Genesis - Cycle One - 2301-2518 - Chayay Sarah

In Chayay Sarah, or the Life of Sarah, we live her death. It’s ironic. She’s dead at the start. Who is alive then? We are. Abraham is but not for long. Same with Ishmael. The conclusion is simple. Life is in the first line. Death is in the first line. Well, then. What’s in the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth? There are many lines in this parasha and they must be about something. To begin though, what is death? For many it’s bad, shadowy, as filled (we feel) with darkness as we are filled with light. Time and time again the dead pile on each other in our minds and we feel uried alive. We know that sooner or later we too will become a name at the Yitzkor service, an image. We feel isolated by death, cut off from the real world, that of our clothing, our home, our land. Imagine a world without pizza, cable TV, cell phones, chocolate, sex, our loved ones.

Next, what is life? Well, it’s a world with chocolate and sex, sometimes not enough. For many it’s work from 9 to 5, sit‐coms at night, family, friends, a glass of water flowing like a river down your throat, a dream, an awakening, laughter, tears, a train, birds, traffic, the toilet flush. It’s touching the skin of someone you love or just met. It’s beautiful. It’s frightening. It’s a gift from God (Bereshith).

Now let’s look at the continuation of the parasha, the lines that continue beyond life and death. They have to go not only beyond our expectations, but our thoughts, our prayers, spoken or silent. They have to be one verb, an action that enables discernment and connection. They have to show us the center of our pain, and be strong enough to cut through it, shine with a vibration beyond our comfort zone.

Have you ever known such a light? Well, we see it in Chayay Sarah in the letters, the words and in the story. In fact, life and death happen so fast here because the underlying intention of the parasha is to keep us in touch with the biblical characters, yes, but also to wrap us in a spiral of radiance. It’s like we’re finally being given permission. Yes, we can focus on the splendor, let it flood from our hearts like the beam of a flashlight, a guide through the morass of a dark and dimmer world.

Let’s begin with the letters. If you look closely at the word to weep (levachah) the kaf is about a third of the regular size. How rare to be given such a gift in Torah. There it is, the tiny kaf, born from pain, stuck at the center of it. What does this mean? In one teaching, the kaf, representing the number 20, reminds us of the difference between Sarah and Jacob, her grandson. This is because while they have so much in common…Sarah is the first matriarch, Jacob is the last patriarch; Sarah is the first buried in the Malkhpelah Cave, Jacob is the last; Sarai becomes Sarah, Jacob becomes Israel and both names mean authority…Sarah lives to 127 while Jacob lives to 147. Despite similarities, therefore, there are differences imposed on humanity by time and therefore by all that is earthly. I think it goes farther though. The letter kaf begins the words keter (the most transcendent of the sefirot), kavannah (divine intention) and kiven (to aim). These words, together, infer the action of God’s light above and below. So there’s the tiny kaf in the center of heart/pain cutting past all conflicts; there to guide us through the rest of the parasha and all of Torah, written and non written, creating a tunnel of light that rushes through all life and death in all beginnings.

Next, let’s look at the words. In lines 23:5‐20 the question remains: What do we do with the dead? Ironically, the words bury the dead are repeated so much they have the weight to bury the dead. They heal through their repetition. We’ve all had losses. Now try saying over and over again bury the dead. It helps. The chant of the repetition raises our own vibrations and feels right. It also enables discernment and connection (see Lech Lecha and Vayera). Later, when the bodies of Abraham and Ishmael are gathered to their people, our energy goes to the earth and then beyond. All is moving towards oneness. We are in the action of heart, of shining, of merging, of guiding, of healing.

Finally, let’s look at the story of Rebecca and of the servant. Why is it here in Chayay Sarah? If we are to be guided by the little kaf, we want humility. We want to allow for a world beyond thoughts and prayers, fear or anger, our greatest hopes. We want to let this light guide us. If we limit ourselves to our prayers, we cling to our human nature. Why do this rather than embrace the fine light that exists beyond any word uttered? Oh, the realms we can attain if we don’t imagine them, speak of them, pray for them, try to explain or reflect them. Oh, the death we can know, the life we can live.

So may we all be guided to a place beyond silence to a radiance unknowable, unimaginable. May we know joy as the seed and central core of pain. May we beautify the universe with that seed, nurture it. May our hearts cut through all differences on the earthly as well as in the heightened realms. And may we fly with the tiny and powerful kaf beyond life and death, beyond ourselves, beyond time, into the warmth of the creator, the soft spirals of heart light.