Before You Call It a Sign

A woman places a glass of water on a conference table. Across from her, a man has grown quiet. Is he grateful? Has she sensed something he needs, or is she simply extending an ordinary courtesy? We cannot know by watching them. Yet we are remarkably quick to construct explanations for what we see.

That uncertainty lies at the heart of an encounter in this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah. Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for Isaac. Arriving at a distant well, the servant prays for a sign: the young woman who offers him water and then volunteers to water his camels will be the one God has chosen. His test seeks character rather than wealth or appearance. Watering ten thirsty camels is no small kindness.

Rebekah arrives and does precisely what he hoped. Yet the servant does not immediately celebrate. Genesis 24:21 describes him watching her in silence, seeking to know whether God has made his journey successful. He still needs to discover her identity and family connections. But his hesitation invites a larger question: when events unfold exactly as we prayed they would, have we recognized God’s intentions or simply confirmed our own expectations?

We naturally search for meaning in coincidences and unexpected encounters. Another person’s kindness may feel like an answer to prayer. Such experiences need not be dismissed as wishful thinking. But believing that God has guided us is different from believing that our interpretation of God’s guidance is beyond question.

Now consider Rebekah. She knows nothing of the servant’s prayer or his test. She sees a thirsty traveler and helps him. For Rebekah, it is an act of generosity. For the servant, it is an answer to prayer. Both meanings may be true. But Rebekah’s kindness has value independent of what the servant believes it signifies. She is not generous because she fulfills his expectations. Her generosity already belongs to her.

The servant recounts the encounter to Rebekah’s family. Laban and Bethuel declare, “The matter has come from the Lord.” Everyone appears certain of God’s will. Yet throughout this chapter, God does not speak directly. We hear human beings interpreting events and declaring what they believe God intends. Their faith may be genuine, and their interpretation may be right. But it remains an interpretation. Then comes an extraordinary interruption. When the servant wishes to depart promptly, Rebekah’s family proposes a delay. Rather than decide the matter entirely among themselves, they say, “Let us ask her.” Asked whether she will go, Rebekah answers with one word: Eilech. “I will go.”

Rashi derives from this exchange the principle that a woman should not be given in marriage without her consent. Rashbam understands the immediate question more narrowly, as whether Rebekah will depart without delay. We need not impose modern ideas of autonomy upon an ancient marriage arrangement to recognize the significance of her reply.

After all the prayers, negotiations, and declarations of divine purpose, Rebekah has a voice. Nor is her ability to refuse an afterthought. Before the journey, the servant asks Abraham what will happen if the woman will not accompany him. Abraham releases him from his obligation in that event. The possibility that she may choose otherwise is present from the beginning. This is not only a question about biblical marriage. It reaches into the ways we live together.

A friend appears when we are overwhelmed. A colleague anticipates a need. Someone volunteers to help, then offers again. We may call their kindness a blessing, even an answer to prayer. There is beauty in that gratitude. But gratitude can quietly become entitlement. After repeated acts of generosity, we may stop asking whether the giver is still willing. When that person finally says, “I cannot do this anymore,” disappointment can eclipse our appreciation for everything already given. We have confused what someone means to us with what that person owes us.

Religious certainty can deepen the danger. If we believe God has brought someone into our lives for a purpose, we may treat that person’s independent wishes as an obstacle to that purpose. Yet being a blessing in someone’s life does not create an obligation to remain whatever that person needs. Chayei Sarah does not ask us to abandon belief in providence or condemn the servant’s faith. His silence suggests a willingness to keep watching, to learn rather than rush to certainty. And Rebekah’s Eilech reminds us that even within a story understood as divinely guided, the person at its center must be heard. Faith allows us to recognize God’s presence in another person’s generosity. Humility reminds us that we do not possess God’s complete understanding of it. We may see God’s hand in another person’s kindness. But that does not give us the right to determine where that hand must reach next.

And so, before calling an encounter an answer to prayer, we might ask one more question: Have we truly seen the person before us, or only what we needed that person to be?