On Rosh Hashanah, we read the story of the binding of Isaac, where Abraham is commanded to sacrifice his son, but at the last moment, is stopped by an angel.
In a poignant poem, Yehuda Amichai imagines a third son for Abraham:
Abraham had three sons, and not just two
Abraham had three sons: Yishmael, and Yitzchak, and Yivkeh
No one has ever heard of Yivkeh, for he was the youngest
And the favorite, who was sacrificed as an offering on Mount Moriah. . .
The Torah says that it was a ram, but it was Yivkeh.
Yivkeh’s name means “he will cry.” He joins his brothers, Yitzchak (“he will laugh”) and Yishmael (“God will hear”), both named for the particular circumstances surrounding the announcement of their conception.
The poem goes on with a striking suggestion that what was actually sacrificed on the mountaintop was the ability to cry, to shed tears:
Yishmael was saved by his mother, Hagar; Yitzchak was saved by the angel
But Yivkeh was not saved by anyone. . . (In “Open Closed Open”)
In a moment of overwhelming tragedy, it can sometimes feel like we, too, have sacrificed the ability to cry. How can we possibly have enough tears for the Israelis killed on and since October 7, the Palestinians killed in Gaza and those desperately seeking safety there, and the hostages languishing in the tunnels? Could we possibly also find space to cry for those who have died, or whose lives are threatened, by current U.S. policy, including the slashing of social services at home and of USAID abroad? If we could expand our circle, we would also cry for so many more killed and displaced in wars across the world, those fleeing repressive regimes, and more.
Tears, though, need not be sacrificed on the altar. Tears can also save lives.
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One midrash elaborates on the moment that Abraham sets Isaac on the altar to be sacrificed:
Abraham’s eyes were upon Isaac’s eyes, and Isaac’s eyes were toward the heavens, and tears were flowing and falling from Abraham’s eyes until his entire body was drenched in tears. … At that moment, he opened his mouth in weeping and cried a great cry, and his eyes were streaming and gazing toward the Divine Presence, and he raised his voice and said (Psalms 121:1-2): ‘I will lift up my eyes to the mountains — from where will my help come?’ (Yalkut shimoni 101:2 cf Breishit rabbah 56:8)
As the midrash continues, the angels appeal to God, noting that if Abraham sacrifices his son, it will be the end of the Jewish people and of their relationship with God. Immediately, God instructs Abraham, “Do not lay a hand on the boy.”
Meanwhile, the angels themselves cry out as well, and their tears too help to stop the tragedy: “Three tears fell from the angels and destroyed the knife.” (Yalkut Shimoni 101:3, cf Breishit Rabbah 56:7)
Abraham’s other son, Ishmael, was also saved by tears — those of his mother Hagar, after Sarah banishes the two of them from her home:
When the water was gone from the skin, she left the child under one of the bushes, and went and sat down at a distance, a bowshot away; for she thought, “Let me not look on as the child dies.” And sitting thus afar, she burst into tears. God heard the cry of the boy, and a messenger of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heeded the cry of the boy where he is. (Genesis 21:15-17)
“There were three who cried, and God heard their cries,” the ancient rabbis declared, “and these are they: Hagar, Esau, and Hezekiah.” (Avot DeRabbi Natan B 47:6) One 12th century midrash even imagines King David, the greatest of the biblical kings, praying that God will respond to his own tears as God did to Hagar’s:
This is what King David said. . . “You keep count of my wanderings place my tears into Your flask, into Your record.” (Psalms 56:9) . . . “Place my tears” desirable before you like the tears of the one who carried the water skin. And if it was because she was a convert (gioret) that she was beloved before you, then “I am a sojourner (ger) with you.” (Psalms 39:13) (Midrash Sechel Tov Genesis 21:16)
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God hears the cries and responds to the tears of Jews and non-Jews alike. God even responds to the tears of characters elsewhere disparaged as evil, as other midrashim sometimes portray Hagar and Esau.
Crying certainly isn’t sufficient to end wars, or to stop human suffering. But it is a necessary step in awakening our own compassion, and perhaps divine compassion as well. “Even though the gates of prayer were locked, the gates of tears were not locked, as it says, ‘Hear my prayer, God, and give ear to my pleading, do not be silent at my tears.’ (Psalms 39:13)” (Bava Metzia 59a)
The past two years have seen tears effectively sacrificed at the altar. Some view any mourning of the deaths of Israelis or of Palestinians as ceding a point to the “other side.” Meanwhile, Yivkeh is bound and facing slaughter. Who will hear his cry? Who will stay the knife?
Rabbi Jill Jacobs (she/her) is the CEO of T’ruah. She holds rabbinic ordination and an MA in Talmud from the Jewish Theological Seminary, where she was a Wexner Fellow. She lives in New York with her husband, Rabbi Guy Austrian, and their two daughters.