Ten years ago, I had the experience of being on the founding staff for Camp Twelve Trails, a new Jewish Day Camp based in New York City. During staff training week I was tasked with naming the tribes (i.e.: bunk units) for the camp. As the lead Jewish educator, I leaned into the camp’s name “Twelve Trails” and turned toward the ancient Hebrew names associated with the twelve Israelite tribes. There was only one problem: This was not an all-boys camp, and there were no tribes named after women. Although I could name some of the tribes after the twelve tribes in the Torah, there needed to be some female tribe names. Miriam was an obvious choice as a major Jewish leader alongside her brothers Aaron and Moses, but I needed at least one more. I landed on Hagar.
I hesitated initially on this idea of Hagar. How could I choose a non-Jewish character in the Torah to represent a tribe within a Jewish camp? Then again, being Jewish was not a prerequisite for attending Twelve Trails. As a JCC-style camp, many of the campers and staff were folks of other faith traditions. So we decided to have Hagar be the name of the fifth tribe. Only years later did it occur to me that Hagar’s inclusion represented a voice that had been silent and overlooked, like the biblical Hagar. Her inclusion reminded us of the stories we sometimes forget to tell, even when they are front and center. If given a chance, what would Hagar have wanted to say to those who might attempt to remember her many generations later? Perhaps she would have written this letter to the staff of Camp Twelve Trails.
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Dear Tribe of Hagar,
Well this is unexpected to say the least. Perhaps “bittersweet” better describes it. Of course, I am honored that my name will be connected to songs and rituals at a camp that will bring joy to many children. Who doesn’t want that? But you have chosen the name of someone with a complicated legacy, especially in the ancient Hebrew texts, and you should understand that legacy. Who knows? Sometimes when we learn someone else’s story, the byproduct is learning about ourselves in the process. That is my hope.
My story is limited to a few verses in the early chapters of Genesis. I was born enslaved, but you could say luckily so. Not everyone gets to belong to Abraham, father of the Jewish people and the man who is credited for discovering monotheism. Abraham was known for treating his servants exceptionally well. His family members, not so much. Maybe I should have just stayed enslaved and avoided all the trouble. But he was so good to his extended staff of servants and enslaved people. I felt a loyalty to my master that was shared widely. We really trusted him.
My life trajectory changed almost instantly when Abraham promoted me to be his second wife. I said yes so quickly that I’m not even sure it was a choice. How could I resist this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a major upgrade in social status? Little did I know the hidden costs of such an arrangement.
Sarah, Abraham’s first wife, seemed completely on board with this arrangement at first. She was too old to give birth. She needed someone younger to bear Abraham’s child, the one who would inherit all their property. More importantly, Abraham needed an heir to fulfill G-d’s promise. After all, G-d told Abraham he would be a father of a great nation. In order to be a father, you need to have a child.
Let it be known that it was Sarah’s idea to bring me into this role. I was not Sarah’s equal. I knew my place and I had a job to do. The last thing I wanted was to get between Abraham and Sarah. You never heard me complain. In fact, no one heard me speak. The only words I ever spoke in the Torah were directed to G-d. By the way, me and the G-d of the Hebrews, we had a strong connection. For that I’ll always be grateful.
Even before I gave birth to Ishmael, Abraham’s firstborn son, things got really tense in our home. Sarah turned on me, accusing me of looking down on her. I tried to downplay being pregnant, but I think the combination of my youth and performing the one thing she could not was too much for her. She kicked me out of the house for a few days without water. I almost lost the pregnancy. It felt hopeless. When I finally cried out to G-d, G-d gave me the courage to return to the house and carry this baby to term. I wish I could say it was a healthy environment to raise a child. Born in a home with a mother, father, and a very jealous step-mom, I don’t think anyone was happy in this arrangement.
You might have thought the situation would improve when Sarah miraculously gave birth to Isaac a few years later. But the foundation of mistrust, envy, and not-enoughness was already the emotional bedrock of this family. Not a great start for the nation G-d promised Abraham.
With Isaac born, all of a sudden my entire role in this family became uncertain. Who would be next in line for G-d’s blessing and Abraham’s primary inheritance? Traditionally, the assumption was that all went to the eldest son. Ishmael, my son, was the elder son. Yet it was clear upon Isaac’s arrival that the younger child was the true heir. An emotional volcano was brewing in our home. Ishmael’s reason to exist in this prominent family had to be reconfigured. Was he just a mistake then? Each day, I had to look at him and not say the thought I was thinking: “I’m sorry, my son, but you are not meant to be who I bore you to be. You are not getting what you were promised.” This was the devastating reality he knew in his bones and was far too young to integrate with patience and grace.
That was underneath the surface. Soon however, cracks along the family fault lines became too visible to hide. They began manifesting as competition between Ishmael and Isaac. Abraham refused to play favorites at first, but he was bound to Sarah. He tried to hide any loyalties to Ishmael from Sarah, but she could tell. Struck by fear and despair, over time Abraham’s outward expressions of love and attention to Ishmael diminished. Ishmael was devastated. As his resentment of his stepmother, Sarah, grew, I had to do everything in my power to redirect his justifiable rage. But that rage came out against Isaac.
At first Ishmael took on Isaac as his little brother that he loved, but their companionship began to turn. Two brothers can sometimes understandably be a little mean to each other, but in the context of our dysfunctional family unit, with most of the goodwill gone, Sarah had little tolerance. She accused Ishmael of incessantly making fun of Isaac, essentially bullying him. Everyone suffered. Isaac seemed to adopt the position of his mother, who tried but failed to hide her resentment of me as best she could. Everyone was somehow stuck in the middle, but no one more than Abraham. Two wives. Two sons. Too much accumulated rejection. Not enough love.
It all came to a breaking point. Sarah said it was about Ishmael and Isaac, but I know in my heart how she felt about me. It wasn’t hatred. She was simply allergic to my existence in her family. There was no purpose for us after Isaac was born other than to torment her. In Sarah’s mind, we had ruined her family. And she took action. Once again, she kicked me out along with Ishmael. We were removed not just from our home, but from our tribe and from everyone we had ever known. But unlike my previous banishment at the hands of Sarah, this time we were not allowed to return. Abraham packed us with limited water and provisions and sent us out. We had nowhere to go and were in total despair.
But the family of Abraham was not without its blessings, even those of us that were discarded. In our darkest hour, sitting on death’s doorstep, at the very last moment, G-d heard our cries and showed up for us. How we somehow merited attention from the G-d of the Hebrews, I will never fully grasp. We had no water and were stranded in the wilderness, forgotten by everyone. G-d remembered us. Somehow, G-d wanted us to live and that was just the beginning. In a series of events that were beyond my limited understanding of time and the laws of the universe, we were rescued and our fortunes changed dramatically. We weren’t simply saved from certain death; we were redeemed and blessed. G-d lifted us both from our agony and made a new promise to me directly: Ishmael would not only thrive, but he would be the father of a great nation. This was not about Abraham and any previous covenant. This was our renewed destiny. Just as suddenly, the script of our lives flipped again.
Now you know my story, as told in the “Book of Genesis.”
May you use my name in good health.
Hagar
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If the staff at Camp Twelve Trails had received this letter from Hagar, I wonder how they would have felt, particularly the 90% of them who identify with other faith traditions. Would they identify with her and consequently feel more of an affinity to the Jewish narrative? Or perhaps it might go the other way: Hagar as the enslaved one who is easily discarded by the actual Jewish ancestors could be a difficult pill to swallow.
Although it is a challenging story, I think we lose an important opportunity by glossing over Hagar in the Jewish tradition. Hagar’s story is not some minor tale buried in an obscure book. Yet, we don’t talk much about Hagar in Jewish spaces—except on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. This story gets retold every year on a glaringly overexposed moment in the Jewish calendar, when more Jews worldwide come to synagogues than any other day of the year. Whoever designed the Jewish holidays and their accompanying stories wanted Hagar and Ishmael front and center. And it’s not only in Jewish text. The Quran tells of parallel and overlapping Hagar and Ishmael stories. These are names people should know about. With such a high profile, skipping over these stories constitutes a massive missed opportunity. First, skillful educators can take Hagar’s story and teach it in light of the Jewish value of embracing difficulty and even opposing ideas, as a tool to navigate complex identities. This might also appeal to potential allies, given the pair’s appearance in both Christianity and Islam.
The second opportunity is in talking about families, both the good and the difficult. It is a risk to read tales of a family’s implosion, even from the Bible. To talk about Hagar is to tell the story of Isaac’s stepmother. Hagar’s story includes potentially triggering experiences like favoritism, estrangement, banishment and divorce. On the one hand, a day camp like Twelve Trails’ population consists almost entirely of young children, who might not have the tools to understand these issues. On the other hand, these stories actually mirror many realities a large portion of these children live with every day. Hagar’s story sheds light and gives language to everyday phenomena in huge numbers of camp families.
Whether using her name alongside the ancient tribes of Israel at your summer camp or in some other context, sharing Hagar’s legacy is a loaded topic, especially in a multifaith community. At the very least, Hagar’s is a feel-good underdog story, but she is so much more. She is a cautionary tale of failed religious pluralism, competing notions of who are G-d’s chosen people, and competing step-family dynamics. For all these reasons, it’s worth trying to include her story.