Parashat Lech L'cha--An Open Destiny

Sarai and Avram are called the first Jews. In this week’s Torah portion, Lech L’cha, they are the first to pledge themselves to the one God. They are the first to leave their lives behind in search of a new destiny. In the chapters of Torah that unfold over the next weeks, we learn the complexities of Avram's inner and outer life. We learn the lengths of his faith. But what about Sarai? What does she have to say?

What follows is an imagined look into Sarai's thoughts and experiences. This is my reimagining of sacred text, an attempt to fill in the gaps. I invite you to leave your comments here and offer your interpretations, as well.

The text of this week’s Torah portion can be found online by clicking here. 

Grace Paley teaches that “everyone, real or imagined, deserves the open destiny of life.” My life had no open destiny. Avram was my husband. He led, I followed. His God was my God; not by choice, but by circumstance. Yes, there were ways to subvert the subservience. Yes, there were opportunities for small changes along the way on our journey. Some days I would suggest that we stop a little longer. I would whisper into Avram's ear, "The animals need feeding, the people need rest." Yes, I would say, let’s not stay here too long, I feel danger around us.

In time, as we marched through the desert, I came to know Avram’s God. I came to know God, because when all else failed--my husband, my place in our family, everything known--God remained with me. And, I realized, it wasn’t just Avram who could talk to God. I could too.

God knew Avram well. Maybe even better than I knew him. God knew that with a divine directive of “Go,” Avram would go. God knew that with a divine whisper of “Follow,” Avram would follow. But, God also knew that if I said, “Help,” Avram wouldn’t. And, if I said, “Wife,” Avram would say “Sister.”

My journey was a troubled one. One day I was by Avram's side. His wife, his partner, his companion. And the next I was in the Pharaoh's court, a play thing for royal amusement. Avram said to me, plain as day, "Look now, I know what a beautiful woman you are! So when the Egyptians see you, and say: 'This is his wife,' they may kill me; but you they shall keep alive. Please say then that you are my sister, so that on your account It may go well for me…" (Genesis 12:11). One small move and I was no longer wife, I was sister. I was left on the side of a road, in a forgotten kingdom, to serve the Pharaoh. A stranger in a strange land? No matter. "Stay there," I overheard Avram saying as he settled in to reap his rewards. It did go swell for him. But I knew my story: No land is mine through inheritance. No land is mine through struggle or trial or journey. I have no property, I am chattel.

God had promised Avram children, but God never made any promises to me. And neither did Avram. And it wasn't until things started going not well for Pharaoh that he figured us out, and I was released. Sister no more. Who helped Pharaoh get there? Who helped him realize this purposefully mistaken identify? God.

And so, you see, Avram was chosen, selected by God. Faith through honor. I was rescued. Rescued by God when I felt forgotten in life. I was remembered.

And so, in this most sacred of texts, I remain. I am here to remind you that the desert and wandering of life can be lonely. And we may come to the holy through the most desperate of circumstances. But, I know, that in the depths of despair, sometimes God is waiting. Avram might have heard God's call, but God heard mine.

My legacy is a troubling one. Told in the spaces between the letters. Left for you to imagine. What else do you read here?  Please post your comments.

Thank you to Soni Sanberg for first helping to read Sarai in a new light. My first insights into this side of Sarah came from Rosellen Brown and Ruth Behar writing in Beginning Anew: A Woman’s Companion to the High Holy Days.