Speaking to the Heart: Eliezer at the Well

David Ben-Ami

Good morning, and welcome. Wherever you are, whether the kettle is on or you're already halfway out the door, let's take these few minutes slowly. Today's passage comes from this week's Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, which means "the life of Sarah," and which opens, oddly, with her death. Abraham has mourned her and buried her. Now he is old, and he sends the most senior servant of his household to find a wife for his son Isaac. The Torah doesn't name the servant here, though tradition, following an earlier verse in Genesis, calls him Eliezer. So that's the name I'll use.

David Ben-Ami

Picture the scene. It's evening. Eliezer has traveled a long way with ten of his master's camels, and he stops outside the city, by the well, at the hour when the women of the town come out to draw water. He is far from home, in a place he doesn't know, with a mission that no one can rehearse. And what does he do? He doesn't announce a plan. He prays.

David Ben-Ami

In Genesis chapter 24, verses 12 to 14, he says: "O Lord, God of my master Abraham, grant me good fortune this day, and deal graciously with my master Abraham." The Hebrew for deal graciously is va'aseh chesed. Chesed is one of the great words of our tradition. It means loving kindness, generosity that goes beyond what anyone could demand. Then Eliezer names his sign. The young woman to whom I say, "Please, lower your jar that I may drink," and who answers, "Drink, and I will also water your camels," let her be the one.

David Ben-Ami

Notice what he is looking for. He is not looking for beauty, or wealth, or a famous family. He will ask for a drink, and he is hoping for someone who offers more than was asked. The medieval commentator Sforno reads that very line, "I will also water your camels," as a teaching: one who asks should ask for less than they need, and one who gives should give all that's needed, or even more. And then verse 15: "He had scarcely finished speaking, when Rebekah came out, with her jar on her shoulder." Ten thirsty camels after a long road is a great deal of water. The Torah tells us she drew for all of them, and she hurried.

David Ben-Ami

Now I want to stay with one small detail. When the Torah tells the story in its own voice, it says Eliezer had scarcely finished speaking. The Hebrew is l'daber, a very ordinary word for speaking. But later, in verse 45, Eliezer retells the whole episode to Rebekah's father, Bethuel, and her brother, Laban. He repeats nearly everything, but he changes one phrase. He says, "I had scarcely finished speaking in my heart." In Hebrew: ani terem akhaleh l'daber el libi. Lev is the heart, libi is my heart. Not just speaking, but speaking to my own heart.

David Ben-Ami

Why add that? The Or HaChaim, an eighteenth century commentator, offers a clear answer. Eliezer says it so that no one will think Rebekah acted because of something she overheard. If he had spoken aloud, the family might wonder. Perhaps she heard a stranger wishing for water, and perhaps she saw a rich traveler with camels and gold, and she played her part. Eliezer wants them to know that his prayer was silent. No ear heard it. So her kindness was not a response to a hint. It came from who she was.

David Ben-Ami

That, to me, is the quiet center of this story. The prayer happened inside, before any action. And the answer arrived in the form of a person whose goodness also happened inside, before anyone was watching. Another modern teacher, Lizzie Frankel, offers a gentle reading of this phrase, and I'd call it her interpretation rather than the plain meaning. She suggests that Eliezer is putting his heart back into the story. He is not a messenger who recites words and collects a bride. He is a human being, who cares, and who brings his feelings into his work.

David Ben-Ami

There's a word for this inner turning, kavanah. It means intention, the focus of the heart behind the words. And the Hebrew word for prayer, tefilah, comes from a verb that many teachers connect with judging oneself, or examining oneself. In that sense, prayer is not only speaking toward heaven. It's also a quiet conversation with your own heart, asking what you are really here to do.

David Ben-Ami

So here is a practical thought for today. Before the day begins to talk to you, with messages, errands, voices, demands, give yourself thirty seconds. Stand at your own small well, a doorway, a kitchen counter, a bus stop. And speak, silently, to your heart. Choose just one intention. Maybe: today I will be patient with someone who tests me. Or: today I will notice one person who needs something they haven't asked for. Say it inside, where no one hears it. Then take your first step out.

David Ben-Ami

I can't promise that a Rebekah will come walking toward you with a jar on her shoulder. But I can say that a day that begins with an intention tends to look different than a day that simply happens to us. You may find that you notice the thirsty ones, and the camels too.

David Ben-Ami

Let me close with a blessing. May your heart be clear this morning, and may what you whisper inside be what you carry outside. May you meet this day with patience, with a generous hand, and with peace, shalom. And in the words of the Psalmist, which we say at the end of the Amidah: yihyu l'ratzon imrei fi v'hegyon libi l'fanecha. May the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable before You. Have a good morning, and a gentle day.