Parshah Commentary

In this week’s parshah, Abraham and Sarah celebrate the miraculous birth of their son Isaac, who comes into the world despite their advanced ages. But their gratitude and delight soon give way to their decision to exile their slave Hagar, along with her son by Abraham, Ishmael, who nearly dies of thirst during their forced desert wanderings. This drastic narrative shift occurs soon after Isaac is weaned, when Sarah sees Ishmael “metzachek”—an ambiguous word rendered, according to various translations, as “playing,” “laughing,” “mocking,” or “making sport.” Sarah appeals to Abraham, demanding that he banish the child and his mother, “for the son of this slavewoman will not inherit with my son, with Isaac.” What did Sarah see that drove her from joy to jealousy? This barebones scene hangs on a single verb elastic enough to evoke a wide range of scenarios.

Some rabbinic interpretations cite other biblical stories of iniquity that use the root in question to describe actions including idolatry, rape, and murder, in order to attribute these sins to Ishmael. The worse the alleged crime, the better for absolving Sarah and Abraham of their guilt for casting him out. But the second-century sage Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai dismisses these explanations: “I have a positive interpretation,” he says, “and it is mine that I prefer.” Instead of a philological dissection of the word, his argument is based on narrative context: Firstly, he points out, Ishmael’s father is Abraham, who God commands to instruct his son in the ways of justice. It would be a harsh indictment of Abraham’s parenting if Ishmael were committing such crimes under his nose. Secondly, he notes, Sarah does not actually accuse Ishmael of anything; the crux of the issue is clearly inheritance. So Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai imagines Ishmael upbraiding the celebrants at the feast for Isaac’s weaning, laughing at the idea that the second-born Isaac might take his place in the order of inheritance simply because he is the son of Sarah, the first wife. “You fools! I am the firstborn, I will inherit the double portion!” he imagines the teenage Yishmael announcing.

It is notable that Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai describes his own interpretation as “positive.” This may be because Ishmael is guilty of no offense greater than greed. But it also might be a more significant point: Perhaps he considers it praiseworthy to make a claim to one’s inheritance. Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai recognizes that Ishmael is motivated by the same goal that drives the heroes of the story: the inheritance of divine blessing. Contrast this version of Ishmael with the next generation’s anti-hero, Esau, who openly spurns his inheritance and takes divine blessing for granted. The problem is not that Ishmael is a deviant or rebellious son but rather that his values are too in sync with his father’s household. He is too much the model firstborn. Ishmael is simply too similar to whom Sarah wants her own son to be, and he is thus cast as a threat. (Even the key word in question underscores this: “Metzachek” shares its root with Isaac’s name in Hebrew, “Yitzchak.”) The other Rabbis’ stories, which Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai opposes, could be seen as projections of Sarah’s jealousy, the competition with her slave/co-wife still threatening to upend her. They are stories of the way jealousy distorts its object, deceptively making it seem different from the subject. Fundamentally, the rejection of Ishmael comes first; the stories about his depravity are the justifications that follow.

It’s discomfiting to read a story in our ancestral texts of Ishmael desperate and starving in the desert because we, the Hebrews, refused to include him or provide for his basic needs. Why continue to tell such a tale of cutthroat pettiness? Its salience becomes clearer when understood within the whole narrative arc of Breishit, which shows competition giving way to cooperation. Indeed, the text is bookended by diametrically opposed fraternal encounters; it begins with Cain’s act of fratricide and ends with the reconciliation of Joseph and his brothers, who narrowly avoid murder, turning instead toward compassion, forgiveness, and cooperation. But before Jacob’s 12 sons learn to share their inheritance, we see the previous generations squabbling over it, struggling over who is chosen and who is cast out. If it is Joseph and his brothers we should strive to emulate, the story of Hagar and Ishmael’s exile reminds us what cruelty we’re capable of.

Avi Garelick is a researcher and organizer based in Washington Heights, New York.