Sarah came home to the tent one day very het up. Avraham came over to ask her what was troubling her, and Sarah let rip.
“The ladies by the well are all talking about me! They’re telling me that instead of staying home and kneading dough all day, I should go and get a job as a secretary, so you can just devote yourself to learning Torah, like a real gadol hador!”
Avraham was taken aback.
“Well, but if you do that, Sarah my love, who’s going to look after young Yitzhak?” Sarah shrugged her shoulders, and said in a hesitant voice:
“Well, I saw an ad in the local Pirsumit magazine that Hagar’s started up a new childcare facility. I think she’s roped Yishmael into keeping the kids entertained by showing them how to catch rabbits, or something…”
Avraham shook his head solemnly.
“Sarah, my love, this doesn’t sound right at all. How are we meant to pass on our holy Jewish beliefs and heritage to our son if he’s off shooting pigeons with his somewhat reckless brother? (Avraham always excelled in phrasing things gently.)
“How would that benefit us? How would that build the world? No, my dear, you stay home and look after our precious son, and I’ll continue to study Torah every chance I get, when I don’t have to look after the estate or make small-talk with the locals.”
Sarah cheered up tremendously, once she heard Avraham’s wise words, and disappeared off to her tent to get the next batch of dough prepared.
But the ladies of the well weren’t about to give up so easily. Sarah and Avraham were so, well, old-fashioned, and stick in the mud. It was obvious to everyone (except them…) that if a couple were really serious about the Torah, the woman had to make sacrifices to enable her husband to learn 24/7.
They dispatched Zipporah, the group’s self-styled rebbetzin, to try and persuade Sarah to come round to their more enlightened view. Zipporah knocked on the tent door, just as Sarah was plaiting her challah.
“Hmm, baking again, I see,” said Zipporah, with a condescending little smile playing around her mouth.
“I love to bake!” Sarah told her, eyes shining. “It fills the whole tent with such a delicious, homey smell.”
Zipporah hrrmphed to herself, then sat herself down next to Sarah’s kneading bowl, and put a clammy hand on Sarah’s floury one, in what she hoped was an earnest, caring way.
“Sarah, I heard that Berman’s bakery up the road is looking for a new manager. You’d be perfect! No-one makes challah like you, and once you start doing your bit for the family, Avraham won’t have to waste so much time dealing with the shepherds and well-diggers. You’ll be able to afford to hire someone to manage the estate for you, while he sits in learns…In fact, I know just the person. My sister-in-law, Estie, would fit the bill perfectly.”
Sarah’s smile froze on her face.
“Zipporah, I don’t want to work. I want to raise my children. I’ve discussed it with Avraham, and he agrees that that is the right thing to do. Eliezer is helping us out, in the meantime, so let Estie take the job at Bermans’, and then everyone’s happy.”
Zipporah had had enough.
“Sarah! You are being so selfish! You’re married to the gadol hador, and it’s just not right that you’re not enabling him to learn Torah full time! I’m sure God would prefer for Avraham to be teaching and learning Torah, than having to haggle over the bushel price for goats’ wool!”
Sarah snapped back:
“If that’s true, Zipporah, then WHY did God make it the man’s responsibility to provide for his wife, and not the other way round? Avraham signed the ketuba, not me!”
Zipporah rolled her eyes skyward. Gosh, that old chestnut again. I mean, it’s just a ketuba, for goodness’ sake. No-one else took that seriously. But trust Sarah to take things at face value…
Zipporah stood up to leave.
“I see I can’t change your mind,” she said stiffly. “I have no idea how you expect to get a good shidduch for Yitzhak, with your warped beliefs that men should be off supporting their families. I expect you’ll get some lay-about daughter-in-law who thinks making a pot of soup is a big achievement. And the generation will just have to be an orphaned generation, bereft of your husband’s Torah, because you won’t swallow your pride and your funny ideas, and start your own hair accessory business…”
Sarah nodded curtly at her guest, and escorted her out the tent entrance.
Sure, Avraham’s Torah was hugely important. But if Yitzhak went off the derech, then who’d be around to learn it? Or to live it? Or to pass it on to the next generation? In her heart, Sarah knew that she’d picked the right job, whatever Zipporah and the ladies of the well might say.