There lived a man who, when a child, had heard the beautiful Bible
story of how God tempted Abraham and how he stood the test, how
he maintained his faith and, against his expectations, received
his son back again. As this man grew older he read this same story
with ever greater admiration; for now life had separated what had
been united in the reverent simplicity of the child. And the older
he grew, the more frequently his thoughts reverted to that story.
His enthusiasm waxed stronger and stronger, and yet the story grew
less and less clear to him. Finally he forgot everything else in
thinking about it, and his soul contained but one wish, which was,
to behold Abraham: and but one longing, which was, to have been
witness to that event. His desire was, not to see the beautiful
lands of the Orient, and not the splendor of the Promised Land,
and not the reverent couple whose old age the Lord had blessed
with children, and not the venerable figure of the aged patriarch,
and not the god-given vigorous youth of Isaac--it would have been
the same to him if the event had come to pass on some barren
heath. But his wish was, to have been with Abraham on the three
days' journey, when he rode with sorrow before him and with Isaac
at his side. His wish was, to have been present at the moment when
Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw Mount Moriah afar off; to have
been present at the moment when he left his asses behind and wended
his way up to the mountain alone with Isaac. For the mind of this
man was busy, not with the delicate conceits of the imagination,
but rather with his shuddering thought.
The man we speak of was no thinker, he felt no desire to go beyond
his faith: it seemed to him the most glorious fate to be remembered
as the Father of Faith, and a most enviable lot to be possessed of
that faith, even if no one knew it.
The man we speak of was no learned exegetist, he did not even
understand Hebrew--who knows but a knowledge of Hebrew might have
helped him to understand readily both the story and Abraham.
I
And God tempted Abraham and said unto him: take Isaac, thine
only son, whom thou lovest and go to the land Moriah and sacrifice
him there on a mountain which I shall show thee.[1]
It was in the early morning, Abraham arose betimes and had his
asses saddled. He departed from his tent, and Isaac with him;
but Sarah looked out of the window after them until they were
out of sight. Silently they rode for three days; but on the fourth
morning Abraham said not a word but lifted up his eyes and beheld
Mount Moriah in the distance. He left his servants behind and,
leading Isaac by the hand, he approached the mountain. But Abraham
said to himself: "I shall surely conceal from Isaac whither he is
going." He stood still, he laid his hand on Isaac's head to bless
him, and Isaac bowed down to receive his blessing. And Abraham's
aspect was fatherly, his glance was mild, his speech admonishing.
But Isaac understood him not, his soul would not rise to him; he
embraced Abraham's knees, he besought him at his feet, he begged
for his young life, for his beautiful hopes, he recalled the joy
in Abraham's house when he was born, he reminded him of the sorrow
and the loneliness that would be after him. Then did Abraham raise
up the youth and lead him by his hand, and his words were full of
consolation and admonishment. But Isaac understood him not. He
ascended Mount Moriah, but Isaac understood him not. Then Abraham
averted his face for a moment; but when Isaac looked again, his
father's countenance was changed, his glance wild, his aspect
terrible, he seized Isaac and threw him to the ground and said:
"Thou foolish lad, believest thou I am thy father? An idol-worshipper
am I. Believest thou it is God's command? Nay, but my pleasure."
Then Isaac trembled and cried out in his fear: "God in heaven,
have pity on me, God of Abraham, show mercy to me, I have no
father on earth, be thou then my father!" But Abraham said softly
to himself: "Father in heaven, I thank thee. Better is it that
he believes me inhuman than that he should lose his faith in thee."
When the child is to be weaned, his mother blackens her breast;
for it were a pity if her breast should look sweet to him when he
is not to have it. Then the child believes that her breast has
changed; but his mother is ever the same, her glance is full of love
and as tender as ever. Happy he who needed not worse means to wean
his child!