Our Parasha Chayei Sarah is often remembered for its transitions—Sarah’s passing, Isaac’s marriage, the emergence of a new generation. But beneath the surface lies a moral earthquake, a parasha that confronts us with a stark truth: The world is either built on kindness—or it collapses without it.
The portion opens in darkness. Sarah, the first matriarch, is gone. Abraham stands alone, shattered—and yet he rises. Not with resignation, but with purpose. He insists on burying Sarah with honor, dignity, and permanence. The negotiations with the Hittites are tense, deliberate, and emotional.
This is not a business transaction. It is Abraham fighting for memory, for respect, for love—for the idea that even in death, a human being deserves unwavering kindness. This is the first dramatic truth of the parashah: Real kindness shows up when the heart is breaking.
Abraham then sends Eliezer on a mission that feels nearly impossible: find the next mother of Israel. Not a princess. Not a woman of status. Not someone politically advantageous. Only one criterion matters: Find someone whose kindness shakes the earth.
Under the burning sun, exhausted and uncertain, Eliezer begs for a sign—not a miracle of fire or thunder, but something far rarer: a human being with a heart expansive enough to see a stranger in need. And then she appears—Rivkah. A young woman on an ordinary day, unaware her next choices will ripple across thousands of years.
She does not simply offer Eliezer a sip of water. She runs. She draws water again and again, for ten thirsty camels—each one capable of drinking gallons. The physical strain is enormous; the task is overwhelming. But she does it with urgency, generosity, and courage.
This is not courtesy. This is not politeness. This was a real kindness.
The Torah doesn’t praise her beauty, her intelligence, or her pedigree. It crowns her matriarch of Israel for one reason: Because she cared enough to do the impossible for someone she didn’t owe anything to.
When Isaac meets Rivkah, he is still living in the long shadow of his mother’s death. He is grieving. Hollow. Untethered. But Rivkah’s presence—her compassion, her warmth, her Kindness —rebuilds him. Her kindness becomes a lifeline.
Kindness has the power not just to uplift—it can resurrect what grief has crushed.
When you strip away the familiar storyline, the message becomes electrifying: Abraham demands kindness in the face of loss. Eliezer hunts for kindness as the single trait that will shape the future. Rivkah practices kindness with a strength that defies logic. Isaac is healed by kindness when nothing else can reach him.
This is the power of kindness, and this is the source of the incredible energy of our Jewish communities in all the generations. Kindness, kindness, kindness!!
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Refael Cohen