Sarah’s Diaries
Introduction:
The Biblical story of the founder of our faith is fascinating and captivating, but I feel that we do not hear Sarah enough. Avraham has 450 words of dialog, whereas Sarah only has 38. Avraham is mentioned 192 times in Genesis and 44 times in the rest of Tanakh, while Sarah is mentioned only 55 times in Genesis and only once more in Isaiah. I thought it would be interesting to hear the stories of the family’s travels and trials through the eyes of our Matriarch Sarah, and I present you here with what I imagine could have been her diary.
The way I present some of the events, and especially the Binding of Yitzhak, may be disputed by commentators, Midrashic authors, and theologians. You are invited to read the analysis of the two Piyyutim about the Akedah, read the biblical story, and decide for yourselves.
Haran, Spring of 367 AF (After Flood)
Dear diary, in a few hours we will become nomads again, but this time permanently, not just for the trip from here to there. I should have complained and resisted. I, Sarai, born and raised in the greatest metropolis of all, Ur of the Chaldeans, had to travel to this Haran, a village in comparison. My father-in-law, Terah, decided one day that we should all, only God knows why, move to Canaan, and so we went, the old Terah with my husband Avram, his nephew Lot, and myself. Then, for some reason, the old man decided to settle in this corner of the world. I didn’t mind because Haran was better than Canaan. Not that it would have matter if I did mind because no one cares much for a woman’s opinion or concerns. But this new move, this is difficult. I don’t know if I want to leave. I have made friends here, and I like my little house where I have my own room and privacy. It is true that when I came to Haran everything felt alien, but I really became attached to this place.
How am I supposed to be excited about living in tents, on the road, surrounded by flocks searching for grazing fields? There are no houses for nomads, only tents. A tent for Avram, a tent for me (privacy, yay!).
I can already see the announcements by the chroniclers of my husband’s life: “Another divine test for the great man!”; “Avram abandons Haran for Canaan”; “Avram is chosen by an unknown deity!” And what am I? Chopped hay? Am I not asked to abandon my hometown? Am I not tested? Is a woman nothing more than a dangling participle at the end of her husband’s important sentences? Don’t get me wrong. I am ready to go because this is the divine commandment. I look up to Avram because I admire his courage and spirit, and I know very well why God chose him. He is an educator, a guide and a master. He walks the path of righteousness and justice and he imparts his beliefs with all those who are willing to listen. So why am I so agitated? I guess it is because deep inside I always hoped that it will be our own child that Avram will educate. I wanted to believe that the it will be through that product of our union that I will not only realize my potential as a mother but will take active part alongside my husband in the education of our future nation, as God has promised us. And now I am about to uproot myself and travel to Canaan, presumably to establish a new nation, with a 65 years old body which will never carry a child.
But enough ranting! Who knows, maybe moving to Canaan will bring me luck. I heard stories of barren women who were blessed after years of solitude, just because they moved to a new place, especially to Canaan (so they say…). I guess I should get going and shoulder this new task with my husband. Maybe we WILL be the progenitors of a numerous nation.
Egypt, Summer of 369 AF
Dear Diary, Sarai again. Sorry for not writing for so long. You know, it is a bit hard to write on the road, in tents, riding or walking, drawing water and watching over our flocks and servants. Bethel, Ai, Negev, I cannot keep track of all our stops. But now I have time to write because I am in a palace. Yes, you heard (or read) correctly – a palace. But it was not Avram who built it for me. No sir! I am a prisoner of Pharaoh. Abducted by a tyrant and separated from my husband, I am locked up in this palace. Strangely enough, no one comes near me. It seems as if everyone contracted some kind of disease, except for me, and they keep distance from me as if I were the source of their suffering… I am too tired to write now. I will continue tomorrow.
Dear Diary, I’m back in my quarters, and Avram is not far from me, still agitated and upset. Turns out it was me… God plagued them for abducting me… It’s heartwarming to know that God cares so much for you, but I should not have been there in the first place. I told Avram, I told him: “see now, God told you to come to Canaan, so Canaan it is! Why go to Egypt? Let us stay here and God will take care of us,” I said, but he wouldn’t listen. I know he wanted to save us from the famine, but we ended up in much greater danger. At least he asked for my opinion, which is something most men would never even think of nowadays.
Plains of Bethel, Winter of 377 AF
Time flies! Can you believe it? Ten years passed since we moved to Canaan.
Time crawls! Ten more years of unanswered prayers, tears shed secretly, envy of the careless young mothers and their toddlers. Ten more years of feeling abandoned by God. Is God trying me? Why is He doing this to me? Where are the promises He made to my husband?
I often reminisce with my wedding day. Such joy! Such innocence! I thought I would become a mother before I even knew it, that I would be holding a precious baby in my arms and caring for her all day. But with every passing year cruel reality made the dream seem more remote and unreachable. While everyone was celebrating motherhood and parenthood, surrounded by sweet voices of children ringing with joy and happiness, I was left alienated and rejected by God and men (or should I say women?) alike. I could feel their furtive glances as I was passing by, as if I was carrying a curse, a terrible disease.
God alone can count the tears I shed, day after day, year after year, praying, yearning for a child who will redeem me from my solitude, from my agony and shame. When the Divine order came to leave Haran, it was very difficult to go and leave Mom and Dad behind, but I think that subconsciously I was glad to just go away and leave behind the pity and hypocrisy. Yes, let’s go to a place where no one knows me and start all over. Maybe I will get lucky. Maybe the move will bring a change, a blessing. But I guess this is not what God wanted.
Avram says I am a righteous woman and that God enjoys my prayers and supplications. I appreciate that, but enough is enough. I don’t want to be special and I promise that if God grants me a child I will pray and thank Him even more. If it is prayers He wants… I will pray for all barren women!
Be’er Sheva desert, Spring of 377 AF
I’m so excited! I have a solution! Surrogate mother! I know some very respectful families who have gone through this process successfully. All you need is assign one of your maids as a surrogate mother and have your husband marry her. We all sign a contract which clarifies that the baby will be mine and my husband’s. I will finally be a mother, and I have the perfect candidate. Hagar, the Egyptian girl. She is so sweet and submissive, and she has tremendous respect for me. I cannot wait to talk to Avram tomorrow…
…that little snake! That tricky, treacherous, no-good maid suddenly think she is the lady of the tent just because she is pregnant. She taunts me with subtle comments and quips: I’m tired; I’d love to bring you some water, Mistress Sarai, but I woke up with nausea; My back, sorry I can’t pick this for you; I shoot a glance to Avram, furious, but these things pass right over his head. As far as he is concerned, she should get some rest and maybe I should tend to her. He doesn’t even feel that she harasses me! This is simply not the kind of things a man can understand. Is this my new trial? Am I being tested again?
I don’t know what to do. I love and respect Avram. But why is his quest of justice reserved only for foreigners? If God told him tomorrow that He is destroying Sodom and Gomorra, I know very well he will stand up and fight for them, arguing with the Almighty in favor of those wicked people. And I am right here in front of him, my daily abuse by this Hagar totally ignored. Do I not deserve justice?
Today I blew up. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Justice,” I told him, “I demand justice! Don’t stand idly by while she spills my blood!” And he finally gave me permission. He waived his part in the contract and told me that she is all mine. So, that’s it, the gloves are coming off.
Be’er Sheva Desert, Day five of New World Order
Now she knows my wrath. Made her worth her price in labor, and not the labor she was hoping for, no delivery for her. Let her fetch water and tend to the flocks and cook and wash my feet and know that she is the maidservant and I am the mistress. Justice is served!
Be’er Sheva Desert, Day six of New World Order
It's over; she's gone. We don't know where or when, but she has disappeared from Be'er Sheva. I should be happy, I should be celebrating, but I'm not. I feel terrible. I didn't mean it to happen like that. All I wanted was to have a child we could call our own, but things got out of hand. I got carried away on tidal waves of anger and frustration, years of sterility, endless nights of crying and, worst of all, the notion that my husband doesn't understand me. I took it all on her and I am not so sure I did the right thing.
Dear diary, it’s the middle of night but I must write. I am shaking. I just had a terrible nightmare. We both ended up having children who became nations, and now, my descendants were persecuted, tortured, exiled, and killed by her children. And that voice kept echoing in my mind “she is your maidservant. Do whatever you want…”