In Biblical Hebrew, Hagar’s name means the “stranger,” “foreigner,” “immigrant,” or “transient.” When her employer, Sarah, banishes her from the household, many readers scold her mistress Sarah for rejecting the stranger. But Sarah never criticizes Hagar’s foreignness.
Only the narrator makes a big deal of Hagar’s foreignness. And only to show how quickly it can fade. In describing Hagar’s encounter with the angel of God, the narrator contrasts the root ger (immigrant, transient) with the root shuv (dwell, settle). We see Hagar’s own process of moving from foreigner to settler.
“She settled (teshev) across [from her son]…she settled down (teshev) across…the angel of God called to the transient (Hagar)…saying ‘what’s bothering you, transient (Hagar)?…the youth grew up and settled (vayeshev) in the wilderness…he settled (vayeshev) in the wilderness of Paran” (Gen 21:16-21).
Perhaps: Hagar knows that transience is not safe for her or for her son. The lack of security bothers her. After losing her place in Sarah’s household, Hagar determines to put down roots. Her decision is fulfilled in the next generation, as her son is settled and accepted.
How long does it take to shed foreignness? Ideally, says Torah, a mere two generations. You plan, let go of fear, learn a trade, find an open space; your children become a useful part of the scene.
But today – this week, this month – this common human process has become a magnet for grievances. All social problems will be solved, people imagine, if foreigners disappear. But who is a foreigner? In the frenzy, third-generation settlers reject second-generation settlers. Fourth-generation settlers reject thousand-generation, now Indigenous, people. The angriest among us cannot even tell who is who. Reason – and revelation – would suggest a different way of solving problems.
For more reflections on Parshat Vayera (Genesis 18:1-22:24), click here.
Image: Spy vs. spy
Excellent reference to the Old Testament, and so true in these times.
Thank you, Jessica! Current events made me see the story differently. Shavua tov.
I always see myself as “a stranger among strangers”. When a life
begins in an orphanage one always feels as a stranger. I was
nobody’s child, I’m nobody’s wife and nobody’s mother. No roots.
Exiled from everyone and everywhere. I feel a deep connection
and compassion toward Hagar, the stranger. Rejected, always. And
yet the stranger’s son is the father of a great nation.
Or Shalom was the ONLY exception. And yet I left. I’m back
home, “home”? Where is home exactly? Do I deserve to have a
place or a community I can call “home”. Will I ever feel at “home”?
Among strangers perhaps?
And here we are, back to square one, “who is a stranger”?
According to whom standards?
Thank you, Michele, for this truthful and deeply felt comment. I think I have not reflected enough on the connections between political and personal experiences of being a stranger. Thank you.