Parashat Chayei Sarah: Taking one step toward reconciliation

When I meet with families to prepare for the funeral of a loved one, there are often interesting family dynamics that people try to dodge. Sometimes so-and-so is not coming to the funeral because they are estranged from the family. Maybe so-and-so isn’t even invited. Other times, I hear the real scoop, with stories that sometimes cause embarrassment or shame to the family name. “Please don’t say that in the eulogy, rabbi,” is a frequent request. 

Of course, there are other times when people set aside family dynamics for the sake of peace in the family or to honor the deceased. This is precisely what happens in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Chayei Sarah. Here, we read that after Avraham dies, both of his sons, Isaac and Ishmael, buried him. 

While the Torah seemingly glosses over this detail by quickly moving on, a close reader of the text would understand that this is a very big deal. Just verses prior, Ishmael and his mother Hagar were sent off into the wilderness, with only a bit of water to drink. He had every reason to hold a grudge. The last thing that Ishmael probably wanted to do was get together with his half-brother Isaac, with whom he had a contentious relationship. But instead, together with Isaac, he buried his father. 

You could say that either brother took part in the mitzvah of burial as a way of honoring their father Avraham. That seems like a natural reason for the two of them to come together. However, we learn in multiple commentaries that Ishmael takes this one step further. 

Both Genesis Rabbah (62:1) and Rashi point out the order in which the brothers are named.  Isaac’s name comes before Ishmael’s, despite Ishmael being older. The midrash states this is because Ishmael honored Isaac. Similarly, Rashi claims that Ishmael repented and allowed Isaac to walk ahead of him. 

What happens in the Torah is seemingly nothing extravagant. In fact, one might expect that two brothers should clearly get together to bury their father. This just seems like the bare minimum. However, those of us who have contentious relationships with family members might understand that even doing something that feels like the bare minimum might feel like a giant feat. Facing someone who causes us so much anxiety or with whom we deeply disagree is not easy — even at the funeral of a mutual loved one.

Perhaps that’s why the Torah doesn’t dedicate much time to this. The Torah doesn’t say that Isaac and Ishmael reconciled. It doesn’t say that they even talked, or that they made eye contact with one another. They just showed up and buried their father. 

And maybe that’s the point. 

Sometimes we might refrain from moving toward someone with whom we have a poor relationship because it feels like a monumental task. We play through our minds what could go wrong. The uncertainty of what could happen may feel paralyzing. As a result, we find ourselves stuck in a rut of never taking the risk of making the first move toward someone, let alone reconcile. 

But what this passage teaches us is that sometimes taking just one small step can provide a meaningful opportunity to feel a shift in our relationship. 

The Talmud (Yoma 87a) shares a story of Rabbi Yirmeya, who offended Rabbi Abba. Rabbi Yirmeya decided to sit outside of Rabbi Abba’s home, waiting for a moment to ask for forgiveness. While Rabbi Yirmeya sat there, Rabbi Abba’s maid poured a bucket of dishwater out the window, and it landed on Rabbi Yirmeya’s head. Rabbi Yirmeya did not get upset. Soon after, Rabbi Abba heard what happened and came outside to greet Rabbi Yirmeya. 

Rabbi Yirmeya didn’t arrive at Rabbi Abba’s home with a grand plan. He simply showed up. 

We need not wait for grand gestures to reconcile. More than likely, we won’t have all the answers. But does that mean we should refrain from any step at all? Of course not. 

Perhaps part of our faith practice is to take one wobbly but definitive step toward someone without knowing what might come next.  That might mean a phone call. An email. A text. Or even, just arriving at someone’s doorstep — and staying there even if you get a bucket of dishwater thrown on your head. 

We may not be able to repair an entire relationship in one conversation. We may not even receive the response we hope for. But perhaps we can create an opening where none existed before.

Isaac and Ishmael don’t give us a story of a perfect reconciliation. They give us something much more attainable: two brothers who, despite everything that had happened between them, found a way to stand together for one important moment.

And perhaps that is where peace begins. Not with the expectation that everything will be resolved, or that we will know how the journey will end. Rather, perhaps reconciliation begins with the willingness to take just one small, but holy step forward.