This was Abraham’s second victory; yet he was still not satisfied.

Listen . . .

When Abraham heard the celestial voice ordering him to spare his son Isaac, he declared: I swear I shall not leave the altar, Lord, before I speak my mind. — Speak, said God. — Did You not promise me that my descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky? — Yes, I did promise you that. — And whose descendants will they be? Mine? Mine alone? — No, said God, they will be Isaac’s as well. — And didn’t You also promise me that they would inherit the earth? — Yes, I promised you that too. — And whose descendants will they be? Mine alone? — No, said God’s voice, they will be Isaac’s as well. — Well then, my Lord, said Abraham unabashedly, I could have pointed out to You before that Your order contradicted Your promise. I could have spoken up, I didn’t. I contained my grief and held my tongue. In return, I want You to make me the following promise: that when, in the future, my children and my children’s children throughout the generations will act against Your law and against Your will, You will also say nothing and forgive them. — So be it, God agreed. Let them but retell this tale and they will be forgiven.

We now begin to understand why Abraham’s name has become synonymous with hesed. For indeed he was charitable, not so much with Isaac as with God. He could have accused Him and proved Him wrong; he didn’t. By saying yes—almost to the end—he established his faith in God and His mercy, thus bringing Him closer to His creation. He won and—so says the Midrash—God loves to be defeated by His children.

• • •

But unlike God, Satan hates to lose. Unlike God, he takes revenge, however and against whomever he can. Defeated by Abraham and Isaac, he turned against Sarah, appearing before her disguised as Isaac. And he told her the true story that was taking place on Mount Moriah. He told her of the march, the ritual ceremony, the heavenly intervention. Barely had Satan finished talking, when Sarah fell to the ground. Dead.

Why this legend? It has a meaning. Abraham thought that the Akeda was a matter between himself and God, or perhaps between himself and his son. He was wrong. There is an element of the unknown in every injustice, in every adventure involving total commitment. One imposes suffering on a friend, a son, in order to win who knows what battles, to prove who knows what theories, and in the end someone else pays the price—and that someone is almost always innocent. Once the injustice has been committed, it eludes our control. All things considered, Abraham was perhaps wrong in obeying, or even in making believe that he was obeying. By including Isaac in an equation he could not comprehend, by playing with Isaac’s suffering, he became unwittingly an accomplice in his wife’s death.