemma one must restore formal consistency, by
denying (at least) one proposition. But which one?
1
"Take your son, your favored one whom you love,
and offer him up as a burnt offering"—thus God to Abraham.
And we call him Abraham "our father"; what kind of father is he
who was willing to sacrifice his son on the altar?
—Y. Amichai
The modern frame of mind dictates an almost a priori angry objection to
Abraham's obedience. Amichai's words mirror a characteristic reply;
readers typically contend that Abraham ought to have denied the first
proposition: sometimes, it is morally wrong to do as God commands. The
writer S. Izhar expresses this with exceptional outrage. "I hate 'our father
Abraham' who is going to slay Isaac," he writes. 6CWhat right has he over
his son? Let him slaughter himself!"2
It seems to me, however, that the first proposition is in fact quite
plausible. If one comes to assess it rationally one would have to grant
that God's understanding, judgment and good will (I rely here on a com-
monsensical understanding of these notions) exceed ours by far and,
2. S. Izhar, The Days ofZiklag (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1958 [Hebrew]), 14.
9. On Fearing God Without Being Afraid of Him 103
Moriah takes longer than expected, which suggests that his eventual
decision was not the result of mere anxiety. "If he had chosen to do this
immediately, as soon as the order came to him, it would have been an act
of stupefaction and disturbance in the absence of exhaustive reflection,"
Maimonides writes. "But his doing it days after the command.. .shows
that the act sprang from thought [and] correct understanding.. ."6
Further, as stressed above, on the assumption that Abraham was not
deluded, that the ultimate God actually demanded the sacrifice, disobedi-
ence cannot easily be called the "correct" alternative, as some authors
have ventured to think. It would not have been more virtuous, sane or
rational to violate a direct divine command; not necessarily more ethical
even. This is not to suggest that obedience would have been the correct
alternative and that Abraham should be condemned for violating God's
word—far from it. It is rather to insist that the story contains an essential
tension that does not tolerate any visible mistakes or easy alternatives.
(Perhaps it tolerates no answers at all, as some authors have proposed;
we will consider this possibility in the next chapter.) For that reason let
us hold fast to the initial strategy. Rather than ask what Abraham ought
to have done, we may rely on the text as an authority and ask: Given
Abraham's disobedience, what is the religious value of his deed? As we
shall see, this question leads back from Kierkegaard's interpretation of
Abraham to that of Kant. It leads from Kierkegaard's Fear and Trem-
bling back to Kant's Religion Within the Boundaries of Reason Alone.
3
Which proposition does Kierkegaard deny? Certainly it is not the second.
He does, occasionally, entertain the thought that the test could have been
only a tragic mistake—Abraham could have been merely suffering from
a delusion. His prevailing view, however, is clearly that Abraham was
"great" since he "had faith and did not doubt."7 Had Abraham doubted,
Kierkegaard suggests, he would not have consented to kill his son. He
would have gone to Mount Moriah, split the wood, lit the fire and seized
the knife. Eventually, however, he would have killed himself rather than
his son: "he would have thrust the knife into his own breast."8
Nor does Kierkegaard deny any of the remaining propositions. He
explicitly recognizes that from an ethical perspective Isaac's killing
9. Ibid.
10. Ibid., 35.
11. Ibid., 46.
12. See also R. Adams, "The Knight of Faith," Faith and Philosophy 1 (1990):
383-95.
13. Ibid., 388.
106 The Binding of Isaac
19. For a discussion of the problem of religious authority in Kierkegaard, see, for
instance, John Whittaker, "Kierkegaard on the Concept of Authority," International
Journal for Philosophy of Religion 46, no. 2 (1999): 83-101.
20. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 56.
9. On Fearing God Without Being Afraid of Him 109
4
In a famous statement in the Introduction to the second edition of the
Critique of Pure Reason (the "First Critique"), Kant comments that he
"had to deny knowledge, in order to make room for faith."21 That state-
ment encapsulates the essential move of his philosophy of religion; it is
in its light that we shall consider the religious merits of disobeying the
command of sacrifice.
Kant's transcendental idealism rests on the assumption that for human
experience to be possible, the most basic elements that constitute it
(space, time, causality and so forth) must be "a prior?'—that is, rather
than thinking of them as parts of the world, existing independently of
experience, Kant thinks of them as features that our own mind imposes
on nature to perceive and understand it. This conception yields a twofold
result. On the one hand, it paves the way to the restoration of scientific
certainty, which Kant wished to establish. It is well known that David
Hume had disturbed his "dogmatic slumber" by obliterating the possibil-
ity of natural science; Hume's skepticism rendered all scientific knowl-
edge, including Newton's physics, which Kant took as utterly true, to be
nothing but a probable conjecture. If nature's fundamental elements are
21. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason (trans. N. Kemp Smith; New York:
St. Martins, 1965), Preface.
110 The Binding of Isaac
No one, indeed, will be able to boast that he knows that there is a God,
and future life: if he knows this, he is then the man for whom I have long
and vainly sought. All knowledge, if it concerns an object of mere reason,
can be communicated; and I might therefore hope that under his instruc-
tion my own knowledge would be extended in his wonderful fashion...
(Critique A829/B857)
Kant's sarcasm discloses the meaning of his "denial of knowledge."
We have seen above Kierkegaard's desire to sacrifice the bonds of
finitude in order to gain relation to the infinite. Kant's philosophy renders
that sacrifice impossible, tragic: our very nature binds us to finitude with
no escape; faith will have to find different foundations.
But what is the religious value of this claim? What may be the reli-
gious merits of excluding any personal or theoretical relation to God?
Kant surely thought there was such an intrinsic worth; as we recall, he
thought of his revolution not only as philosophical but also in religious
terms: the denial of knowledge only "made room for faith."
The first and foremost religious merit of Kant's move is the value of
truth and the critical destruction of religious hypocrisy. If humans cannot
be certain of God's existence and divine providence, thinks Kant, they
are better off if they admit it. There is a similar contention in the lament
of Job (see the discussion in Chapter 8): "Is it for the sake of God that
you speak falsehood?" he asks his friends, "on his behalf that you utter
lies?" (Job 13:7-8). Kant was very content with these words. Quoting
them in his essay "On the Miscarriage of all Philosophical Trials"
(1791), he commends Job who "speaks as he thinks," in contrast to his
friends. "Their malice in pretending to assert things into which they must
admit they have no insight, and in simulating conviction which they in
fact do not have, contrasts with Job's frankness—much to his advan-
tage."24 Kant is not simply commenting here on Job's comforters but is
actually showing a lack of esteem for his own contemporaries: they
claim religious pledges they cannot maintain. Only Job, Kant continues,
had a sincere faith of a "pure and true kind"; only Job "proved that he did
not found his morality on faith, but his faith on morality.. ,"25
This is an important remark. Kant here defines not only Job's belief
but his own, disclosing the kind of faith his "denial of knowledge" is
supposed to make room for. Rather than establish belief on theoretical
assumptions or seemingly divine revelations, he grounds it on moral
foundations: while his First Critique overthrew any theoretically based
24. Kant, "On the Miscarriages of All Philosophical Trials in Theodicy," 24-25.
25. Ibid.
112 The Binding of Isaac
33. See, for instance, Cassirer's discussion of this affair, in Cassirer, Kant's Life
and Thought, 375-81.
34. Immanuel Kant, On the Conflict Between the Faculties (Maryknoll, N.Y.:
Orbis, 1979), 115.
35. Ibid.
36. To be sure, Kant's rejection of the second proposition is altogether different
from the speculations of the recent authors mentioned above. While their rejection is
116 The Binding of Isaac
5
Kant concludes the Second Critique with a comment on the experience
of the "sublime," anticipating the analysis in the Third Critique, the Cri-
tique of Judgment. The notion of the sublime has important religious
implications, as we shall see, since Kant applies it to the interpretation of
religious experience, revisiting the biblical notion of the "fear of God."
"Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and
reverence..." Kant writes, "[t]he starry heavens above me and the moral
law within me."37 The starry heavens, infinitely large, defy our sensual
apprehension and threaten to annihilate our human sense of worth;
compared to the immensity of the skies, everything else appears abso-
lutely small. According to Kant, the experience of the sublime occurs
before colossal natural objects that exceed our sensual abilities. He
invites us to consider the "boundless ocean" at it is "heaved up," violent
thunders and "devastating hurricanes": "Compared to the might of any of
these, our ability to resist becomes an insignificant trifle."38 Indeed, any
of these threaten to tear the human body apart, provoking terror and fear.
The experience of the sublime, however, is very different from one of
mere fear. Kant maintains that it is possible for us "to consider an object
37. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Practical Reason (trans, and ed. M. Gregor;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 133-34.
38. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment (trans. M. Gregor; Indianapolis:
Hackett, 1987), 120.
118 The Binding of Isaac
fearful without being afraid of it."39 If we observe the "heaved up" ocean,
for instance, but at the same time we are confident of our secure personal
position, its sight would become not only fearful but extremely attrac-
tive—in fact, the more fearful the more attractive. Kant explains this
attraction by contrasting it with the attraction of the beautiful. Beauty, in
his view, is experienced when nature welcomes our comprehension,
lending itself as if purposefully designed by a deity harmoniously to
accord with our understanding. The sublime, according to Kant, provokes
the opposite sensation: the might of nature, embodied in such natural
events as erupting volcanoes or hurricanes, overpowers our senses and
lacks the traces of purposeful design. Facing its inability to apprehend
such overwhelming power, our reason turns (by means of "a certain
subreption") to reflect on its own, inner immensity; not immensity by
any natural standards, of course, but by moral ones—in relation to
human morality, nature's infinite power is immaterial. Physical power
can perhaps tear our body apart, but would never overcome our dignity
as rational agents:
Though the irresistibility of nature's might makes us, considered as natu-
ral beings, recognize our physical impotence, it reveals in us at the same
time an ability to judge ourselves independent of nature, and reveals in us
a superiority over nature that...keeps the humanity in our person from
being degraded.40
It is not the frightening power of nature that we judge as sublime, but
the superior power of our reason, embodied as an ethical experience; the
starry heavens brought Kant to reflect on the moral law "within him."
Such experience "infinitely raises" human worth, revealing admirable
life "independent of animality and even of the whole sensible world."41 If
nature is to be called "sublime" here, it is only for elevating our own
experience to the point where we can recognize our infinite "nonsensible
standard." "In contrast to this standard," Kant writes, "everything in
nature is small."42
Kant is well aware, however, that most people ordinarily imagine
divine revelations in violent natural events such as "tempests, storms,
earthquakes and so on"; "we usually present God as showing himself in
his wrath but also in his sublimity..."43 This suggests an immediate
objection to his account: is it reasonable to assume that divine revelations
only elevate our own personal dignity? Is it reasonable that divine power
is immaterial and small in relation to our reason? Indeed, it is commonly
assumed that in the presence of God sublimity must be attributed to
outward events, not to our own reason, and hence that the proper
religious response is not experiencing the sublimity of our own nature,
but "submission, prostration and feeling of our utter impotence..." This
is an experience of fear:
It seems that in general the only fitting behavior in the presence of the
deity is prostration, worship with bowed head and accompanied by con-
trite and timorous gestures and voice; and that is why most peoples have
in fact adopted this behavior and still engage in it.. .^
44. Ibid.
45. Ibid., 120.
46. Kant, Lectures on Ethics, 97-98.
120 The Binding of Isaac
47. Ibid.
Chapter 10
"After these things and God tested [trialed, H03] Abraham..." (Gen
22:1). Approaching a conclusion, it becomes appropriate to comment on
the first words of the narrative. In a sense, the complexity they embody
represents the essential motif of this book.
What does "tested" (HD3) mean in this verse? Commentators hardly
ever fail to address the question. English translations nearly always give
"tested," thus confining the meaning of the verse to one possible inter-
pretation which seems, at a first glance, plausible: "God examined
Abraham" to know his faith; is it strong enough?1 This is undeniably
the ordinary understanding of the narrative that is widely agreed upon
by common readers and scholars alike. "Standing the test," writes
E. S. Hartom, "bears witness to Abraham's complete faith in God, and to
his willingness to do what he is commanded without hesitation or
doubt."2
Medieval commentators read the Hebrew words quite differently,
however. Rather than read H03 as "tested," they read "presented" or
"exhibited": not "God tested Abraham" but "God presented Abraham as
a model." This is famously expressed by Maimonides who insists, as we
have seen, that the "aim and meaning" of all trials recalled in the Torah
is not to examine the individuals subjected to them but "to let people
know what they ought to do or what they must believe." The trials are
designed to demonstrate an ideal of faith and be "imitated and followed."
Accordingly, Abraham's trial of faith was not intended to test him, says
Maimonides, but to "inform of and "make known" two fundamental
1. Thus, for instance, in the New Revised Standard Version (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2001); cf. the Revised Standard Catholic Edition (Camden:
Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1966). Other translations sometimes give "tempted"; cf. the
New Catholic Edition (New York: Catholic Book, 1951).
2. E. S. Hartom, "Genesis 22", in The Books of the Bible (ed. M. D. Cassuto; Tel
Aviv, 1962 [Hebrew]), 47^9.
122 The Binding of Isaac
5. Lev 18:21; 20:1-8; Deut 12:31; 18:10; 2 Kgs 13:27; 16:3; 17:31; 21:6; 23:10;
Jer 7:31; 19:5; Ezek 20:31; Mic 6:7; 2 Chr 28:3; 33:6.
124 The Binding of Isaac
specific way for him to meet the challenge—in this case, apparently, to
obey. A "correct" response is required from him, in other words, in order
to emerge successfully from the trial. If Abraham is "exhibited as a
model," however, nothing is assumed prior to the trial. His act deter-
mines, for future generations, the measure of an approved religious
conduct; but at the moment he himself acts on the stage, no such measure
already exists.6 E. Mooney, revisiting Kierkegaard's notion of "fear and
trembling," has observed that in order for there to be a genuine anxiety in
the narrative there must be no right and wrong alternatives for Abraham.
"If Abraham could know, or we could know that he had picked the
'right' alternative," Mooney writes,
was a correct way for Abraham to withstand it. In view of the angel's
words, how could Maimonides or Augustine responsibly say that the pur-
pose of the trial was not to test Abraham but to present him as a model?
N. Leibowich thus contends that Maimonides' explanation "does not
fit the narrative as a whole and, most certainly, not the words of the
angel..."8 J. Licht, in a work titled Testing in the Hebrew Scripture,
similarly explains that Maimonides' position diverges from the "plain
meaning of scripture"; "There is no doubt that the simple meaning is
directed to God's knowledge" he writes. "The violence of Maimonides'
methodology is clear...[in the Akedah] where it is said 4I know'."9
These views seem to me to oversimplify Maimonides' position. He
was well aware of his inconsistency with the angelic speech and com-
mented on it specifically. Admitting that the "subject of trial" is "very
difficult," he makes the following comment:
... the external meaning of the trials mentioned in the Torah in the passage
in question is that they took place in order to test and to receive informa-
tion so that one could know the degree of faith or the degree of obedience
of the individual or nation in question. And this is a great difficulty,
especially in the story of the binding, which was known only to God and
to the two individuals involved, to one of whom it was said: For now I
know that thoufearest God.10
Very explicitly, Maimonides here tells the reader that the notion of trial
as "exhibition" is problematic—especially in the Binding, where, as
Licht observes, the angel says "now I know." Maimonides actually takes
pains to cite the Hebrew—not Saadia's Arabic translation which masked
the difficulty. How, then, does he resolve the inconsistency? Even though
less explicitly, the answer is conveyed in the same lines. Consider the
first words: "the external meaning of the trials..." Here, the phrase
"external meaning" is revealing. As we recall, one of Maimonides' inten-
tions in the Guide was to interpret the parables of the Torah—parables
defined as narratives having two layers of meaning: an external and
an internal one; an exoteric as opposed to an esoteric (i.e. "true") one,
respectively. Maimonides thus implies, first, that Gen 22 is a parable
conveying an esoteric dimension; second, that the notion of trial as
"exhibition" is indeed inconsistent with the external meaning but
consistent with the true one; and third, that the angelic speech that he
2
The earliest illustration of Gen 22's paradigmatic force as a model is
reported in 4 Maccabees (referring to a story in 2 Maccabees), which
recalls an incident known as that of "Eleazar and the Woman and Her
Seven Sons" (see also Chapter 1). The main characters in this story were
forced by Antiochus' soldiers (Antiochus IV, 167-164 B.C.E.) to choose
between bowing down to an idol and eating from the meat of the Roman
sacrifice—the other alternative was to face torture and death. Eleazar
chose death, setting an example to his people: "Children of Abraham,
you must die nobly for piety's sake" (4 Mace 6:23), he declared, and,
pleading for God to make of him an atoning sacrifice for them, entreated,
"Make my blood their purification and take my life as a ransom for
theirs" (4 Mace 6:29-30). The woman watched each of her seven sons
die a martyr's death, and followed their fate. The text states that "Not
even her affections for her young caused the mother, whose soul was like
Abraham's, to waver" (4 Mace 14:20).
A later Midrash blurs the historical context of this event but visualizes
the incident in much more detail, putting words into the mother's mouth.
These words would echo for generations to come: "Children, do not be
distressed, for to this end you were created—to sanctify in the world the
Name of the Holy One, blessed be He. Go and tell Father Abraham: let
not your heart swell with pride! You built one altar, but I have built
seven altars and on them have offered up my seven sons...." She then
addresses Abraham herself: "Yours was a trial; mine was an accom-
plished fact!" A different tradition suggests another echo: "You built one
10. A Religious Model of Disobedience 127
altar and did not offer up your son, but I built seven altars and offered up
my sons on them.. ."n
Writing more than a thousand years later that the Binding was
intended "to be imitated and followed," Maimonides may well have been
aware of this mother's words. As Rabbi Shlomo Riskin observes, Abra-
ham was "asked to do" what all "subsequent generations of Jews" would
have to perform.12 The case of the woman and her seven sons would
recur again and again.
For example, the Jews of Mainz believed that their failure to defend
themselves was due to their sins. The year was 1096 and their attempts to
fend off the attacks of the first Crusaders were collapsing: "Oh, because
of our sins the enemy prevailed and captured the gateway." The
Crusaders, like the Romans, forced them to make a choice—convert or
face torture and death. Here too the Jews looked up to Abraham, choos-
ing martyrdom and refusing to abjure their religion:
Oh, our good fortune if we do His will! Oh, the good fortune of everyone
slain and butchered and killed for the Unification of his name. "There is
none better to sacrifice our lives to than our God..."; When were there
ever a thousand and a hundred sacrifices in one day, each and every one
of them like the Akedah of Isaac son of Abraham?13
A similar scene recurs in Wevelinghofen where "Men, women, and
children" all chose death for the Lord's sanctification rather than convert.
One episode in particular attracts attention there, that of Rabbi Shmuel
Bar Yehiel and his "only son." As they fled together from assailants, the
son "offered his throat" to his father who recited the appropriate blessing
for the "slaughter of cattle and fowl." The son replied "Amen," as the
Jews who were witnessing the sacrifice accompanied it by Kriat Shema.
"Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One."14
It is reasonable to assume that the Jews believed the persecution was
the outcome of God's wrath and that, through sacrifice, they would be
saved. The pattern of these incidents and the language of the Akedah
suggest strong similarities to the scheme of child sacrifice (reconstructed
in Chapter 5): when a people or a nation faced impending destruction,
rescue was supposedly contingent upon their leader's sacrifice of his
"only son."
the "Angel of YHWH" who stopped it. "God" is the attribute of Justice,
YHWH of Mercy. (Nahmanides, for instance, writes in his commentary
on Gen 22 that "the view of the Akedah chapter is that the one who puts
to the test and commands the Akedah is "God" [QTH^K], and the one
who prevents it and makes the promises is the angel of the Lord [miT].")
Through a history of persecutions and massacres, through the Holo-
caust and endless wars, the Binding has become for Jews a source of
hope for protection and, at times, redemption. "Thy children will be
involved in one empire after another, from Babylonia to Media, from
Media to Greece, from Greece to Edom; but finally they will be
redeemed through the horns of the ram."18
Clearly, these traditions do not simply rely on Gen 22 but on a specific
interpretation of it. As Sarna summarizes this tradition, "the willingness
of the founding father to sacrifice his son as proof of his devotion to God
created an inexhaustible store of spiritual credit upon which future
generations may draw."19 This reliance, as I have argued, is distorted.
The Abraham stories (encompassing especially Sodom [Gen 18], the act
of circumcision [Gen 17] and the Binding of Isaac [Gen 22]) were
intended to take up the basic scheme of child sacrifice—where a people
is saved through the sacrifice of the "beloved son"—and invert its
theological implications. In the Binding, the people survive because their
father refused to sacrifice his "beloved son".. .not because he did so. We
may say that, very literally, the monotheistic people were saved through
the horns of the ram: Abraham noticed it "caught in a thicket" and
decided to sacrifice it instead of his son. In this light, blowing the Shofar
may be interpreted as an appropriate ritual for Rosh Hashanah or Yom
Kippur. But such an interpretation would be quite different from the one
traditionally adopted.
The model of the Binding still reverberates through Jewish tradition,
most evidently in the state of Israel where many individuals (among
them artists, politicians and rabbis) picture their political situation as a
tragic recurrence of the events on Mount Moriah. Naturally, conflicting
political parties interpret the narrative in different fashions. Some tend to
emphasize Abraham's brave submission, others the fact that Isaac was
eventually saved. Some evoke the Binding to encourage or even justify
the unavoidable sacrifices of war, while others withdraw from the story,
denying any commitment to its tradition. The poet Haim Guri depicts the
Jewish fortunes in the following verse:
22. G. Telpaz, Israeli Childhood Stories of the Sixties (Chicago: Scholars Press,
1983), 39.
23. Y. Amichai, Patuah Sagur Patuah (Jerusalem: Schocken, 1985).
24. Rabbi S. Riskin, "The Akedah: A Lesson in Martyrdom," The Jerusalem
Post (October 1994): 21.
132 The Binding of Isaac
Jesus' claim that the promises made in the Old Testament would be
fulfilled and granted to his followers evoked an immediate, profound
Christian bond to Abraham. He is the ultimate patriarch, the founder of
monotheism and "father of many nations," whose people are the people
of God. The Old Testament emphasizes with great care that his descen-
dants—his "seed" (IHT)—are the heirs of the divine blessings. In Gen
13:15, God makes a promise to Abram that "all the land that you see I
will give to you and to your offspring forever," and, later, renaming him
"Abraham" and pronouncing him the father of "many nations," he seals
the Covenant with him: "I will establish my covenant between me and
you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations...to be
God to you and to your offspring after you... I will be their God" (Gen
17:8). Indeed, Gen 22 repeats the same motif as the angel of YHWH who
stopped the sacrifice appears a second time from heaven, reaffirming the
blessings on Abraham's seed and, in fact, reinterpreting them in an
important way. In the angel's speech, they are presented as contingent
upon the father's readiness to slay his "beloved son." Because of Abra-
ham's obedience, Gen 22:15-18 affirms, his descendants will be blessed:
The angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time from heaven, and
said, "by myself I have sworn, says the Lord: Because you have done
this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless
you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven
and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess
the gate of their enemies, and by your offspring shall all the nations of the
earth gain blessing for themselves, because you have obeyed my voice.
Conceiving themselves as the heirs of these blessings, Christians identify
their religion as Abraham's genuine "seed." Stephen recalls "our father
Abraham" (Acts 7:2) and Paul insistently says "I am an Israelite, from
the seed of Abraham" (Rom 11:1). Later, disputing with Jewish oppo-
nents, he exclaims, "Are they the seed of Abraham? So am I" (2 Cor.
11:22). As Paul's remark implies, however, the Christian identification
as Abraham's seed yields a complex quarrel with Judaism. The Jews too
see themselves as Abraham's "seed"—indeed, as the rightful heirs of his
blessings. The Jewish tradition looks up to Abraham as a mark of iden-
tity and, as we have seen, protection; and this relation they seal symboli-
cally on their bodies by circumcision. As Abraham did to himself and his
son, they do to theirs (Gen 17:9).25
25. For a full discussion, see, for instance, W. Baird, "Abraham in the New
Testament: Tradition and the New Identity," Int 42 (1988): 367-79; cf. R. Wilken,
10. A Religious Model of Disobedience 133
his heir. His "seed" refers exclusively to Christ. For Paul, one condition
has to be met in order to satisfy the necessary and sufficient requirements
for Abraham's blessings: participating in Abraham's model of faith.
The ideal of faith this introduces is quite evident; it suffices to note a
quotation from Hebrews:
By faith Abraham, when he was tried, offered up Isaac: and he that had
received the promises offered up his only begotten son, of whom it was
said that "In Isaac thy seed is called." (Heb 11:17-18)
The argument that the people of the Christian faith are Abraham's true
heirs was reinforced by yet another method of textual interpretation,
which is not rabbinical in origin but altogether Christian. Through it the
people of the new faith absorbed the model of the Binding into their
theology in a much deeper and more profound way. This is the act of
Crucifixion which, according to the Christian tradition, is prefigured in
the Binding: Jesus replaces Isaac and God replaces Abraham, in the
sacrifice of the "son" for the redemption of the world.
The first indications of this concept are already conveyed at the time
of Christ's baptism and later in the Transfiguration.27 In both cases a
heavenly voice employs the language of the "beloved son": "You are my
beloved son; with you I am well pleased" (Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22). "Then
from the cloud came a voice, 'This is my beloved son. Listen to him'"
(Mark 9:7; Luke 9:35). This term refers to Abraham's "beloved son" in
the Binding, Isaac, but not exclusively to him. As we have seen, the
attribute "beloved" son brings with it a wide context—the general theme
of child sacrifice. Genesis 22 is only one—and highly unconventional—
variation of it. By "theme" I mean the safeguarding of a people by their
leader's sacrifice of his beloved son; by "unconventional variation" I
mean that in the Binding the people are saved precisely by Abraham's
refusal to do so.
Christ, like Isaac, carries the wood himself: the one for the burnt
offering, the other for the Crucifixion, both to be sacrificed. Tertullian
makes the parallel very explicit. Isaac, he writes, "when delivered up by
his father for a sacrifice, himself carried the wood.. .and did at that early
date set forth the death of Christ, who when surrendered as a victim by
his father carried the wood of his own passion" (Tertullian, Against
Marcion 3.18.225). These words refer to Gen 22: 16 where, having left
his "young men" behind, Abraham "took the wood of the burnt offering
and laid it on his son..." Midrash Rabbah recognizes a similar analogy
28. P. Jaroslav, ed., M Luther: Lectures on Genesis (Saint Louis, Miss.: Con-
cordia, 1964), 114.
136 The Binding of Isaac
Righteously also do we, possessing the same faith as Abraham and taking
up the cross as Isaac did the wood, follow Him... For in Abraham man
had learned beforehand and had been accustomed to follow the word of
God. For Abraham, according to his faith, followed the command of the
Word of God, and with a ready mind delivered up, as a sacrifice to God,
his only begotten and beloved son, in order that God also might be
pleased to offer up for all his seed His own beloved and only begotten
Son, as a sacrifice for our redemption.29
The model of the Binding thus becomes the underlying element of the
Crucifixion. In the Old Testament, Abraham's seed is supposedly
safeguarded through his readiness to kill his beloved son, Isaac. In
Christianity, the world is redeemed through God's actual sacrifice of his
beloved, Jesus. But the Binding was, in fact, intended to play a different
variation on that theme. The survival of Abraham's seed was not the
result of his readiness to kill the beloved son—it was the result of his
refusal to do so.
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