Abraham at the Akeidah
The Torah, as usual, is tight-lipped about Abraham’s emotions when he received the command to offer up his son. No weeping, no trembling, not even a deep sigh. Just action.
But the Midrash paints a strikingly different picture. It describes Abraham as ecstatic—overjoyed at the opportunity to offer to God the most precious thing in his life. Like a father escorting his son to the wedding canopy, Abraham led Isaac to the Akeidah.
This raises a thorny question. Philosophers (see, for example, Maimonides in Shemonah Perakim, chapter 6) have long debated: Who is more deserving of reward—the one who delights in doing good, or the one who wrestles his baser instincts into submission?
The Sages taught: Lefum tza’ara agra—reward is measured by effort. The greater the struggle, the greater the prize. By that logic, Abraham, the joyous servant, seems to be at a disadvantage. If he embraced the task eagerly, was his sacrifice worth less? Was he less deserving of reward because his love of God was so absolute?
The Candidate Quest
A wealthy landowner needed someone to manage his vast estate—a man of skill, knowledge, and sound judgment. Someone to oversee the dairy, crops, vineyards, and orchards. But where to find such a person?
He set out across the countryside in search of the right candidate.
One evening, he stopped at a small-town inn and ordered a first-class feast. The innkeeper obliged. The table groaned under the weight of delicacies—roasted meats, cheeses, fresh bread, fine wine—everything a man of means could want.
The next morning, the landowner asked for the bill. The innkeeper produced it at once, neatly itemized. “I bought everything fresh from the market,” he explained. “Easy to calculate.”
The landowner paid and went on his way.
The next night, another inn, another feast—just as grand. But when it came time to settle the bill, the second innkeeper hesitated.
“What’s the problem? Don’t you keep exact records of your expenses?” the landowner asked.
“Well,” said the innkeeper, rubbing his chin. “That’s the thing. I didn’t buy anything. The fowl and the meat come from my own livestock. The eggs, cheese, and butter—I make those myself. The wine is from my own vines, the fruits and vegetables from my garden. So I’m not sure what to charge you.”
The landowner beamed. Finally, a man who knew his business. “Forget the bill,” he said. “I have a better offer. Come work for me. Manage my estate.”
The innkeeper accepted his offer on the spot.
After they signed a contract, the landowner paused. “The feast he provided was just as good as the first one,” he thought. “Why should he be paid less simply because he didn’t have to spend money on it?”
So he did what was fair: he paid the second innkeeper exactly what he had paid the first.
The Reward for the Naturally Righteous
Some struggle against their nature, battling temptation with gritted teeth and clenched fists. Their efforts are immense, and so is their reward. Others—rare souls—feel no struggle at all. They live for goodness. They love helping others. Their service is not a fight but a joy.
And is that worth less?
So it was with Abraham. He did not wrestle with doubt. He did not waver. He strode forward, willing and eager. And for that, he was no less rewarded.
God told Abraham, “Because you have done this”—serving Me with joy—“I will surely bless you.” I will bless you, just as I bless and reward those who battle their nature and overcome.”
(Mishlei Yaakov, pp. 37-39)