A Hasidic man, with a long beard, payes (ear locks), a long black coat, and shtreiml (the traditional fur hat worn by Chassidic Jews), walks into a bar with a multi-colored parrot on his shoulder.
The bartender says: "Where'd you get that?"
The parrot replies: "Brooklyn. There are thousands of them."
This week’s Parshat Chayei Sarah tells the story of how Abraham has sent his servant Eliezer to find a wife for his son Isaac.
He goes to the city of Charan where Abraham's family remained while he went on to the land of Canaan. Arriving at the town's well, he proposes a test: the woman who comes to draw water, offers some to the traveler, and in addition gives water to his camels will be the one chosen by G-d for his master's son.
Was the test permitted? Jewish law forbids relying on "omens." It is seen as a form of magic, superstition, and paganism.
Torah commentators explain that Eliezer’s test of Rebecca was a type of “psychological test,” to determine the type of personality of the girl he is searching for. A woman who would offer him and his camels’ water, would pass the test. It would be obvious that she is a kind and giving person. But is this enough? Can a single test like this be sufficient grounds on which to base so fateful a decision as the choice of a marriage partner for Isaac? Is this enough to establish marital harmony? There are many kind women out there, but not all of them will suit you.
Eliezer is on a mission to choose the woman who, like Sarah before her, would be trailblazers of a new nation, a new path in the jungle of history. She and her husband, Issac, would need to continue the Monotheistic revolution Abraham began, embracing a life of moral dedication to G-d and humanity. Does this simple test of giving water to a stranger pass the mark?
The Torah tells us when young Rebecca arrives, she goes down into the well, fills her pitcher, comes up, and begins to walk home. He approaches her and asks if he can sip some water from her pitcher. What would I do?
I might have said, “Here is the well, why don’t you draw water for yourself from the well?”
Or, perhaps: “I already have my pitcher on my shoulder. It is filled with water, and heavy. It is not so easy to take it down. I am on my route home already. Why don’t you ask one of the girls who didn’t fill her pitcher yet?
Or, at least this: “Sure! My pleasure. Please take down the pitcher from my shoulder and offer yourself a drink!”
All this would make sense. But what did Rebecca do? To quote the Torah:
“She said, ‘Drink, my lord.’ And she hastened and lowered her pitcher to her hand, and she gave him to drink.”
We can appreciate what Rebecca did here. This was not just kindness; it was an extraordinary and astounding display of generosity and benevolence. After giving water to Eliezer she offered for the ten camels to drink. But not just given to drink: Rebecca said, "I will also draw for your camels until they will have finished drinking." She refilled the trough until all of the ten camels FINISHED drinking to their full capacity; until they filled up their bodies with water, preparing for their long journey back home!
This means that Rebecca kept on running from the trough to the well, going down into the well, filling her pitcher, coming back up, running to the trough, filling it, then returning back to the well to refill, until each one of the camels completed its full capacity of drinking. And she did this all by herself!
We can now appreciate why the Torah mentions that Eliezer took ten camels with him on this journey, and why it mentions three times that she filled up the trough with enough water till all of the camels completed their drinking. It is also clear why the Torah points out that there was some distance between the well and the trough, thus she had to “run” from the trough back to the well.
How many times did she run back and forth? Considering she had one pitcher and had to irrigate ten camels to their full capacity, she may have run to the well and back to the trough between twenty and sixty times, until all the camels got their full share of water.
We can now appreciate the conclusion of the story: “And the man was astonished at her, standing silent, [waiting] to know whether the Lord had caused his way to succeed or not.” He was not just impressed; he was astonished; he was blown away. Who observes such a level of kindness?! Such a generous, undiluted form of giving?
And it was not over. When he asks her if she has a place in her home for him to stay the night, she responds, that she has not only room for him to stay, but also plenty of straw and food for all of the camels and the people!
Some people might call Rebecca naive, too innocent. But she was not naïve at all—as we can see from the continuation of her story. She was savvy as they come. For her this was called a life of refinement, nobility, grace, and holiness. One soul sharing with another soul, without any calculations if it is worth it and how it would impact her. When you are really wholesome, you need not make these calculations. Are there users in this world? Of course. But that is their problem and loss; not yours.
Let me share with you a story.
Dariush Massachi — an unassuming Persian Jew — was born in Shiraz in 1926. At the time, Shiraz had a strong Jewish community and Jews enjoyed economic and religious freedom.
In 1951, Dariush was introduced to Pari Zahabian, his future wife.
Pari came from a family of goldsmiths. In fact, her last name, Zahabian, meant goldsmith. And although she was only 15, her parents were interested in finding her an observant and stable husband — and Dariush fit the mold.
They married and over the next 20 years were blessed with eight children. Dariush worked hard as a goldsmith and with the help of Hashem was able to provide for his family.
Everything changed with the Islamic Revolution in 1979.
As he spoke only Farsi and was trained only as a goldsmith, Dariush was hesitant to move his family from Shiraz. But finally, in the early 1990s, Dariush realized that there was no future for his family in Iran. The ability to freely practice Judaism was worth more than all the gold in the world to Dariush.
So in early 1991, Dariush liquidated all of his assets. And then, in the total darkness of a moonless night, Dariush and his family climbed into an unmarked station wagon and, after paying off many officials, crossed the border into Turkey and from there made their way to the United States. They settled in New Jersey and went about raising a Torah family.
Dariush was 65 years old when he fled Iran. In America, he spent a good part of his day learning Torah and he was thrilled to be able to guarantee his children an authentic Jewish life. Pari mastered English and eventually became a medical assistant.
A year ago, in April 2017, Dariush, already past his 91st birthday, was required to undergo a serious medical procedure in the hospital.
Due to his age, the procedure required full anesthesia, and the family was worried about their revered husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.
On the day of the procedure, the family sat in the waiting room saying Tehillim. More remarkably, without ever discussing it with each other or with Dariush, every single one of them — including 81-year-old Pari — independently decided to fast and pray until they knew all was well.
The procedure began early in the morning. Finally, in the afternoon, Dariush was wheeled out of the OR and into recovery. As soon as he woke up, Dariush attempted to communicate with the nurse.
In his semi-conscious state, and with his broken English, the nurse was having trouble understanding him.
Listening carefully, she heard him say, “Lunch… I need lunch.”
The nurse could not understand why this man who had just undergone a procedure and was still groggy would be thinking of lunch; wouldn’t he want to see his family first?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Massachi, but you are not permitted to eat for another six hours.”
Again Dariush insisted, “Lunch, please, bring me lunch.”
As the nurse began to explain again, Dariush noticed his wife had entered the recovery room.
“Lunch, please bring my wife lunch… she has not eaten the whole day…”
“How do you know your wife hasn’t eaten?”
Dariush looked at his wife before answering the nurse’s question, and he thought about the almost 70 years they’d lived together and all the hardships endured together.
Then he quietly responded, “When you have loved and lived with someone as long as I have, you just know… words are no longer needed. She has not eaten. Please bring her lunch.”
As Pari gazed at her husband, the nurse went to get lunch.
Dariush was right. No more words were needed.
For me, this episode captures what it means to live a life of dignity and of true inner freedom, to really be able to be there for another human being.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Tom Peacock wrote...