“Sarah’s lifetime—the span of Sarah’s life—came to one hundred and twenty-seven years. Sarah died in Kiriath-arba—now Hebron—in the land of Canaan; and Abraham proceeded to mourn for Sarah and to bewail her. Then Abraham rose from beside his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying, ‘I am a resident alien among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial.’” (Genesis 23:1–4)
This week’s Torah portion—somewhat paradoxically named Chayei Sarah (“The Life of Sarah”)—recounts the death of our matriarch. Abraham mourns his wife’s passing and then begins planning the next steps. He needs a place to bury her and asks the local inhabitants to sell him some land. Although they offer to give it to him as a gift, Abraham insists on purchasing it at full price. Later commentators note that Abraham does this to ensure there can be no future confusion about who owns the burial site—it belongs to him and his descendants.
Later in the Torah, we learn that this same site becomes the burial place of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rebecca, and Leah. To this day, the Cave of Machpelah remains one of the most sacred places in Jewish tradition. It is also a shrine for Muslims, known as the Haram el-Khalil (“The Sacred Precinct of the Friend of God”).
Jews and Muslims take turns praying at this site. I visited many years ago, right as the attendants were preparing the space for Jewish worship, respectfully removing the prayer rugs used by Muslims and bringing in siddurim and tallitot for the Jewish worshippers.
In a time when Israel is often labeled—and libeled—as a “colonial enterprise”, I find deep meaning in returning to this passage. For more than 3,500 years, this place has been central to the story of the Jewish people. (Of course, we are not the only people with a historic connection to the land, which is why we have repeatedly agreed to share it—first in 1947 with the UN Partition Plan, and again through multiple Israeli and American administrations. Each time, however, these offers were rejected by Arab leadership.)
To claim that our return to Zion is illegitimate is to deny our history—a history written not just on parchment but also in stone. The burial site mentioned in this parasha is surrounded by archaeological evidence of Jewish habitation and sovereignty over that part of the land of Israel, dating back to the time of King Herod (first century BCE) and earlier.
Our connection to the land is both profound and ancient. One doesn’t need to accept a theological rationale to recognize this truth. What cannot be denied, however, is how deeply these places are interwoven with our story and identity. Nor can one deny the abundant archaeological evidence of Jewish settlement in the land of Israel spanning over three thousand years.
What feels especially galling and absurd is hearing accusations of Jewish colonialism from college students and academics living and working in the United States—a country built on undeniable colonization, which is something no land acknowledgment can erase.
Amanda Berman, Founder and CEO of the Zioness Movement (who is also our special guest this Shabbat) beautifully articulates that Zionism is the ultimate expression of anti-colonialism. Zionism is the movement for the self-determination and national liberation of the Jewish people in their ancestral homeland. It represents the return of a people forcibly exiled from their land to dignity and sovereignty.
Zionism is a movement that anyone who calls themselves a political progressive should embrace wholeheartedly.
Even as we mourn Sarah’s death in this week’s parasha, we celebrate Abraham’s foresight and our enduring connection to a land that has been bound up with our People’s story for more than three millennia.
Shabbat shalom,
— Rabbi Yoshi