Parshat Vayeira: What Suffering Cannot Decide

When Pain Begins to Define Tomorrow

Introduction

There are times when suffering changes more than how we feel. It begins to shape what we believe is possible. After years of disappointment, a person may stop expecting things to improve. After watching someone they love struggle for so long, they may find it increasingly difficult to imagine that things could ever be different.

Such conclusions do not necessarily arise from a lack of faith. They can emerge from the accumulated weight of what a person has endured. What begins as an understandable response to painful circumstances can gradually become a conviction about what the future holds.

Parshat Vayeira brings us into the lives of two women whose circumstances could hardly be more different. Sarah hears that she will finally bear the child she has waited a lifetime to hold, and she laughs. Hagar finds herself in the wilderness with her suffering son, the water gone and his survival uncertain, and moves away because she cannot bear to witness what she believes is about to happen.

Their responses are different, but together they raise a question: When suffering begins to shape our expectations, how do we distinguish between what we know and what we fear must be true?

I. The Torah’s Account

Sarah: A Promise That Seems Impossible

When the three visitors arrive at Avraham's tent, they bring news that should have filled his home with joy. After decades of childlessness, Sarah will finally bear a son. Listening from the entrance of the tent, she laughs inwardly: וַתִּצְחַק שָׂרָה בְּקִרְבָּהּ לֵאמֹר אַחֲרֵי בְלֹתִי הָיְתָה־לִּי עֶדְנָה וַאדֹנִי זָקֵן (Bereishit 18:12). Rashi explains that Sarah considered the condition of her own body. Could her womb still carry a child? Could she still nurse?

Ramban asks how a woman of Sarah's spiritual stature could respond with disbelief to the announcement of Yitzchak's birth. He explains that Sarah did not recognize the visitors as angels and suggests that Avraham had not told her about the promise he had already received. She therefore heard what appeared to be an extraordinary prediction from an unfamiliar visitor. Nevertheless, Ramban maintains that she should have believed the announcement, or at least responded, אמן כן יעשה ה׳ — Amen, may Hashem do so.

Sforno explains that Sarah understood the visitor's words as a blessing rather than a prophecy, as with Elisha's blessing to the Shunamite woman. That woman's own response is telling: אַל־אֲדֹנִי אִישׁ הָאֱלֹקים אַל־תְּכַזֵּב בְּשִׁפְחָתֶךָ (Melachim II 4:16). For someone who has waited so long, the prospect of renewed hope can itself be painful when another disappointment remains possible.

Hashem questions Sarah's laughter, asking Avraham, לָמָּה זֶּה צָחֲקָה שָׂרָה. When repeating her words, He changes Sarah's reference to her husband's age into a reference to her own. Rashi, citing Chazal, explains that the change was made to preserve peace between them. Sarah then denies laughing, and the Torah explains why: וַתְּכַחֵשׁ שָׂרָה לֵאמֹר לֹא צָחַקְתִּי כִּי יָרֵאָה (18:15). Ramban explains that she feared Avraham might have interpreted her response as a failure to believe. Only when she hears לֹא כִּי צָחָקְתְּ does she recognize that her private reaction has been revealed through prophecy.

Hagar: A Mother at the Edge of What She Can Bear

Several chapters later, the child Sarah could scarcely imagine bearing has been born. The fulfillment of her long-awaited hope becomes part of another mother's painful story. Sarah insists that Hagar and Yishmael leave Avraham's household. Hagar departs with bread and a skin of water, wandering in the wilderness of Be'er Sheva until וַיִּכְלוּ הַמַּיִם מִן־הַחֵמֶת (21:15). Rashi explains that Yishmael was ill and required more water than usual. Chizkuni adds that Avraham had provided enough water to reach the nearest settlement, but Hagar lost her way.

Unable to help Yishmael, Hagar places him beneath a bush and moves away, explaining, אַל־אֶרְאֶה בְּמוֹת הַיָּלֶד (21:16). Sitting at a distance, she raises her voice and weeps. Why would a mother move away from her child precisely when he needs her most?

The Malbim understands her actions as an expression of despair. Even after moving away, Hagar could still hear Yishmael crying, and she distanced herself further because she could not endure his suffering.

The Netziv, in his Haamek Davar, offers a different explanation. Hagar wished to cry aloud but did not want her sick son to hear her weeping. Such cries, he explains, would only add to his distress, whether he was destined to recover or die. In one reading, she cannot bear to hear her son's cries; in the other, she cannot bear for him to hear hers. Both reveal how easily suffering can be mistaken for indifference.

Although the Torah has just described Hagar's weeping, it tells us וַיִּשְׁמַע אֱלֹקים אֶת־קוֹל הַנַּעַר (21:17). Rashi, citing the Midrash, teaches that a sick person's own prayer is more effective than the prayers others offer on their behalf.

The angel addresses Hagar directly: מַה־לָּךְ הָגָר אַל־תִּירְאִי כִּי־שָׁמַע אֱלֹקים אֶל־קוֹל הַנַּעַר בַּאֲשֶׁר הוּא־שָׁם. Ramban understands בַּאֲשֶׁר הוּא שָׁם to mean that Hashem has heard the boy in the very place where he lies, and Hagar need not search elsewhere for water.

The angel continues, קוּמִי שְׂאִי אֶת־הַנַּעַר וְהַחֲזִיקִי אֶת־יָדֵךְ בּוֹ (21:18). The Netziv explains that Hagar will not need to carry Yishmael indefinitely. He will walk on his own feet while she holds his hand. At first, he will draw strength from her; eventually, she will begin to draw strength from him.

Finally, וַיִּפְקַח אֱלֹקים אֶת־עֵינֶיהָ וַתֵּרֶא בְּאֵר מָיִם (21:19). Hashem opens Hagar's eyes, and she finds water. The Netziv adds that the well provides more than relief from the immediate crisis. Yishmael will need water tomorrow as well.

II. The Deeper Struggle

The Beit Yaakov of Izhbitz distinguishes between faith and expectation. He explains that Sarah had reached a point where she no longer expected to bear a child. This did not mean she doubted Hashem's ability to grant one: אבל באמת האמינה שלא יפלא מה' דבר — she genuinely believed that nothing was beyond Hashem's power.

The Beit Yaakov goes further, explaining that a person cannot be blamed for what arises within the heart: אין להאשים את האדם בדבר התלוי בלב, מאחר שאין בידו. But if Sarah's inward response was beyond blame, where does he locate her difficulty?

In the words וַאדֹנִי זָקֵן — and my husband is old. Sarah had come to regard the promise as beyond expectation, but she also assumed that Avraham shared her outlook. The Beit Yaakov challenges that assumption: מנא ידעת מה שתלוי בדעת אחרת, אין אדם יודע מה נמצא במטמונותיו של חבירו. How could she know what was taking place within Avraham's heart?

To illustrate the distinction, he turns to the meraglim. When they described themselves as grasshoppers בְעֵינֵינוּ, in their own eyes, they were speaking about their own experience. But when they added וְכֵן הָיִינוּ בְּעֵינֵיהֶם, claiming that the inhabitants of the land regarded them the same way, they had moved beyond what they could know. Their own sense of smallness had become an assumption about the minds of others.

Sarah could speak from the exhaustion of her own waiting. She could not know whether Avraham had reached the same place. Ramban holds Sarah accountable for her disbelief; the Beit Yaakov locates her difficulty in assuming that Avraham shared her expectations.

Hagar's story presents a related but different struggle: when suffering becomes so overwhelming that we begin to experience a feared future as though it has already arrived. The Torah's language creates a subtle connection between the two women. Sarah denies her laughter כִּי יָרֵאָה, because she is afraid. Hagar cannot bear to witness her son's death, אַל־אֶרְאֶה, and the angel tells her אַל־תִּירְאִי, do not fear. Soon afterward, וַתֵּרֶא בְּאֵר מָיִם, she sees the well. The movement between the Hebrew roots for fear and sight draws attention to the relationship between what a person fears and what they are able to perceive.

Hagar's son is ill, the water is gone, and death appears close. Her fear is understandable, but the danger before her has become the only future she can imagine. The angel does not rebuke Hagar for crying or accuse her of lacking faith. Instead, he addresses her fear and tells her that Hashem has heard Yishmael בַּאֲשֶׁר הוּא שָׁם. The response is not a demand that she feel differently. It is reassurance accompanied by the help her son urgently needs.

Bereishit Rabbah (53:14) offers a broader teaching. Rabbi Binyamin explains that all people are presumed unable to see until Hashem opens their eyes. Hagar's inability to find water should not be mistaken for a failure to recognize an obvious solution. The commentators offer different explanations: the well may have been hidden, distant, or newly provided.

Sarah's age was real, and Hagar's danger was real. Neither woman, however, knew what would happen next. What their stories challenge is the certainty that suffering can produce, especially when fear begins to determine what we believe is possible for ourselves and for those we love.

III. The Weight of What We Believe

A person who has struggled with depression may find it difficult to imagine feeling joy again. Someone whose anxiety has repeatedly disrupted ordinary activities may begin to regard them as permanently beyond reach. A teenager who has experienced repeated failures may come to believe that disappointment is all that awaits him. For someone who has endured years of emotional distress, believing that change is possible is not the same as believing it remains possible for oneself. Being told that things will improve does not erase the memory of previous setbacks. Hope offered without understanding that history can leave a person feeling even more alone.

Those who love someone in distress face a related struggle. A parent who has watched a child withdraw, reject help, or endure repeated setbacks may find the future increasingly difficult to imagine. There is a difference between acknowledging, “I can no longer imagine how things will improve,” and concluding, “My child has given up.” The first speaks from the parent's exhaustion. The second assigns that exhaustion to the child. The same danger appears in how we interpret another person's behavior. Silence becomes evidence of indifference. Withdrawal is understood as rejection. An inability to discuss painful subjects is taken as an unwillingness to seek help. Often, these behaviors conceal struggles that others cannot see.

Sarah's denial offers another perspective. Ramban explains that she feared Avraham would interpret her laughter as a failure of belief. Her response, לֹא צָחַקְתִּי, reminds us how fear of judgment can make it difficult to acknowledge what is happening within. For someone experiencing emotional distress, saying “I'm fine” may feel safer than revealing feelings that could be misunderstood. Being misread as lazy or indifferent only deepens the isolation.

The angel's response to Hagar offers a different model. The well provides water for the immediate crisis and, as the Netziv explains, a source they can return to tomorrow. For those supporting someone in distress, this suggests care grounded in the present: listening without rushing to promise outcomes, recognizing immediate needs, and helping establish support that remains available beyond a single difficult moment.

The Torah's emphasis on קוֹל הַנַּעַר also reminds us that the person who is struggling has a voice of their own. Their concerns, wishes, and experiences deserve to be heard, rather than having others speak or decide for them without their involvement.

Hagar's anguish points to another truth: those offering support have emotional limits. Parents, spouses, siblings, and friends can become exhausted by repeated crises and their inability to relieve another person's pain. Such exhaustion does not excuse hurtful responses, but acknowledging it allows us to recognize the needs of those providing care as well.

Like Yishmael walking on his own feet, the person who is struggling need not lose their independence by accepting support. Such care can include appropriate boundaries and professional guidance while preserving their dignity and agency.

Respect for another person's independence must also be balanced with concern for their safety. When hopelessness turns into talk of not wanting to be alive, of others being better off without them, or of ending one's life, professional help should be sought without delay. If there is immediate danger, the person should not be left alone while emergency assistance is arranged.

Conclusion — What Suffering Cannot Decide

When Yitzchak is born, Sarah speaks of her laughter again: צְחֹק עָשָׂה לִי אֱלֹקִים (Bereishit 21:6). The laughter she once concealed has become something she can acknowledge openly. Her extraordinary experience does not promise that every painful struggle will end in the same way, but it reminds us that the future is not necessarily confined to what suffering has taught us to expect.

Hagar's experience leaves us with a different responsibility. The Torah does not condemn her for withdrawing when her son's suffering became unbearable. Still, she is called back: קוּמִי שְׂאִי אֶת־הַנַּעַר וְהַחֲזִיקִי אֶת־יָדֵךְ בּוֹ. She cannot determine what will happen to him, but she can hold his hand. For those supporting someone in distress, there is meaning in what we can offer, even when the outcome remains beyond our control.

For the person who is struggling, the inability to imagine a different future need not become a judgment about what is possible. For those who love them, exhaustion and fear need not become conclusions about who that person is or what their life will become. Suffering can tell us how much we have endured. It cannot tell us everything that remains unknown.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!!!

Yaakov Lazar