Restorative Thoughts on an Agonizing

Text: Abraham's Binding of Isaac and the

Horror of Mt. Moriah (Genesis 22)
Part 1
Laurence H. Kant
Lexington Theological Seminary
Lexington, Kentucky

THE DILEMMA

Most Jews, Christians, and Muslims are familiar with the story
of Abraham and Isaac on Mt. Moriah in Genesis 22.1 Traditionally
Jews refer to this chapter as the Aqedah (“Binding”), locate it at the site
of the Temple in Jerusalem,2 view it as the culmination of the ten trials
that Abraham undergoes in Genesis,3 and chant the passage annually on
the second day of Rosh ha-Shanah (the Jewish celebration of the New
Year in the Fall), with some also reciting it in the daily morning
service. Genesis 22 has served as a paradigm throughout the centuries
that encourages many Jews to obey God and to follow a path that leads
them to live differently from those in surrounding cultures, even
sometimes to the point of sacrificial martyrdom.4 Jewish interpreters
view the Abraham and Isaac story as one of the foundational narratives
which explain the unique
___________
*This article is based on my Inaugural Address at Lexington
Theological Seminary April 3, 2003. I want to thank LTS and all my
colleagues for giving me the opportunity to join the faculty of this
wonderful seminary and to participate fully in its community life. In
particular, I wish to express my gratitude to Philip Dare, Hal Watkins,
and Robert Cueni for helping to make this possible. I also want to
express my gratitude to Jerry Sumney for his assistance in the editing
process, as well as Dianne Bazell for her advice throughout. In
addition, my colleagues and students at LTS and the participants in
several adult study groups at Temple Adath Israel in Lexington have
contributed in one way or another to the ideas put forth here. I hope
that having a Jewish professor teach here will serve as the beginning of
a new chapter for interfaith dialogue in the Bluegrass region and
beyond.
78 Lexington Theological Quarterly

relationship between Israel and God found in Torah and the subsequent
history of the Jewish people.5 Jews have a variety of prisms through
which they have historically interpreted the text of the Aqedah story:
e.g. the idea that the firstborn child, or beloved child, belongs to God;
the repudiation of human sacrifice and the view that human life is
fundamentally sacred; the association of the story with Passover; the
drawing of Abraham as a paradigmatic figure for the importance of
obedience to God even in the face of a terrifying request;6 the notion
that life is a series of tests, which persons (especially Israel) must take
and pass; the view that God tests the righteous because the wicked are
unable to handle the stress; the belief that God gave Abraham a test so
that he could atone for previous errors; the interpretation of Isaac as a
survivor of persecution, including the holocaust; the promotion of faith
even when God’s face is hidden;7 etc. 8 Christian exegetes have viewed
this biblical section fundamentally in terms of sacrifice, martyrdom,
and atonement. They regard Abraham as an exemplar of Christians who
live by faith and trust in God and interpret the account as a blueprint for
the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.9 Christians understand Genesis 22 in
terms of Jesus’ willingness to sacrifice his life (in this case replacing
Abraham with God the father and Isaac with Christ, the son of God)
and God’s expectation that such a human sacrifice was in fact
necessary.10 Muslim traditions typically replace Isaac with Ishmael
(the progenitor of the Arab peoples) and situate the Aqedah episode
prior to the birth of Isaac.11 In the Islamic calendar, the “Feast of the
Sacrifice” (‘Id al-Adha), one of the most significant feasts of the year,
falling at the conclusion of the Hajj, celebrates Abraham’s sacrifice of a
ram in place of Ishmael (or Isaac).
While this narrative has served as a source of inspiration for
many persons and communities, it has also caused anguish,
consternation and disappointment for many others. Frankly, the
Aqedah has always left me with a queasy sensation in the pit of my
stomach. As a Jew in the progressive tradition, I have found it
personally frustrating and disturbing that many rabbis, academics, and
other commentators often ignore or gloss the painful and destructive
elements of the story and of its various cultural interpretations. Along
with other passages from the Bible (e.g. the various descriptions of
capital punishment, the stories of incest, the depictions of the Israelite
destructions of cities that include the murder of males and enslavement
of women and children, etc.), the Aqedah has led many to question the
moral foundations of our tradition, if not of God Itself. 12 The rabbinic
tradition frequently does not provide satisfactory explanations. In fact,
Restorative Thoughts 79

the lack of sufficient response to the ethical challenges of passages such

as this one may in modern times have contributed to disillusionment in
congregations, attraction to Eastern religions, and reduced participation
by some in organized religious life.13
In previous generations (though much less frequently now),
the common response of Christians who have posited a sharp,
stereotypical distinction between a God of love in the New Testament
and a God of wrath in the Old Testament offers an equally unsatisfying
and insufficient solution. After all, the gospels and Paul tell the story
of a son who dies as a sacrifice because God, his father, required it.
Here we find a God able to inflict destruction and death. And, in the
end, Isaac did not die as a slaughtered victim, but Jesus did.14 Though
different in format, Christians and Jews face a similar task of squaring a
deity capable of violence and extraordinary harshness with the
commitment found in both faiths to living a moral and humane
(menschlich) life.
Numerous questions and disturbing thoughts confront those of
us who treat the Aqedah as a sacred story. In challenging this text and,
implicitly, God, I engage in a traditional argument that extends all the
way back to the beginning of Judaism and that, in many ways, has ever
since defined us as a people: Abraham argues with God over the fate
of Sodom (Genesis 18:22-33); Moses questions God in the burning
bush at Midian (Exodus 2-3); Joshua laments to God about his fears of
military defeat (Joshua 7:7-9); both Jeremiah and Ezekiel engage in
frequent querying of God; Habakkuk interrogates God about the
presence of injustice in the world (Hab 1:2-2:20); Job engages in a
sustained critical argument with God (Job 13:3), and God apparently
acknowledges that Job’s piety stems from Job’s willingness to engage
God with questions (Job 42:1-7); and, more recently, Tevye, the figure
from the short stories of Sholom Aleichem (most famously depicted in
the film, “Fiddler on the Roof”), constantly debates with God.15
Let me then begin by asking: How can God ask a person, a
father, to sacrifice his beloved child, his son?16 What kind of god
would make such a request? God not only asks Abraham to sacrifice
his son, but does so after making certain promises to him. Specifically
God tells Abraham that God will make Isaac the ancestor of the people
of the covenant (namely, the Jewish people in Genesis 17:19) and will
continue Abraham’s name solely through the offspring (seed) of Isaac
(Genesis 21:12). From the point of view of Abraham, God has an
apparent change of mind and plans in Chapter 22. As Gerhard von Rad
says, “With the command to sacrifice Isaac, must not the entire past
80 Lexington Theological Quarterly

and the entire future of the divine dealings and guidance have tumbled
down right in front of Abraham?”17 Elsewhere, he writes, “For in
commanding Abraham to offer up Isaac, God apparently destroys his
whole continually reiterated promise to Abraham . . . for the recipient
of the promise only the way of utter forsakenness by God seems to
stand open.”18 For von Rad, the story of the Aqedah centers on the
trustworthiness of God--whether Abraham (and humanity) are traveling
“a road out into godforsakenness.”19 While the image of a vacillating
deity marks a pattern in the earlier chapters of Genesis (especially in
the creation and flood stories), here for the first time God threatens to
renege on a commitment. Why would a deity who upholds the ethical
norms of society break a promise, not keep a commitment, and ask a
father to slaughter his son?
If God did in fact plan to keep Its promise from the very
outset, why would God deceive and torment Abraham in this way?
What kind of deity would put a person through this kind of misery?20
If God had never intended the sacrifice to take place, does this test not
amount (given Abraham’s ignorance of divine intention) to a form of
torture akin to the Milgram experiment?21 Recall the stories of the
individuals whom Stanley Milgram asked in 1963 to administer a test
ostensibly to determine whether punishment might help people to learn
more effectively. If the “learner” failed to answer questions correctly,
an experimenter instructed the “teacher” to apply increasingly strong
electric shocks to the wrist of the “learner” who was strapped in a chair.
In fact, the “teachers” were Milgram’s experimental subjects, the
“learner” was an amateur actor who feigned pain at the appropriate
moments, and no electric shocks were ever applied. Many have argued
(including Milgram) that this post-Nuremberg experiment proved that
most people would follow orders (no matter how unjustified) in spite of
their consciences, moral codes, and religious strictures.22 I agree.23
Yet, the potential trauma that this deceptive, terrifying, and guilt-
inducing experience could cause in the lives of some of those applying
the pseudo-electric shocks forced a change in the way social scientists
conducted these kinds of experiments.24
What effect would God’s frightening experiment have on
Abraham, Isaac, Ishmael, Sarah, and their descendants? Would we not
expect our ancestral family, who experienced this disturbing ordeal, to
suffer from what we would now label post-traumatic stress syndrome?
In the Aqedah story, the narrator does not mention Isaac descending the
mountain with his father. From that point forward, Isaac and Abraham
never converse directly again in the text.25 Some have taken this to
Restorative Thoughts 81

indicate that Isaac actually died and was resurrected; but others have
speculated on the subsequent mental state of Isaac. We can imagine a
dazed and stunned Isaac leaving his father behind and clambering down
the rocky slopes cut, scratched, and bruised in more ways than one.
Immediately following this passage, Genesis 23 notes the death of
Sarah, and rabbinic commentators have connected the two events,
suggesting that she had died in grief over the apparent death of her son
and a father’s incomprehensible act.26 After the Aqedah, the text makes
no mention of any further interaction between Sarah and Abraham,
leading some to wonder whether they had stopped speaking to one
another and even separated. Further, consider how Rebekah and Jacob
are able to conspire to fool a sightless and aged Isaac into giving Jacob
Isaac’s blessing (Genesis 27). How can we expect Isaac to discern the
machinations of his wife and son, when his own father had betrayed
him in a fundamental way by removing that most precious of childhood
gifts: familial protection and security. Abraham’s act had made Isaac
into an elderly man who could not see, where seeing refers not only to
Isaac’s eyesight, but, more important, to his awareness and
understanding.
Jacob continues the familial pattern, when Laban tricks Jacob
into marrying his elder daughter, Leah (rather than his younger
daughter, Rachel), by bringing Leah to him at night, when Jacob could
not see her in the darkness (Genesis 29:15ff.). After Joseph’s dreams
of greatness, he goes to look for his brothers, whom he sees, but does
not really see, because he can not imagine that his braggadocio has
inspired their envy. They, in turn, see him but do not foresee where
their actions will lead (Genesis 37). In Genesis 42:1, a comprehending
Jacob sees the possibility of obtaining food in Egypt, but his sons spend
their time looking at one another. Later Jacob’s own sons see Joseph,
but ignore him in his suffering (Genesis 42:21). When they encounter a
now powerful Joseph in Egypt, the brothers do not realize that Joseph
recognizes who they are (Genesis 42ff.). And, later, a blind and
uncomprehending Jacob explains to Joseph how he had lost sight of
him (Genesis 48:11), ever since the time when his brothers had left him
for dead. Blindness becomes a metaphor for a familial pattern of
incomprehension and obliviousness that has some of its roots in the
Aqedah story.27
The blindness that defines many of the characters of Genesis
recalls one of the most famous figures of Greek mythology, Oedipus,
who poked out his eyes after learning that he unwittingly had sexual
relations with his mother and had murdered his father. Indeed, some
82 Lexington Theological Quarterly

commentators have compared the relationships of Abraham, Sarah, and

Isaac in the Aqedah story to that of Oedipus and his parents, Laius and
Jocasta.28 In the Genesis account of Abraham, readers confront some
of the typical Oedipal relationships: tension between father and son
(which the myth symbolically expresses in terms of the father
attempting to slay the son) and a close, tender relationship between
mother and son.29 Perhaps Abraham interprets God’s instructions in
such a way that Abraham preserves his preeminent position within the
family unit (and more broadly in his clan) by slaying him in the form of
a sacrifice. Perhaps he is reliving the trauma of his own childhood,
when his father (Terah) uprooted him and his family from their home in
Ur.30 Some might critique the overuse (and misuse) of the Oedipus
story in contemporary popular culture, but many would probably agree
that there are some families where parents have used their children to
reinforce their own superiority and dominance. Do we have to wait for
God, or God’s angels, to stop parents from doing this to children,
sometimes to the point of abuse and even murder? Are there ways to
describe the Oedipal drama without resort to the language of violence
and (here) sacrifice?
Genesis 22 contains another disturbing component. When
speaking to Abraham, God describes Isaac as Abraham’s beloved and
sole son. What happened to Ishmael? Why would God disown Ishmael
as a son of Abraham? In Genesis 21:8-21, after the birth of Isaac,
Sarah expels Hagar and her son, Ishmael, into the wilderness of Beer-
sheva, apparently in order to preserve Isaac’s rights of inheritance. At
this moment, the narrator of the story has God intervene, explaining to
Abraham that his line would continue through Isaac (thus giving Isaac
the inheritance), but that Ishmael would also serve as the ancestor of a
great nation. While Abraham would naturally have assumed that
Ishmael would receive the inheritance due to his status as eldest son,
God alters the typical pattern. And, once more, Abraham silently
accedes to God, quickly accepting this reversal of fortunes for his sons.
The reader faces a characteristic familial dynamic where one child
receives preferential treatment over the other.
Readers should find this disconcerting enough, considering
that we Jews, Christians, and Muslims look to Isaac or Ishmael as our
progenitors. Yet, how does God reward the favored son? By
demanding his sacrifice. Just like the first fruits and first-born animals,
the first-born son belongs to God. Had he definitively known his
father’s plans at the destination of Moriah, Isaac would certainly have
regarded his status as preferred son with more than a good deal of
Restorative Thoughts 83

ambivalence. Here preference serves as a double-edged prize, as it

does for many children even now.
Further, in this passage and elsewhere in Genesis, the
references to seeds (usually translated as “offspring”) assume the
preeminence of males in the process of procreation. Through spreading
of their seeds, men determine the future course of peoples and their
histories.31 The text relegates women to silence, passivity, and
irrelevance.
Both Jews and Christians regard Leviticus 19:18 (the Golden
Rule) as a central scriptural commandment: “Love your neighbor as
yourself,” or literally, “Show love to your neighbor as you would to
yourself.”32 How does God’s command or request in the Aqedah in any
way demonstrate to people that they ought to follow the Golden Rule?
Isn’t God asking Abraham to act counter to this central commandment?
To this question, the Danish existentialist theologian, Søren
Kierkegaard, replied affirmatively, but he defended God and Abraham
on the basis of what Kierkegaard called “the teleological suspension of
the ethical.”33 For Kierkegaard, Abraham, “the knight of faith,” had
reached the ultimate stage of human development, that of the
“religious,” which subsumes the lower “ethical” stage. According to
Kierkegaard, God acts in an arena that exists beyond morality. Further,
given that God knew that Its angels would eventually prevent the
sacrifice of Abraham, God never contradicts Its ethical responsibilities.
Rather, God allows Abraham to demonstrate his faithful obedience to
God. For this reason, God can suspend the ethical in order to achieve
God’s purpose (or telos).34
Yet, this posits a deity willing to use human beings to achieve
particular ends. I cannot accept that and do not believe, even if it were
true, that it serves as a healthy paradigm for humanity to follow. What
kind of world do we leave to our children when we ask them not to “do
unto others as you would have them do unto you,” but rather to do unto
others as they serve your purpose (even if that purpose is an honorable
one)--that is, to justify the means by the end?
Kierkegaard’s explanation suggests the specter of a world in
which God accepts, and engages in, immoral behavior to achieve a
noble result.35 Of course, history is littered with the shattering pain and
destruction that this worldview produces.
Conversely, while we can decry God’s culpability in this
event, what kind of man would accept a command or request, even a
divine one, to slaughter his own son? According to Kierkegaard,
Abraham, through his deep and abiding faith, realized that God would
84 Lexington Theological Quarterly

ultimately never commit an immoral act. Abraham could agree to

sacrifice Isaac, because Abraham’s knowledge of, and friendship with,
God allowed him to know God’s innermost thoughts and plans.
Kierkegaard presupposes that all people (including Abraham) can
subjectively know the mind of God through their faith.
As Aryeh Botwinick has observed, 36 Kierkegaard proposed a
theology whereby “the knight of faith renounces the universal to
become the individual” and regarded “subjectivity” as “higher than
reality.” Only through the “absurd” and through “paradox” does the
“individual stand in an absolute relation to the absolute.” Yet, this
perspective has at least two major negative effects. It denies the value
of reason and logic in evaluating our world. Even more troubling, it
envisions God as so completely removed that only “a subjective or
absurdist leap is sufficient to negotiate him.”37
In contrast, some religious traditions see God in terms of
negative theology that validates our knowledge of God, but recognizes
from the outset that humans can never apprehend God totally. Our very
humanness always limits our knowledge of God to provisional
metaphors and incomplete formulations. Negative theology protects us
from both the despair of agnosticism and the idolatrous arrogance that
purports to comprehend God’s mind.38
For Kierkegaard (and others), Abraham puts his faith in God
above, and in opposition to, the lives and well-being of his family
(Isaac, Sarah, Ishmael, and Hagar). He twice passes off his wife as his
sister (Genesis 12:10-20), he abandons Hagar and Ishmael (Genesis
21:8-21), and he is willing to kill Isaac without consulting with Sarah
in spite of the fact that she had an equal interest in the well-being of the
son whom she had borne in her old age.39 Abraham focuses so intensely
on God that he ignores the needs of his closest companions, the very
humans whom God made in God’s image.40 What are the “family
values” of one who loves God without loving one’s intimate
relations?41
How would we regard Abraham’s behavior if he lived in our
midst? How would we react to the news that a father took a three-day
hike to the Appalachian hills to slaughter his son because God had
instructed him to do so? Every few years or so, we hear the story of a
parent who kills a child, because the voice of God commanded it, and
of others who kill at the supposed behest of God.42 On what basis are
those persons insane, psychotic, and/or murderers, while Abraham is
dubbed a “knight of faith”?
Restorative Thoughts 85

Then we must ask whether we promote submissive

victimhood at the expense of self-protection and self-preservation,
when we idealize the image of a son who willingly allows his father to
slaughter him. In fact, Isaac asks only one mild question and otherwise
remains silent. Readers might find it surprising that Isaac does not
more actively question his father or God, given that he had apparently
reached an age beyond infancy and early childhood and that he was
facing his own demise.43 Those who have children might find Isaac’s
reticence rather surprising and expect more typical questions: Are we
there yet? Why is the trip taking so long? Humor aside, if Isaac had
reached an old enough age, we would anticipate more probing queries:
Why do we have to wait for God to provide the sheep? Could we not
have brought one from our own flock? What is so important about the
land of Moriah? Why are we offering this sacrifice in the first place?
Father, why are you acting so strangely? Instead, the narrative portrays
an absolutely compliant son who follows his father’s instructions in
spite of the doubts he apparently has.44 Are we perpetuating familial
and societal violence when we memorialize a story that endorses the
behavior of a menacing father and his acquiescent son?45
Throughout history, and still today, humanity has faced the
haunting apparition of nations and peoples sending out their children to
battle, often to die, as sacrifices for a greater purported good. One need
not be a pacifist to wonder whether the story of Abraham and Isaac
promotes national and ethnic violence.46 Does the language of sacrifice
in this narrative, which is found in the sacred texts of all the Abrahamic
faiths, help to create a self-perpetuating prophecy in which humanity
cyclically and unconsciously surrenders a portion of its population to
potential death?47 Do passages such as the Aqedah, which some
interpreters see as a symbolic attempt of Israel (through Abraham) to
suppress its own violent instincts,48 actually encourage us to engage in
further brutality?
Israeli writers have frequently commented on the Aqedah as a
metaphor for the sacrifices both nations and parents have asked their
children to make. For many Israelis, the Aqedah came to symbolize the
loss of their youth in defense of the nation: Abraham attempted to
sacrifice Isaac, just as modern Israel sacrificed its youth to protect its
territory and ensure its security. 49 In the words of the Israeli poet,
Haim Guri, “he [Abraham] bequeathed that hour to his heirs--they are
born with a knife in their hearts.”50
The need for such sacrifice is longstanding in biblical
tradition. In his book, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son,
86 Lexington Theological Quarterly

Jon Levinson argues convincingly that the impulse to sacrifice the

beloved child (either the first-born child or the child regarded as the
equivalent of the first-born) existed frequently through sublimation in
Israel’s mythic imagination:51 the rites of the paschal lamb in Exodus
12-13 where the sacrifice of lambs replaces the sacrifice of the first-
born Israelites; the dedication of the Levites in Numbers 8:16-19 where
the dedication of the Levites replaces the sacrifice of the first-born; and
Hannah’s dedication of Samuel as a Nazirite in 1 Samuel 1:11, where
Hannah dedicates Samuel to the Temple instead of sacrificing him. In
some cases, child sacrifice found positive affirmation among biblical
writers. Exodus 22:28 says so explicitly: “You shall give me the first-
born among your children”
(yliA÷TeTi òyn<B; rw*kB] = bekhor banekha titten-li.). While Exodus
reinterprets this to refer to redemption of first-born children through a
substitutionary sacrifice (34:19-20) and most other biblical writers
condemn child sacrifice (e.g. Jeremiah 19:5-6), some took it more
literally. Take the example of Ezekiel who in 20:25-26 makes the
following horrifying statement: “I [i.e. God], in turn [following
Levinson], gave them [i.e. Israel] laws that were not good and decisions
by which they could not live. When they set aside every "first delivery
of the womb"[µj'r: rf,P,AlKo = kol-peter rakham], I defiled them in order
to make them desolate so that they might know that I am the Lord”
(20:25-26).52 Although the well-known story of Jephthah’s daughter in
Judges 11:29-40, including Jephthah’s vow to sacrifice whomever he
first encountered at his home, is open to different interpretations, it
could suggest that child sacrifice worked--in this case, allowing
Jephthah to triumph over the Ammonites. Had Jephthah constructed a
more cautious vow, God might have aided him in his military
campaigns. Still, God does not object to the apparent slaughter of
Jephthah’s daughter, and the results speak for themselves. Finally,
according to 2 Kings 3:26-27, the king of Moab, Mesha, sacrificed his
first-born son when the battle was going poorly for Moab against Israel.
In doing so, Mesha turned the tide against Israel. Again a child
sacrifice proved effective. In this context, the New Testament gospel
interpretation of the Christian God’s sacrifice of God’s son, Jesus,
certainly fits an ancient pattern.
In other words, the tradition subsequent to Abraham
understands ritual atonement (both animal sacrifice and dedication of
persons) as a transformed child sacrifice,53 and it can sometimes
acknowledge child sacrifice as a possible, legitimate option.54 Here we
have several interpretive choices, none of them mutually exclusive.
Restorative Thoughts 87

Among them is that God initiated child sacrifice for God’s own
inscrutable purposes (perhaps as a cruel necessity in the evolution of
human consciousness). Another is that, genetically predisposed to
violence because violence enhanced survival for hunter-gatherers,
human beings domesticated their genetic inheritance through ritualized
violence that included child sacrifice. Still another, human beings
engaged in child sacrifice as a learned behavior, because our early
forbears believed that the deaths of some persons led to rewards for the
living and consequently ensured the welfare of the groups in which
they lived. Of course, there are more possibilities.
In any case, according to biblical tradition as conveyed
through the internal chronology of the Mosaic account, the story of
Abraham and Isaac on Mt. Moriah set a precedent for possible child
sacrifice. Given the violence of human history, especially the
genocidal massacres of the twentieth century, can we now hold as our
paradigm a story that portrays a man who himself embarks on a
mission not only of violence, but the slaughter of his son? Should we
not expect more from the parent of the three major Western religions, a
figure who serves as the moral exemplar for so many? Is child
sacrifice, sublimated or not, an acceptable image to evoke in our
liturgies and theologies? Whatever the historical origins or mitigating
circumstances that might exonerate Abraham, our uncritical heroizing
of Abraham’s behavior in the Aqedah episode may be a form of
idolatry that condemns his descendants--Jews, Christians, and
Muslims--to follow in his gruesome footprints to Moriah, which later
interpreters identified as the site of the Temple mount in Jerusalem. To
what extent does the story of the Aqedah and its uncritical
interpretation contribute to ongoing religious tension and violence?
As numerous interpreters have observed, Abraham does not
engage God in any kind of conversation, but immediately sets out to
obey the request of the deity. In this regard, Abraham follows the
pattern of Genesis 12, when, at God’s command, he unflinchingly
leaves Haran for Canaan. No hesitation. No queries. No
protestations. No dilatory maneuvers of any kind. He speaks no words
at all. Listen. Obey. Act. The story makes no overt emotional
appeals. From beginning to end, Abraham acts without emotion, as if
numb and unconscious. Aptly, retired LTS professor, George Coats
describes Abraham as an “automaton”:55 “My God, right or wrong.
Yahweh, love him, or leave him.”56 The scene recalls a typical dream
in which the dreamer watches her- or himself engaged in an
88 Lexington Theological Quarterly

incomprehensible activity, apparently unable (or perhaps unwilling) to

change the course of events.57
Many consider this a laudable characteristic of Abraham’s
personality, an example of his willingness to obey God, no matter the
consequences.58 Yet, the Nazi trials at Nuremberg demonstrated once
and for all that following orders could not legally serve as an excuse for
crimes against humanity. There are internationally recognized legal
limits to military and civilian discipline, as well as a legal requirement
to abstain from fundamentally immoral behavior. After Auschwitz,
why do we laud Abraham for his obedience and condemn the Nazi
murderers for theirs?59 Given that unquestioning obedience helped to
enable the unspeakable horrors of the concentration camps, we can no
longer afford to promote Abraham’s compliant behavior.60
In Genesis 18:22-32, Abraham engages in an aggressive
negotiation with God for the fate of Sodom.61 By demonstrating more
courage in attempting to save the lives of strangers than the life of his
own child,62 Abraham seems to place a greater value on the lives of
outsiders than on the lives of members of his own immediate family.
Why the silence, the laconic acceptance of a horrific fate?
When confronted in Midian by the presence of God in the burning bush
(Exodus 3-4), Moses repeatedly challenges God in a classic scene of
kvetching (whining) questions, a performance worthy of the classic,
neurotic, Jewish characters in Philip Roth novels and Woody Allen
films (and considerably different from the portrayal of Moses by
Charlton Heston in “The Ten Commandments”). And Moses continues
his reverently obstreperous behavior in Exodus, as well as in Numbers.
Could not Abraham have used some of Moses’ uncertainty,
circumspection, reluctance, and skepticism (qualities reflected by the
stammering to which Moses was apparently subject)?63 For Jews, those
qualities are much admired, because in this world certainty is elusive,
and all interpretations are subject to future revision. So the question
arises: Do we follow Moses at Midian or Abraham at Moriah?
As already discussed, the Bible provides numerous other
examples of faithful Jews who engage in healthy debate with God,
including Joshua, Jeremiah, Habakkuk, and Job. Other figures go the
extent of testing God, such as Gideon who demands proof that God will
deliver Israel (Judges 6:36-40); and Ahaz who receives an opportunity
to test God (Isaiah 7:10-17).64 God does not expect unquestioning
loyalty, nor does God expect Israel to respond unflinchingly without
fully understanding the outcome of the task at hand.
Restorative Thoughts 89

When we feature this story as one of the Jewish foundation

stones and read it on Rosh ha-Shanah without analyzing it critically and
unraveling its unsavory elements, what kind of message do we send to
our own children and their parents? In fact, I have known persons who
found this passage and others like it in the Bible deeply disturbing. The
lack of sufficient explanation and interpretation by educators and rabbis
has contributed in at least a small measure to some thoughtful persons
abandoning organized Jewish religious life. Those of us who interpret
biblical texts for a living can no longer afford to hawk our wares to
small groups of academics, but must learn to speak to congregants
hungry for ways to reincorporate Torah into their lives in intelligent
and meaningful ways.
That is what I propose to do here, to save this passage from
oblivion for those in progressive traditions who find it frightening and
distasteful and for those on the margins of our communities. I ask the
questions that I do, not to disturb those already comfortable in Jewish
life (or Christian or Muslim life), but to reach those who want to
engage their sacred texts with the same candor that they give to other
matters.
Remember: we are dealing here with Hebrew words, which
can often have connotations and meanings that translations do not
preserve. All interpretation starts with the Hebrew text, and, in this
regard, I hope to follow in the footsteps of the great classic Torah
commentators and midrash writers. In a world (both academic and
popular), where historical research and the search for historical facts
have such a powerful hold on the imagination, I strive to combine the
best of historical-critical scholarship and close reading of language
(philological and midrashic).
In the end, however, as Gerhard von Rad observed, a text such
as Genesis 22 has wide parameters of interpretation.65 Stories with
such powerful impact and with such profound meaning for those who
cherish them have what Paul Ricoeur has called a “surplus of
meaning.”66 We probably cannot determine with certainty the
intentions of the authors or editors of this kind of poetic narrative.
Further, authorial intent and textual meaning may not always coincide,
because a rich text takes on a life of its own. By radically limiting the
meaning of the multivalent symbolism to simple descriptions and to a
single historical context, we not only denude the text of its literary and
spiritual power, but we fail to convey accurately the depth of its content
and significance.
90 Lexington Theological Quarterly

If we regard a given text as transmitted words of God or as

divinely inspired, we would find ourselves in the position of idolaters
claiming to know God’s precise purpose. Sometimes we must simply
acknowledge that a wide spectrum of readings is possible and that
God’s intentions are ultimately unknowable. 67 This does not imply the
existence of a completely open text, but rather the presence of a range
of possible interpretations into which a story might fit. Some
interpretations may simply not work.
Therefore, I will attempt to construe the original context of
this passage. Yet, I also acknowledge that words have meanings that
may have eluded early interpreters and may only find interpretive
fruition in later periods and in different cultures, where people can see
and hear what others heretofore could not. In light of this, I will
carefully examine the denotations, allusions, grammar, and syntax of
Hebrew words and phrases in order to draw out their complex, and
sometimes surprising, significance.

END OF PART 1
Part 2 will appear in the next issue of the Lexington Theological
Quarterly

End Notes
1
For the interpretation of Abraham and his life, including the
Aqedah, in the three largest Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity,
and Islam), see Karl-Josef Kuschel, Abraham: Sign of Hope for Jews,
Christians, and Muslims (New York: Continuum, 1995). For a sense of
the vast Aqedah literary tradition, consult Mishael M. Caspi, Take Now
Thy Son: The Motif of the Aqedah (Binding) in Literature, BIBAL
Monograph Series, 5 (North Richland Hills, TX: BIBAL Press, 2001).
On the Aqedah tradition in Judaism and Christianity, see Jon D.
Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son: The
Transformation of Child Sacrifice in Judaism and Christianity (New
Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993). For all three traditions
(including Islam) of the Aqedah, see Carol Delaney, Abraham on Trial:
The Social Legacy of Biblical Myth (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1998). Those seeking a recent collection of essays on
the Aqedah may find the following assortment of articles of interest:
Ed Noort and Eibert Tigchelaar, eds., The Sacrifice of Isaac: The
Aqedah (Genesis 22) and Its Interpretations (Leiden: Brill, 2002). For
a useful bibliography on biblical scholarship on Gen. 22, see Gordon J.
Restorative Thoughts 91

Wenham, Genesis, Word Biblical Commentary, 1–2 (Waco, TX: Word

Books, 1987–94), 2:96–97; for older bibliography, see Claus
Westermann, Genesis: A Commentary, (Originally published as
Genesis. Biblische Kommentar, 1, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener
Verlag, 1974–1982), trans. John J. Scullion (Minneapolis: Augsburg,
1984–86), 2:351–52, 353–54.
2
See 2 Chron 3.1. On the identification of the Aqedah with the
Jewish temple on Mount Moriah, including references to the relevant
sources (and for the Samaritan counter-tradition that located the
Aqedah at the site of the temple on Mount Gerizim), see Isaac Kalimi,
“The Aqedah and the Temple: A Disputed Heritage. 1. The Land /
Mount Moriah, and the Site of the Jerusalem Temple in Biblical
Historical Writing. 2. The Affiliation of Abraham and the Aqedah with
Zion / Gerizim in Jewish and Samaritan Sources,” in Early Jewish
Exegesis and Theological Controversy: Studies in Scriptures in the
Shadow of Internal and External Controversies, Jewish and Christian
Heritage Series, 2 (Assen, The Netherlands: Van Gorcum, 2002), 1–57.
See also R. W. L. Moberly, “The Earliest Commentary on the Akedah,”
Vetus Testamentum 38 (1988): 307; R. W. L. Moberly, “Christ as the
Key to Scripture: Genesis 22 Reconsidered,” in He Swore an Oath:
Biblical Themes from Genesis 12–50, 2nd ed. (1st ed., 1993), ed.
Richard S. Hess, Gordon J. Wenham, and Philip E. Satterthwaite
(Carlisle, U.K.: Paternoster, 1994), 158–60. John van Seters sees the
identification of Moriah with Jerusalem as a late development:
Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 1975), 238.
3
For discussion of the trials and their identification, see Jo
Milgrom, The Binding of Isaac: The Akedah, a Primary Symbol in
Jewish Thought and Art (Berkeley, CA: BIBAL Press, 1988), 1–62;
also Shubert Spero, “Abraham’s Trials: Tests of Strength or Learning
Experiences,” Jewish Bible Quarterly 28, no. 2 (April-June 2000): 73–
79.
4
On the Aqedah and martyrdom in Judaism, see Shalom
Spiegel, The Last Trial: On the Legends and Lore of the Command to
Abraham to Offer Isaac as a Sacrifice, the Akedah, translated from the
Hebrew, with an introduction, by Judah Goldin (New York: Pantheon
Books, 1967). Spiegel discusses how Christian persecutions of Jews in
the middle ages led many Jews to the understanding that Abraham
actually did successfully sacrifice Isaac and that Isaac was later
resurrected.after dying. Building on the observation that the narrative
92 Lexington Theological Quarterly

does not describe Isaac accompanying Abraham down the mountain,

these interpreters saw the deaths of their own children in terms of the
death and resurrection of Isaac. Sometimes Jewish parents went to the
extent of killing their own children before their persecutors could. On
the topic of the Aqedah and martyrdom, see also Levenson, Death and
Resurrection, 173–99.
For a general review of the traditional interpretation of the
Aqedah story in Judaism, see Louis Arthur Berman, The Akedah: The
Binding of Isaac (Northvale, NJ: J. Aronson, 1997). Less traditional,
but profoundly scholarly and steeped in all the Jewish sources, is
Levenson, Death and Resurrection. Louis Ginzberg provides a
convenient collection of the sources in The Legends of the Jews, vols
1–2 translated by Henrietta Szold, vol 3 translated by Paul Radin
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1909-38), 1:271–86, 5:248–
55; so also Mishael M. Caspi and Sasha Benjamin Cohen, The Binding
(Aqedah) and Its Transformation in Judaism and Islam: The Lambs of
God, Mellen Biblical Press Series, 32 (Lewiston, NY: Mellen Biblical
Press, 1995), 2–51. For a discussion of the Aqedah in both Jewish
literary sources and visual depictions, see Milgrom, Binding; see also
Robin M. Jensen, “The Binding or Sacrifice of Isaac: How Jews and
Christians See Differently,” Bible Review 9, no. 5 (October 1993): 42–
51 for both early Jewish and Christian art. For a review of the
interpretation of the Aqedah in some of the rabbinic materials, see
Yaakov Elbaum, “From Sermon to Story: The Transformation of the
Akedah,” Prooftexts 6 (1986): 97–116; Lewis M. Barth, “Introducing
the Akedah: A Comparison of Two Midrashic Presentations,” in A
Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature
and History, ed. Philip R. Davies and Richard T. White, Journal for the
Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series, 100 (Sheffield: JSOT
Press, 1990), 125–38; Lewis M. Barth, “Textual Transformations:
Rabbinic Exegesis of Genesis 22:14,” in Bits of Honey: Essays for
Samson H. Levey, South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism, 74
(Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 3–23; and Maren Niehoff, “The Return
of Myth in Genesis Rabbah on the Akedah,” Journal of Jewish
Studies 46 (1995): 69–87. For a discussion of Classical (medieval and
pre-modern) Jewish sources, see Rolf-Peter Schmitz, Aqedat Jiùþaq:
Die mittelalterliche jüdische Auslegung von Genesis 22 in ihren
Hauptlinien, Judaistische Texte und Studien, 4 (Hildesheim: G. Olms,
1979); and Esther Starobinsky-Safran, “Sur le sens de l’épreuve
Restorative Thoughts 93

(Interprétations juives de Genèse 22),” Revue de Théologie et de

Philosophie 114 (1982): 23–35.
5
On this idea, see especially vv. 17-18, which emphasize the
special relationship between God and Israel and the blessings that
accrue from Abraham’s action.
6
For a critique of obedience from an Orthodox perspective, see
Eugene Korn, “Tselem Elokim and the Dialectic of Jewish Morality,”
Tradition 31 (1997): 5–30, especially 24ff. He notes that Jews have
understood the worth of the Aqedah as solely homiletic and have never
regarded the Aqedah as halakhicly (legally) or morally normative. For
that reason, Jonathan Magonet calls Abraham the “anti-model”: no one
should repeat what he did at Moriah (“Abraham and God,” Judaism 33
[1984]: 160–70).
7
For the interpretation of the Aqedah though the lens of the
holocaust, see Zev Garber and Bruce Zuckerman, “Why Do We Call
the Holocaust ‘the Holocaust?’ An Inquiry Into the Psychology of
Labels,” in Remembering for the Future: Working Papers and
Addenda, ed. Yehuda Bauer (Oxford: Pergamon Press, 1989), 1879–92
(relating the word, “holocaust,” to “sacrifice, and hence “Aqedah”);
Isabel Wollaston, “‘Traditions of Remembrance’: Post-Holocaust
Interpretations of Genesis 22,” in Words Remembered, Texts Renewed:
Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer, Journal for the Study of the
Old Testament Supplement Series, 195 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic
Press, 1995), 41–51 (reviewing a variety of perspectives); Gershon
Greenberg, “The Death of History and the Life of Akeda: Voices from
War,” in The Death of God Movement and the Holocaust: Radical
Theology Encounters the Shoah, ed. Stephen R. Haynes and John K.
Roth, Contributions to the Study of Religion, 55 (Westport, CT:
Greenwood Press, 1999), 99–109 (reviewing Orthodox Jewish
responses). To take in a portrayal of Isaac as a “survivor,” see
especially Elie Wiesel, Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and
Legends (New York: Summit Books, 1976), 69–97. For the image of
the hidden face of God in the context of the Aqedah and the holocaust,
see Eliezer Berkovits, With God in Hell: Judaism in the Deathcamps
(New York: Sanhedrin Press, 1979), 113–31; also briefly in his Faith
After the Holocaust (New York: Ktav, 1973), 136–37.
8
For a review of various Jewish perspectives, see Levenson,
Death and Resurrection; Berman, Akedah. There are other interesting
Jewish interpretations as well: e.g. Michael Lerner, “The Binding of
Isaac,” Tikkun 7 (September-October 1992): 7–8. Lerner suggests that
94 Lexington Theological Quarterly

the Aqedah teaches Abraham not to treat his son as an object or tool for
the perpetuation of his glorious progeny, but as a being (subject)
worthy of respect in his own right. This recalls the interpretations of
some biblical critics (both Jewish and Christian): Devora Steinmetz,
From Father to Son: Kinship, Conflict, and Continuity in Genesis,
Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation (Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 50–85 (who argues that Abraham
learned to see more clearly -- that is, to interpret his world correctly);
and Phyllis Trible, “Genesis 22: The Sacrifice of Sarah,” in ‘Not in
Heaven’: Coherence and Complexity in Biblical Narrative, ed. Jason P.
Rosenblatt and Joseph C. Sitterson, Jr., Indiana Studies in Biblical
Literature (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1991), 170–91
(who argues that Abraham learns non-attachment): Not surprisingly,
these perspectives diverge from the traditional Jewish view that
Abraham always loved his son unconditionally: e.g. Joseph B.
Soloveitchik, “Majesty and Humility,” Tradition 17 (1978): 36.
According to Robert Eisen, Abraham did not argue with God
over the fate of the residents of Sodom (Gen 18:17-33), but rather God
engaged Abraham in a Socratic dialogue in order to teach Abraham
moral maturity. The Aqedah confirmed for God that Abraham had
finally learned the lessons of that encounter: “The Education of
Abraham: The Encounter Between Abraham and God Over the Fate of
Sodom and Gomorrah,” Jewish Bible Quarterly 28, no. 2 (April-June
2000): 80–86. Shubert Spero understands the ten trials of Abraham
culminating in the Aqedah as learning experiences that taught Abraham
to develop his full humanity: “Abraham’s Trials”; see Gen. 17:1, “Be
exemplary (µmit; hyEh]wÒ = weheyeh tamim). Unlike Noah, who was always
fully developed, Abraham had to learn. For modern Israeli views that
take a more critical perspective on the Aqedah, see n. 49 below.
9
On the Aqedah in the New Testament, still fundamental is
Nils A. Dahl, “The Atonement: An Adequate Reward for the Akedah
(Ro 8:32),” in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Studies in Honour of
Matthew Black (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1969), 15–29. For the
interpretation of Abraham in early Christian tradition (including the
New Testament), see Jeffrey S. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews:
Abraham in Early Christian Controversy (Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991); also, for Paul, Roy A.
Harrisville, The Figure of Abraham in the Epistles of St. Paul: In the
Footsteps of Abraham (San Francisco: Mellen Research University
Press, 1992). There is considerable literature on the figure of Abraham
Restorative Thoughts 95

in individual works from the New Testament and early Christianity.

On the interpretation of Isaac in the New Testament, see J. Edwin
Wood, “Isaac Typology in the New Testament,” New Testament
Studies 14 (1968): 583–89; L. Sabourin, “Isaac and Jesus in the
Targums and the NT,” Religious Studies Bulletin 1 (1981): 37–45;
James Swetnam, Jesus and Isaac: A Study of the Epistle to the
Hebrews in the Light of the Aqedah, Analecta Biblica, 94 (Rome:
Biblical Institute Press, 1981). For a broad overview of the
interpretation of the Aqedah in Christianity, see David Lerch, Isaaks
Opferung, christlich gedeutet: Eine auslegungsgeschichtliche
Untersuchung, Beiträge zur Historischen Theologie, 12 (Tübingen: J.
C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1950). See also the bibliography in the
following footnote.
10
Jewish tradition is somewhat more ambivalent about this,
regarding the story as in part a repudiation of human sacrifice and an
affirmation of the worth of human life. Although Jewish sources
accept the notion of substitutionary atonement and apply it to the
Aqedah (e.g. see the commentary on Gen 22 by Baþya ben Asher
ÿlava), they do not generally view martyrdom as exclusively positive
(certainly not to the degree found in Christian hagiographic and
martyrological literature). For they also place one of their highest
values on the sacrality of human life. On the whole topic of child
sacrifice in early Judaism and Christianity, see Levenson, Death and
Resurrection; for a different point of view, see Delaney, Abraham on
Trial, especially chapters 3-4.
Some have questioned the existence of pre-Christian Jewish
interpretation of the Aqedah as a form of substitutionary atonement:
Philip R. Davies and Bruce Chilton, “The Aqedah: A Revised
Tradition History,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 40 (1978): 514–46;
Bruce D. Chilton, “Isaac and the Second Night: A Consideration,”
Biblical 61 (1980): 78–88; Philip R. Davies, “Passover and the Dating
of the Aqedah,” Journal of Jewish Studies (1979): 59–67; and Bruce D.
Chilton, “Recent Discussion of the Aqedah,” in Targumic Approaches
to the Gospels: Essays in the Mutual Definition of Judaism and
Christianity, Bruce Chilton, Studies in Judaism (Lanham, MD:
University Press of America, 1986), 39–49.
Israel Levi, Hans-Joachim Schoeps, Geza Vermes, Roger Le
Déaut and Robert J. Daly have supported the opposite position, that
(even prior to the New Testament) Jews associated the Aqedah with
substitutionary atonement: see Robert J. Daly, “The Soteriological
96 Lexington Theological Quarterly

Significance of the Sacrifice of Isaac,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 39

(1977): 45–75 (with references to earlier bibliography on pp. 47-9).
See also Robert Hayward, “The Present State of Research Into the
Targumic Account of the Sacrifice of Isaac,” Journal of Jewish
Studies 32 (1981): 127–50. Fundamental is Geza Vermes,
“Redemption and Genesis XXII: The Binding of Isaac and the Sacrifice
of Jesus,” in Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic Studies, ed.
P. A. H. de Boer, Studia Post-Biblica (Leiden: Brill, 1961), 193–227,
who established the argument on behalf of a pre-Christian atonement
tradition. Vermes has utilized a recently discovered fragment of Gen.
22 from Qumran to support his position: “New Light on the Sacrifice of
Isaac from 4Q225,” Journal of Jewish Studies 47 (1996): 140–46. For
critiques of Vermes (though not siding with Chilton and Davies), see
Alan F. Segal, “The Akedah: Some Reconsiderations,” in Geschichte -
Tradition - Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70.
Geburtstag, ed. Hubert Cancik, Hermann Lichtenberger, and Peter
Schäfer (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1996), 99–116; and
Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Sacrifice of Isaac in Qumran Literature,”
Biblica 83 (2002): 211–29. In his fundamental work, Jon Levenson has
argued for a very ancient tradition: see Death and Resurrection, 176ff.
The evidence of the book of Jubilees 17-18 (together with suggestive
elements from the newly discovered Qumran fragment) remains very
strong, supporting some version of the position of Vermes, et al.
In any case, by the time of the rabbis, the association of the
Aqedah with substitutionary atonement had found clear and definitive
acceptance, albeit rarely with the full confidence and gusto of Christian
interpreters. Robert Hayward argues against the Chilton/Davis thesis
that this later Jewish tradition developed in response to Christian
atonement theology: “The Sacrifice of Isaac and Jewish Polemic
Against Christianity,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 52 (1990): 292–306.
Robin M. Jensen suggests that Jews in late antiquity (rabbinic period)
understood the Aqedah as an expiatory atonement for the future sins of
the people of Israel that could serve in the stead of the Temple cultic
system; on the other hand, early Christians understood the Aqedah as a
metaphor for Christ’s sacrifice. That is, for Jews, the Aqedah replaced
the Temple rituals and sacrifices; for Christians, the sacrifice of Christ
replaced the Aqedah: Jensen, “Binding or Sacrifice.” For the continuing
importance of the Aqedah as a theological predecessor for the
crucifixion of Jesus, see Ted Peters, “Isaac, Jesus, and Divine
Sacrifice,” Dialog 34 (1995): 52–56. On the other hand, R.W.L.
Restorative Thoughts 97

Moberly sees not the crucifixion, but rather the call to discipleship, as
the major locus of influence of the Aqedah in the New Testament:
Moberly, “Christ as the Key,” 170–73.
11
The Qur’an does not identify the son, but later Muslim
interpreters divide into two camps (one favoring Isaac, the other,
Ishmael), with the proponents of Ishmael eventually triumphing. For a
review of the Islamic literature, see the following: Reuven Firestone,
“Abraham’s Son as the Intended Sacrifice (al-Dhabãþ, Qur'an 37:99–
113): Issues in Qur'anic Exegesis,” Journal of Semitic Studies 34
(1989): 95–131; Suliman Bashear, “Abraham’s Sacrifice of His Son
and Related Issues,” Islam 67 (1990): 243–77; Jacques Doukhan, “The
Aqedah at the ‘Crossroad’: Its Significance in the Jewish-Christian-
Muslim Dialogue,” Andrews University Seminary Studies 32
(1994): 29–40; and Caspi and Cohen, Binding, 54–122. See also
Delaney, Abraham on Trial. For an attempt at comparing the rabbinic
understanding of the Aqedah (and of God) as inherently elusive and
mysterious with a similar interpretation found in the Qur’an, see Aryeh
Botwinick, “Political Abuse of a Biblical Paradigm: The Case of the
Akeidah,” Telos 33 (2002): 7–54.
12
In this article, I use the pronouns, “It,” “Its,” and “Itself” to
refer to God. I realize that many people differ on the use of such
pronouns in English and the proper translation of the Hebrew pronoun,
hu’ (= aWh), into English. In English, “it” does not solely indicate non-
human entities (inanimate objects, plants, and certain animals), but also
persons whose gender “is unspecified, unknown, or irrelevant”
(American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 4th ed, 2000):
e.g. “Tell me who it is.” In Hebrew, hu’ (“he) and hi’ (ayhi = “she”)
indicate both persons and inanimate objects, depending on the gender
of the referent noun. While Hebrew nouns and pronouns divide into
male and female categories, that did not mean that those words
possessed male and female characteristics. Further, hu’ (pointed by the
Masoretes as hi(w’) = awhi) can often mean “she” in the Bible (e.g. Gen
3:16), especially in the Pentateuch. So the pronoun hu’ did not
definitively indicate God’s gender, or whether God even had a gender.
13
Immanuel Kant was one of the earliest to critique Gen 22
and Abraham’s behavior. See the discussions in Emil L. Fackenheim,
Encounters Between Judaism and Modern Philosophy: A Preface to
Future Jewish Thought (New York: Basic Books, 1973), 33–35; Jon D.
Levenson, “Abusing Abraham: Traditions, Religious Histories, and
Modern Misinterpretations,” Judaism 47 (1998): 259–62 and passim;
98 Lexington Theological Quarterly

Berel Dov Lerner, “Saving the Akedah from the Philosophers,” Jewish
Bible Quarterly 27, no. 3 (July-September 1999): 167–73.
14
With the exception of some traditions in the Middle Ages:
See n. 4 above. Likewise there are Christian traditions in which Jesus
survives, particularly among the Gnostics.
15
Jews have also frequently complained and lamented to God.
For example, Psalm 13 describes a person prayerfully crying out to
God, because God has forgotten them. In a Yiddish song by Shimon
Shmuel Frug, “Zamd un Shtern” (“Sand and Stars”), the singer
complains to God that God had fulfilled the promise to Abraham in the
matter of sand, but “where are the stars?” For more on Frug and this
reference, see the article in the Encyclopedia Judaica (Cecil Roth,
Encyclopaedia Judaica [Jerusalem; New York: Encyclopaedia Judaica;
Macmillan, 1971–72]): “Frug, Shimon Shmuel.”. This song is well-
known, and there are many recordings of it. For the tradition of
arguing with God in Judaism, see Anson Laytner, Arguing with God: A
Jewish Tradition (Northvale, NJ: J. Aronson, 1990).
16
Some commentators object strongly to what they regard as
an anachronistic critique of sacrifice in the ancient world, including the
anticipated sacrifice of Gen 22: e.g. Moberly, “Christ as the Key,” 156–
57; Levenson, “Abusing Abraham.” In some regards, they are quite
right, especially when dealing with historical questions. Yet, while we
must understand the historical and cultural contexts which make
possible certain practices, in the end, we have no choice but to make
some kind of ethical judgments, especially since many of us (especially
those active in congregations) use these stories to guide our own lives.
Obviously, circumstances mitigate culpability, but they do not serve as
total pardons. Nor do they exempt us from the process of thoughtful
discernment in which we as moral beings must engage.
17
Das Opfer des Abraham: Mit Texten von Luther,
Kierkegaaard, Kolakowski und Bildern von Rembrandt, Kaiser
Traktate, 6 (Munich: Chr. Kaiser, 1971), 28. For a summary of Von
Rad's views on the Aqedah (including the passages cited here), see
David C. Hopkins, "Between Promise and Fulfillment: Von Rad and
the 'Sacrifice of Abraham,'" Biblische Zeitschrift 24 (1980) 180-193.
18
Old Testament Theology, (Based on Theologie des Alten
Testaments: Einführung in die evangelische Theologie, 1, 2 vols., 2nd
ed., Munich: Kaiser, 1957–1960), 1. The Theology of Israel’s
Historical Traditions. 2. The Theology of Israel’s Prophetic
Traditions. (New York: Harper & Row, 1962–65), 1:174. James
Restorative Thoughts 99

Crenshaw also puts it eloquently: “Having already turned his back on

the past, Abraham hears a command to give up the future. Nothing is
left for him now but the living present . . . ” A Whirlpool of Torment:
Israelite Tradition of God as an Oppressive Presence, Overtures to
Biblical Theology, 12 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 19.
19
Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary, (Originally
published as Das erste Buch Mose, Genesis: Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1956), trans. John H. Marks, The Old Testament Library
(London: SCM, 1961), 239.
20
Some have suggested that God did not know Abraham’s
potential response in Gen 22 and used the test as a learning experience
about humanity (Abraham specifically): Terence E. Fretheim, “God,
Abraham, and the Abuse of Isaac,” Word & World 15 (1995): 53–56.
21
This may explain why some interpreters, including the great
biblical exegete, Gerhard von Rad have viewed Abraham, not Isaac, as
the true sacrifice in the passage: See the discussion in von Rad,
Genesis, 230–40; with commentary on von Rad by Moberly, “Christ as
the Key,” 163–70.
22
Stanley Milgram, Obedience to Authority: An Experimental
View (New York: Harper Colophon, 1974). Others have sought to
confirm the results of Milgram’s experiments. See the nurse study, in
which a vast majority of nurses were willing to endanger patients when
doctors ordered them to give excessively large doses of a drug: Charles
K. Hofling et al., “An Experimental Study in Nurse-Physician
Relationships,” Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease 143
(1966): 171–80. Cf. the study where over half the sample of nurses
admitted in a questionnaire that they had complied with a doctor’s
orders even though they regarded those orders as unsafe: Annamarie
Krackow and Thomas Blass, “When Nurses Obey or Defy
Inappropriate Physician Orders: Attributional Differences,” Journal of
Social Behavior and Personality 10 (1995): 585–94. (Thanks to
Thomas Zentall of the University of Kentucky for the nurse study
references.)
23
In fact, Milgram conducted this experiment because many of
his contemporaries denied that people would continue to obey immoral
commands. Consequently, his experiment serves as a sober reminder
of humanity’s potential for unquestioning obedience and the
consequent suffering that ensues. In fact, how much does Abraham’s
behavior in Genesis 22 differ from that of the subjects of the Milgram
experiment? Personally, I am glad that Milgram did what he did, but
100 Lexington Theological Quarterly

recognize that this experiment may serve far better as a one-time event
than a recurring procedure. And, in fact, that is how some
commentators view Gen 22 as well--an event not for repetition or
imitation (see n. 6 above): God did this once, but no more.
24
For both an ethical and methodological critique of Milgram,
see Diana Baumrind, “Some Thoughts on the Ethics of Research After
Reading Milgram’s Behavioral Study of Obedience,” American
Psychologist (1964): 421–23; see Milgram’s response, “Issues in the
Study of Obedience: A Reply to Baumrind,” American Psychologist
(1964): 848–52. (Thanks to Karyn McKenzie of Georgetown College
for these references.) In 1971, Philip Zimbardo conducted an
experiment in which volunteers played the roles of prisoners and
guards in a simulated prison, known as the Stanford Prison Experiment.
The participants involved themselves in their parts to such an extent
that humiliation, abuse, and violence ensued. Zimbardo had to
suspend the experiment. (Thanks to Mike Nichols for alerting me to the
importance of this experiment) Both the experiments of Milgram and
Zimbardo led to a response by the American Psychological Association
in 1982 that established institutional review boards in which the well-
being of the participants took precedence over the potential benefits of
the research and which strongly discouraged the use of deception as an
experimental tool.
25
For this and similar reasons, some might regard Abraham
and the other family members who succeed him as tragic figures: Philip
L. Quinn, “Agamemnon and Abraham: The Tragic Dilemma of
Kierkegaard’s Knight of Faith,” Literature and Theology 4
(1990): 181–93. For tragedy and biblical narrative in general, see
Cheryl Exum, Tragedy and Biblical Narrative: Arrows of the Almighty
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).
26
For the aggadic tradition on the death of Sarah, see
Ginzberg, Legends, 1:286–91. For a list of references to Sarah’s grief-
stricken reaction, see Ginzberg, Legends, 5:255, n. 256.
27
For more on seeing, see pp. 81-2. For a view of sight that
differs considerably from this, see the very provocative and thoughtful
essay of Steinmetz, Father to Son, 50–85.
28
Since Freud’s use of the Oedipus story to describe family
structures that he observed among his patients, which he came to see as
a universal phenomenon, considerable discussion has ensued not only
among psychoanalysts and psychologists, but also among
anthropologists and others. For a review of the Oedipus complex in
Restorative Thoughts 101

world folk literature, see Lowell Edmunds, Oedipus: The Ancient

Legend and Its Later Analogues (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1985); Allen W. Johnson and Douglass Price-
Williams, Oedipus Ubiquitous: The Family Complex in World Folk
Literature (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996).
29
For an interesting, though rather one-dimensional, example
of psychoanalytic interpretation of the Aqedah, see Erich Wellisch,
Isaac and Oedipus: A Study in Biblical Psychology of the Sacrifice of
Isaac, the Akedah (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1954). David
Bakan suggests that the desire to kill children, including that of
Abraham in Gen 22, stems from a universal, human, infanticidal
impulse that resists the integration of the individual (“agency”) and the
group (“communion”). The child represents that very integration
which the parents and community find threatening: The Duality of
Human Existence: Isolation and Communion in Western Man (Boston:
Beacon Press, 1966), 205–10. Martin S. Bergmann considers the
Aqedah an attempt to eradicate human sacrifice, ultimately leading to
other kinds of psychological sacrifice that the superego demands. The
Oedipus Complex and Laius Complex stem from the repressed
hostilities of parents to children, and children to parents, which the
abolition of human sacrifice only channeled in a different direction: In
the Shadow of Moloch: The Sacrifice of Children and Its Impact on
Western Religion (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992).
Dorothy Zeligs suggests that for many fathers, sons (including Isaac)
function as the reembodiment of the grandfather in the life of the father.
She understands this as the motivation for the infanticidal impulse (a
reliving of the Oedipal contest): Psychoanalysis and the Bible: A Study
in Depth of Seven Leaders (New York: Bloch, 1974), 32. Some
authors observe that the traditional Jewish sources often portray
Abraham as aggressively seeking to kill Isaac: Spiegel, Last Trial; and
Niehoff, “Return of Myth.” (who relates the phenomenon to
psychoanalytical interpretation). For a discussion of psychoanalytic
approaches to biblical narrative, including Gen 22, see Yael Feldman,
“Recurrence and Sublimation,” in Approaches to Teaching the Hebrew
Bible as Literature in Translation, ed. Barry N. Olshen and Yael S.
Feldman, Approaches to Teaching World Literature, 25 (New York:
Modern Language Association of America, 1989), 78–82.
30
So Michael Lerner, Jewish Renewal: Path to Healing and
Transformation (New York: HarperCollins, 1994), 41–46.
31
See Part 2.
102 Lexington Theological Quarterly

32
òw*mò ò[}rEl] T;b]a;wÒ = we’ahavta lere‘akha kamokha. Cf. Lev
19:34: “You shall regard the stranger among you as one of your own.
You shall love the stranger among you as yourself, for you were
strangers in the land of Egypt”
(µyIr:x]mi År<a,B] µt,yyIhÔ µyrIgEAyKi òw*mK; w*l µkeT]ai rG:h' rGEh' µkel; hy<h]yI µkemi jr:zÒa,K] =
ke’ezrakh mikhem yihyeh lakhem hager hagar ’itkhem lo kamokha ki-
gerim heyitem be’erets mitsrayim).
33
Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, (Originally
published as Frygt og bæven: Copenhagen: C. A. Reitzel, 1843), ed,
trans & introd by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Kierkegaard’s
Writings, vol. 6 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983).
34
The bibliography on this text is massive. For a start, see the
writings of Ronald M. Green, who argues that Kierkegaard had little
concern for ethics, but rather for Christian soteriology that uses the
Abraham story to support the Lutheran doctrine of justification by faith,
which redeems sinners (especially Kierkegaard himself): “Deciphering
Fear and Trembling’s Secret Message,” Religious Studies 22
(1986): 95–111; “Enough is Enough! Fear and Trembling is not About
Ethics,” Journal of Religious Ethics 21 (1993): 191–209. See also
Gene Outka, “Religious and Moral Duty: Notes on Fear and
Trembling,” in Religion and Morality: A Collection of Essays (Garden
City, NY: Anchor Books, 1973), 204–54; Timothy P. Jackson, “Is Isaac
Kierkegaard’s Neighbor? Fear and Trembling in Light of William
Blake and Works of Love,” Journal for the Society of Christian
Ethics 17 (1997): 97–119 (who sees God command in Gen. 22 as ironic
and resolved through Christ); and Jung H. Lee, “Abraham in a
Different Voice: Rereading Fear and Trembling with Care,” Religious
Studies 36 (2000): 377–400 (who argues that Kierkegaard sees
Abraham in a “caring” relationship with God).
35
Partly for this reason, views of Kierkegaard and the Aqedah
are decidedly mixed among Jewish commentators. For example, Rabbi
Joseph B. Soloveitchik is generally positive; so also Fackenheim,
Encounters. For a sympathetic treatment of Kierkegaard that regards
the thought of some Hasidim as similar to Kierkegaard’s, see Jerome I.
Gellman, Abraham! Abraham! Kierkegaard and the Hasidim on the
Binding of Isaac (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003). For negative
evaluations of Kierkegaard from a Jewish point of view, see Marvin
Fox, “Kierkegaard and Rabbinic Judaism,” Judaism 2 (1953): 160–69;
Robert Gordis, “The Faith of Abraham: A Note on Kierkegaard’s
‘Teleological Suspension of the Ethical,’” Judaism 25 (1976): 414–19;
Restorative Thoughts 103

Korn, “Tselem Elokim,” 23ff; Levenson, “Abusing Abraham,” 268–69;

Lerner, “Saving the Akedah (who rejects the entire philosophical
enterprise of using philosophy to interpret the Bible); and Botwinick,
“Political Abuse.” See also Martin Buber, Eclipse of God: Studies in
the Relation Between Religion and Philosophy (New York: Harper &
Brothers, 1952), 115–20; for useful discussion of Buber and
Kierkegaard, see the student essay of Aimee Zeltzer, “An Existential
Investigation: Buber’s Critique of Kierkegaard’s Teleological
‘Suspension of the Ethical,’” in Church Divinity, ed. John H. Morgan
(Bristol, IN: Wyndham Hall, 1987), 138–54. Ronald Green has
argued that Kierkegaard interprets the Aqedah as a Christian text and
that it therefore does not accord in any way with Jewish interpretations
of the story: “Abraham, Isaac, and the Jewish Tradition: An Ethical
Reappraisal,” Journal of Religious Ethics 10 (1982): 1–21; Religion
and Moral Reason: A New Method for Comparative Study (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1988), 84–102.
36
For the substance of this paragraph, see Botwinick, “Political
Abuse,” 34ff. (with specific references to Fear and Trembling).
37
Leo Strauss as quoted in Botwinick, “Political Abuse,” 35, n.
65: Leo Strauss, “The Mutual Influence of Theology and Philosophy,”
Independent Journal of Philosophy/ Unabhängige Zeitschrift für
Philosophie 3 (1979), 111–118.
38
For fuller discussion of negative theology and the Aqedah in
Jewish sources, see Botwinick, “Political Abuse.” For negative
theology in Christianity, see Denys Turner, The Darkness of God:
Negativity in Christian Mysticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1995); also “Apophatic Theology,” in F. L. Cross, ed., E. A.
Livingstone, third edition edited by, The Oxford Dictionary of the
Christian Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 88.
39
For possible interpretations of the role of Sarah, see Trible,
“Genesis 22”; and W. Lee Humphreys, “Where’s Sarah? Echoes of a
Silent Voice in the Akedah,” Soundings 81 (1998): 491–512. On later
interpretive traditions about Sarah (especially Christian homilies in
Syriac), see Sebastian P. Brock, “Genesis 22: Where Was Sarah?”
Expository Times 96 (October 1984): 14–17; and Sebastian P. Brock,
“Reading Between the Lines: Sarah and the Sacrifice of Isaac (Genesis,
Chapter 22),” in Women in Ancient Societies: An Illusion of the Night,
ed. Léonie J. Archer, Susan Fischler, and Maria Wyke (London:
Macmillan, 1994), 169–80.
104 Lexington Theological Quarterly

40
In rabbinic tradition, Ben Azzai regarded the statement that
God created humanity in God’s image as the most important verse in
Torah (Gen 5:1): See Sifra 89b; Genesis Rabbah 24:7; also Gen 1:26-
27, 9:6. In this context, to love God without loving others (especially
one’s family) makes no sense
41
For this reason, some feminists have criticized Abraham and
Kierkegaard, because they give priority to principles over persons:
Owen J. Flanagan, Jr., “Virtue, Sex, and Gender: Some Philosophical
Reflections on the Moral Psychology Debate,” Ethics 92 (1982): 501–
02; Carol Gilligan, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and
Women’s Development (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1982), 104–05; Nel Noddings, Caring: A Feminine Approach to
Caring to Ethics and Moral Education (Berkeley, CA: University of
California Press, 1984), 43–44. See also Delaney, Abraham on Trial.
For discussion of this material, see Lee, “Abraham in a Different
Voice,” 391ff.
42
The television show, “Law and Order,” recently aired an
episode, in which a priest killed a drug dealer, because the voice of God
came to him during prayer and told him to shoot him.
43
For discussion of Isaac’s age, see Part 2.
44
Many rabbinic sources portray Isaac as a willing participant
in the apparent sacrifice, and even a martyr. See the sources mentioned
in n. 4.
45
For an affirmative answer, see the response of Alice Miller:
The Untouched Key: Tracing Childhood Trauma in Creativity and
Destructiveness, trans. Hildegarde Hannum and Hunter Hannum (New
York: Doubleday, 1990), 137–45. She examines numerous visual
renderings of Genesis 22 and observes no evidence of doubt on the part
of Abraham or resistance on the part of Isaac, suggesting that the artists
fully identified with the father killing his son. See also Fretheim,
“Abuse of Isaac”; and Burton L. Visotzky, The Genesis of Ethics [New
York: Crown Publishers, 1996], 101–11.
In addition to glossing the culpability of the parent, this
portrayal idealizes the submissive behavior of the victim. To quote
Miller, when do we stop obeying the commandment: “Thou shalt not
be aware”: Untouched Key, 145; see also her book, Thou Shalt not be
Aware: Society’s Betrayal of the Child, 2nd ed. [1st ed., 1990], trans.
Hildegarde Hannum and Hunter Hannum [London: Pluto, 1998]). The
Israeli writer, Shlomo Giora Shoham, a father who lost his son in the
Yom Kippur War of 1973, referred to Isaac as a “willful victim” and
Restorative Thoughts 105

termed the phenomenon of youth who willingly accept sacrifice the

“Isaac Syndrome”: “The Isaac Syndrome,” American Imago 33
(1976): 329–49; The Myth of Tantalus: A Scaffolding for an
Ontological Personality Theory (St. Lucia, Queensland: University of
Queensland Press, 1979), 299–316. For analysis of his thinking, see
Yael Feldman, “Isaac or Oedipus? Jewish Tradition and the Israeli
Aqedah,” in Biblical Studies/Cultural Studies: The Third Sheffield
Colloquium, ed. J. Cheryl Exum and Stephen D. Moore, Journal for the
Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series, 266/ Gender, Culture,
Theory, 7 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 178–81.
46
The World War I English poet, Wilfrid Owen, wrote these
poignant words in his poem, “The Parable of the Old Men and the
Young”: ”So Abraham rose, and clave the wood, and went/ And took
the fire with him, and a knife. / And as they sojourned both of them
together, Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,/ Behold the
preparations, fire and iron,/ But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,/ And builded
parapets and trenches there, And stretched forth the knife to slay his
son./ When lo! an angel called out of heaven,/ Saying, Lay not thy hand
upon the lad,/ Neither do anything to him. Behold,/ A ram, caught in a
thicket by its horns;/ Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him./ But the
old man would not so, but slew his son,/ And half the seed of Europe,
one by one.”
47
On the centrality of sacrificial language, see Gordon J.
Wenham, “The Akedah: A Paradigm of Sacrifice,” in Pomegranates
and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual,
Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom, ed. David P. Wright,
David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz (Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns, 1995). See also Stanley D. Walters, “Wood, Sand, and
Stars: Structure and Theology in Gn 22:1–19,” Toronto Journal of
Theology 3 (1987): 301–30. For the anthropological study of sacrifice,
still important is René Girard, Violence and the Sacred, (Originally
published as La violence et le sacré: Paris: B. Grassert, 1972), trans.
Patrick Gregory (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977), in
which sacrifice serves as an alternative to human violence.
48
See the discussion of the Oedipal complex above on p. 82.
49
The Aqedah forms one of the major themes of modern Israeli
literature. For fuller discussion and references to stories and poems,
see Michael Brown, “Biblical Myth and Contemporary Experience:
The Akedah in Modern Jewish Literature,” Judaism 31 (1982): 99–111;
106 Lexington Theological Quarterly

Edna Amir Coffin, “The Binding of Isaac in Modern Israeli Literature,”

Michigan Quarterly Review 22, no. 3 (1983): 428–45; Glenda
Abramson, “The Reinterpretation of the Akedah in Modern Hebrew
Poetry,” Journal of Jewish Studies 41 (1990): 101–14; and Feldman,
“Isaac or Oedipus.”
50
As quoted from the articles cited in n. 49 above. See also the
statement of a young Israeli soldier in 1967: “We are a generation
marked by doubt and skepticism. All we have left are contradictions
and a faith in ruins. What can we still believe in? I want to know. I
want to know where I am going what I am fighting for. I refuse to be an
eternal Isaac mounting the altar of sacrifice without asking or
understanding why . . . ”: referenced in Saul Friedländer, When
Memory Comes, trans. Helen R. Lane (New York: Farrar, Straus, and
Giroux, 1978), 57.
51
Jon D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the
Beloved Son: The Transformation of Child Sacrifice in Judaism and
Christianity (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993) discusses
all the references below in illuminating detail: Chapter 1. See also
Crenshaw, Whirlpool, 10–12. For a discussion of child sacrifice from a
psychoanalytical point of view, see Bergmann, Shadow of Moloch. For
the practice of child sacrifice in the ancient Near East, see Alberto
Ravinell Whitney Green, The Role of Human Sacrifice in the Ancient
Near East, American Schools of Oriental Research Dissertation Series,
1 (Missoula, MO: Scholars Press, 1975); Westermann, Genesis, 357–
58; George C. Heider, The Cult of Molek: A Reassessment, Journal for
the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series, 43 (Sheffield,
England: JSOT Press, 1985); John Day, Molech: A God of Human
Sacrifice in the Old Testament (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1989); Joseph J. Prentiss, “The Sacrifice of Isaac: A
Comparative View,” in The Bible in Light of Cuneiform Literature:
Scripture in Context III, ed. William W. Hallo, Bruce Williams Jones,
and Gerald L. Mattingly, Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies, 8
(Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1990), 203–30.
52
Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son
also cites two other texts, Isaiah 30:30-33 and Micah 6:6-8: pp. 9ff.
53
Greek myth preserves other stories similar to the Aqedah
(transforming human sacrifice), including one where the father
(Athamas) goes to the top of a high mountain to sacrifice his son
(Phrixus) in response to a sham oracle fabricated by a stepmother (Ino).
At the last minute, Heracles saves the day, and a golden ram carries off
Restorative Thoughts 107

the son to Colchis where Phrixus sacrifices it in gratitude: Apollodorus,

Library, 1.9.1-2, 3.4.3; and Hans Christoph Ackermann and Jean-
Robert Gisler, eds., Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae
(Zurich; Munich: Artemis Verlag, 1981-), 2:950–53. For discussion of
this material, see Hugh C. White, “The Initiation Legend of Isaac,”
Zeitschrift für Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 91 (1979): 1–30.
54
The latter may represent a minority view, but it exists within
the biblical texts themselves.
55
“Abraham’s Sacrifice of Faith: A Form-Critical Study of
Genesis 22,” Interpretation 27 (1973): 397–98.
56
“Abraham’s Sacrifice,” 398, n. 11.
57
For this reason, the description of Abraham’s actions as
“somnabulistic” rings true: See James L. Crenshaw, “Journey Into
Oblivion: A Structural Analysis of Gen. 22. 22:1–19,” Soundings 58
(1975): 248.
58
Lippman Bodoff has suggested that Abraham stalled his
departure, his journey, and his preparations in the hope that God would
rescind God’s order: “The Real Test of the Akedah: Blind Obedience
Versus Moral Choice,” Judaism 42 (1993): 71–92; “God Tests
Abraham - Abraham Tests God,” Bible Review 9, no. 5 (October
1993): 53–56, 62. Bodoff also argues that God hoped that Abraham
would object to the horrifying request; so also Lee, “Abraham in a
Different Voice”; Omri Boehm, “The Binding of Isaac: An Inner-
Biblical Polemic on the Question of ‘Disobeying’ a Manifestly Illegal
Order,” Vetus Testamentum 52 (2002): 9–12.
59
See the materials above in n. 24 above for literature on
obedience and authority.
60
See the wonderful, humorous version of Gen 22 that Woody
Allen provides: William Novak and Moshe Waldoks, edited and
annotated by, The Big Book of Jewish Humor (New York: Harper &
Row, 1981), 220. Allen puts two appropos statements into the mouth of
God: ‘Never mind what I said,’ “the Lord spake,” ‘Doth thou
[Abraham] listen to every crazy idea that comes thy way?’; and “And
the Lord said, ‘It proves that some men will follow any orders no
matter how asinine as long as it comes from a resonant, well-modulated
voice.’”
61
For another view of this passage, see Eisen, “Education,”
who sees Gen 18 as a Socratic dialogue initiated by God to teach
Abraham.
108 Lexington Theological Quarterly

62
He does not even bother to mention his nephew, Lot, and
Lot’s family, who lived in Sodom.
63
See Ex 4:10.
64
For discussion of these texts, see Crenshaw, Whirlpool, 18–
19.
65
von Rad, Genesis, 238–39.
66
Paul Ricoeur, Interpretation Theory: Discourse and the
Surplus of Meaning (Fort Worth, TX: Texas Christian Press, 1976).
See also my own work on religious symbolism: Laurence H. Kant, The
Interpretation of Religious Symbols in the Graeco-Roman World: A
Case Study of Early Christian Fish Symbolism, Ph.D. dissertation, Yale
University (1993).
67
As the words of Isaiah suggest, “You are indeed a God who
concealed yourself” (45:15): rTeT's]mi lae hT;a' ÷kea; = ’akhen ’atah ’el
mistater.