The Blogs: Kindness revolution

Hayye Sarah and the Ethics of Care

Last week, I had a moment of deep inadequacy. At the JFNA General Assembly, I met with many leaders, including relatives of hostages still held in Gaza. At one point, a young woman, fighting valiantly for her loved one to come home, stood before me. I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t feel like platitudes. Knowing her sister had been suffering for over 400 days in Gaza, telling her of our efforts for visibility and solidarity felt hollow. I had nothing to offer that could help get them home. So I froze.

Thankfully, at just the right moment, a friend stepped in. She turned to the young woman and spoke simply and kindly. She told her how incredible she was, how her relentless fight gave all of us the strength to keep going, how we were fighting at her side every single day. The young woman’s eyes welled up, and she seemed to breathe just a little bit easier.

That moment stayed with me. It helped me reflect on something many of us struggle with: when we come face-to-face with overwhelming suffering or injustice, we freeze. We feel inadequate, powerless. But there’s another way to respond. Sometimes, strength lies in acknowledging that some pain cannot be fixed while still choosing to offer care. This response isn’t just deeply human — it’s covenantal, exemplified by Rebecca’s actions in this week’s Torah portion, Hayye Sarah.

* * *

In recent years, I’ve been drawn to interpretations that see Rebecca as Abraham’s spiritual heir. Both leave their homes for Canaan, demonstrate agency, and ensure the covenant’s continuity. Yet, the episodes in which they are described as chosen to carry forward God’s new way differ: Abraham’s is rooted in justice, while Rebecca’s is anchored in care. Together, they offer complementary moral frameworks.

Of course, Abraham demonstrates an ethic of care in other episodes of his life. In this essay, however, I focus on one episode — Abraham’s argument on behalf of the people of Sodom, contrasting it with Rebecca’s actions. The fact that both are linked to their being chosen invites us to reflect on the lessons this contrast offers.

In last week’s Torah portion, Vayera, Genesis explains why Abraham was chosen for covenantal greatness: “So that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord, doing righteousness and justice” (Genesis 18:19). This comes to explain why God shares with Abraham the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham confronts God, asking, “Will You sweep away the innocent with the guilty?” He negotiates, demands justice for the innocent, and insists on moral rules.

Rebecca’s story in this week’s portion, embodies a different approach. Abraham had tasked his servant Eliezer with finding a wife for Isaac from his own birthplace. Eliezer devises a test asking God to let the woman who offers water to him and his camels be the one chosen for Isaac. This test was no obvious matter: previous portions in Genesis describe systemic mistreatment of strangers — just consider Sodom, where townspeople sought to violate newcomers. Rebecca surpassed the test. She saw a stranger in need and responded with uncalculated kindness, embodying Emmanuel Levinas’ ethics of feeling commanded by the face of the other.

These two moments — Abraham’s pursuit of justice and Rebecca’s act of care — represent distinct moral frameworks. Carol Gilligan’s groundbreaking In a Different Voice (1982) highlights this contrast. Gilligan’s work challenged her mentor, Lawrence Kohlberg, whose model of moral stages prioritized abstract reasoning and justice, leading women and girls to score consistently lower in tests of moral reasoning. Gilligan argued the flaw lay not in the women, but in Kohlberg’s framework, which emphasized justice, while neglecting the equally valid “ethics of care” focused on relationships and compassion. That said, Gilligan does not essentialize; while women and girls often employ more of an ethic of care, these two moral voices can be found in every individual.

Abraham’s challenge to God embodies an ethics of justice, seeking fairness and abstract principles of right and wrong. Rebecca’s spontaneous kindness aligns with an ethics of care, offering comfort and connection to individuals in need.

* * *

Taking midrashic license, we can extend these to reread the famous midrash of a palace in flames. In Genesis Rabbah (39:1), the sages describe Abraham’s chosenness with a striking metaphor: a man sees a palace lit up — burning — and wonders, “Is it possible this palace has no owner?” The owner of the palace then looks out and says, “I am the owner.” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z”l, interprets this as Abraham’s refusal to accept the world’s injustices and to partner with God to extinguish the flames. To be like Abraham, we must “fight those flames by acts of justice and compassion that deny evil its victory and bring the world that is a little closer to the world that ought to be.”

Rebecca, by contrast, might comfort those burned by the flames or trapped in the palace. Where Abraham fights the flames, Rebecca soothes the scorched. Together, the approaches of Abraham and Rebecca illustrate that the covenant demands more than justice or care — it requires both. Justice confronts systems; care tends to broken spirits.

This is especially important because there is a danger when Abraham’s ethic of justice is taken to an extreme and turned inward. This danger becomes evident in Isaac’s life following the Akedah (the binding of Isaac) and the subsequent death of his mother, Sarah — arguably a result of the Akedah. The man who was almost sacrificed, perhaps wounded by his father’s righteous fervor, withdraws into himself. Isaac becomes passive, detached, and constrained by the weight of the Akedah’s justice-driven legacy.

The Torah went a step further than Gilligan, showing how the ethic of care not only complements the ethic of justice, but also redeems it. Rebecca’s simple kindness reintroduces human connection into Isaac’s life. Genesis poignantly tells us that Isaac loved Rebecca, and that her presence finally comforted him after his mother’s death.

Like Abraham arguing for Sodom, we may be called to fight for justice. Like Rebecca, we may be called to care — to offer a kind word, a listening ear, a steady hand. Last week, I witnessed this in action. My friend couldn’t help bring our precious hostages home, but her care helped. When the world burns, sometimes we fight the flames. Other times, we comfort those caught in them. Both are needed.