ESSAY: Entering Yitzhak’s Meditative Space (Parashat Chayei Sarah)

I want to focus on one verse from our parsha, a quiet moment with Yitzhak.  

וַיֵּצֵ֥א יִצְחָ֛ק לָשׂ֥וּחַ בַּשָּׂדֶ֖ה לִפְנ֣וֹת עָ֑רֶב וַיִּשָּׂ֤א עֵינָיו֙ וַיַּ֔רְא וְהִנֵּ֥ה גְמַלִּ֖ים בָּאִֽים׃
And Yitzhak went out to meditate in the field towards evening, and he lifted up his eyes and saw, and behold there were camels coming. 
(Genesis 24:63)

Lots of Chatter All Around

Most of the rest of the parsha is filled with talking.  Sarah dies and we hear a long exchange between Avraham and a local field owner over the purchase of a cave to bury her.   And then, after that, we hear the repetitive and lengthy speeches of Avraham’s servant Eliezer during his mission to find a wife for Yitzhak.  So much talk. 

But Not Yitzhak

And yet there is one character who doesn’t say a word throughout the parsha and that is Yitzhak, this young man who has just returned from having almost been killed by his father in the akedah (binding), only to come home to find that his mother has died in his absence.  The Torah tells us later that, when Yitzhak marries Rivkah, he is finally comforted over his mother’s death, implying that he had previously suffered a great deal in mourning for her (Genesis 24:67).  

So it is here that we meet him, before his marriage, still in that sadness, in a solitary quiet moment amidst all the loud chatter.   Vayetze Yitzhak lasuah basadeh lifnot arev.   Yitzhak goes out towards evening lasuah in the field.  Lasuah is another one of those words that stands out in the Torah because it does not appear anywhere else.  One theory is that it is related to siach or sichah, meaning meditation or prayer (See Rashi here who cites Psalms 102:1).  The rabbis in fact use our verse as a prooftext that Yitzhak invented the afternoon prayer of minchah (Brachot 26b).   He went out to the field to do his afternoon praying.  Another theory is that lasuah means to go walking among the siah hasadeh, the bushes of the field, an afternoon stroll (Ibn Ezra here).  Either way, the sense is that Yitzhak was entering a slow meditative relaxing zone outdoors.  

Our Own Chatter

I’d like to invite you to enter into this quiet meditative space with Yitzhak.  Maybe, before we do, the first thing to notice is all the chatter around us, too, the noise of voices trying to get things done, to make business deals like Avraham and marriage deals like Eliezer, the world of action and speech, all those voices around us as well as inside us, the to do list and the worry list and the constant noise of commentary, thinking. analysis and planning that fills our minds.   

Stepping Out

We can give ourselves a break from all that chatter for a moment.   The first word of that verse is vayetze.  Yitzhak went out.  The Torah doesn’t tell us where he went out from.  This is unlike another famous vayetze verse, in Parashat Vayetze, where Yaakov is said to be vayetze, to leave, from a definite place, from Beer Sheva (Genesis 28:10).  Here it just tells us that Yitzhak goes out.  What is he leaving?  He is leaving all that noise in order to find a quiet space inside himself.  The first step to quieting is a kind of leaving, a stepping out.  

What would it be like for you to leave all that noise for a moment, the external and internal chatter about what needs to get done and the judgmental looping over what you did wrong and the worry over the future?  Coming into awareness of that whole whirlpool of thought, and just for a moment, stepping out of that whirlpool or maybe jumping out, jumping out into another plane, a divine plane, into a sadeh, a wide open field of consciousness and deep existential quiet.  Not worrying about doing this right or whether it makes sense, those are just more thoughts, unhooking from everything that seems so important to think about, going outdoors like Yitzhak, stepping out the door of your constrained mind into the vast open space of clear, calm divine possibility, like a stirred up lake in a storm suddenly becoming placid, your mind quieting, stepping out into that calm. We can pause to notice each thought as it appears – each comment, each judgment, each noisy insistent worry – to notice and let go of each one, and practice moving out into that placid lake, into that open field of gentle quiet presence and okayness that is always there for you.  

No Agenda

There is nothing you need to get done in this space, nowhere to get to. Later, in Parashat Vayetze, Yaakov’s vayetze, Yaakov’s leaving, has a point of departure and a point of destination (Genesis 28:10) –  he is trying to get to Haran – but here Yitzhak simply steps out, with no plan to get anywhere or accomplish anything.  Yitzhak didn’t meditate or stroll in the field for any utilitarian purpose.  Amidst all the doing and agendas all around him, he stepped out into that field with no goal, not to plant or reap or fix anything or bury someone, but just to be in the field as he was, to meditate and stroll and be present for the experience, nothing else, not even to get exercise.  Can you feel what that might be like for you, this no agenda space?   Breathing deeply and slowing down, taking the time to stroll about in the field for no purpose, just strolling, let the world and your mind keep churning and doing, while you stroll peacefully through the field, observing the shrubs and the flowers, breathing in the clean sweet air, breathing in that gentle spacious acceptance and letting it relax you and fill you with peace. Nowhere to go but here.  

God in This Space

We touch something divine when we enter this space.  God is not mentioned in this verse, which I think speaks to the fact that you can be deeply involved in prayer to God without calling it God.  But don’t be confused; God is certainly present in such a space.  After all, it was God who was the first to stroll in this meditative way in the Garden of Eden, leruah hayom, at the breezy time of day (Genesis 3:8), that word leruah sounding very much like lasuah – only one letter different –  walking about with no agenda, a breezy easy type of flow.  When we are present in this way without an ulterior goal, we touch into a deeply divine space, aligning with the God who continues, like Yitzhak, to stroll through the field of our consciousness, ever waiting for us to move out of the noise and join God there.  

Becoming a Shrub

And maybe as you stroll and notice the shrubs around you in this field, something else happens.  You came out lasuah basadeh, to pray in the field, and as part of that prayer, you become one with the siah hasadeh,  with the shrubs of the field; you become aware of yourself as such a shrub, a small but essential element in a larger context; you begin to feel how you belong in the universe, an organic growing creature on God’s earth, in this blue green field we call home.  You melt into the ground, losing your separateness and becoming one with all things.  You are little, like a shrub, and yet you belong, an essential part of the whole.   

The Pain Underneath

But it’s not all bliss and belonging.  Sometimes when we enter this quiet meditative space, what we unearth is pain, the pain all that noise was probably trying to cover over.   Surely that was true for Yitzhak, between the pain of the akedah and the pain of his mother’s death.  Maybe that’s why the Torah says he went out lifnot arev, towards evening.  Yitzhak’s perspective was one of facing towards evening, towards darkness, that’s what he could see and feel in front of him, the sense of endings, of doom, of dread, of things being over.  When we slow down and enter this quiet no agenda space, sometimes that is what appears, this lifnot arev deep sadness at our core.  We can pause in this field and open to feeling that pain, holding it for a moment together with God, not trying fix it or get rid of it – no agenda – just being present with it.  

An Organic Shift

What is remarkable about this space is what tends to happen next.  I think of it as divine grace.  There is a shift that is possible for us as we stroll through this field of presence with our pain.  We have no agenda to get rid of it, but the magic of this quiet calm divine spaciousness has the natural effect of shifting us in some way.  At the end of that verse where Yitzhak goes out to meditate in the field, we hear this:  vayisa eynav vayar, he lifted up his eyes and he saw, vehineh gemalim baim, behold there were camels coming.   Something shifted for Yitzhak and it involved a different way of seeing the world.  Like Hagar suddenly being able to see the well, or Avraham seeing the ram at the akedah, Yitzhak learns to open his eyes and see differently through his meditative prayer.  He is changed.  He is uplifted.  He can now see options and possibilities on the horizon; he can see the camels coming who bear his bride, an opening to a new future.  He was facing towards darkness and endings, but he can now lift up his eyes to see the coming brightness, a fresh beginning.   

Seeing the Love

It’s not that the world has changed.   It’s that now, from this more spacious place inside us, we can see the options, open to the possibility of goodness and love coming our way.   The word for camel, gamal, used so often in this parsha, and very little elsewhere in the Torah, is also associated with hesed, as in gemilut hesed, loving kindness, the trait that Rivka exemplifies.  What Yitzhak can now see on the horizon is love, the continuing existence of love in the universe.  Yes, he had a horrific experience with his father and yes, he lost his mother, but all is not lost. There is still love in the universe, there are still gemalim coming his way.  Indeed, when he and Rivka are married, Yitzhak becomes the first person of whom the Torah says explicitly that he loved someone.  Vaye’ahavah. He loved her (Genesis 24:67). Love is indeed on the horizon for Yitzhak, and for each one of us, always.    

This is the power of this meditative field.  We emerge uplifted, more open to seeing and to loving, as if a dark veil has been lifted from our eyes and the world seems brighter; it is no longer twilight but morning.  Can you see the camels on the horizon for you now, maybe feel how you are carried by them, how they bring you tidings of love and care?  Maybe sensing how, when you slow down and move out of the noise into this space of presence and no agenda, how in the quiet of that space, something can indeed shift inside you, there is more space and peace and trust so that your heart opens and you can see the love bearing camels always riding towards you.  And yes, there is also still pain and loss and sadness and that is ok – that is part of having an open heart – but right alongside that pain now there is hope on the horizon.  Let yourself taste that possibility.   

Image by Nataliya Vaitkevitch at Pexels