Alter not only accepts a previous translator's substitution of ''cleaver'' for the ''knife'' of the King James version but also changes ''slay'' (as in, ''Abraham took the knife to slay his son'') to ''slaughter.'' Moreover, in his notes, he points out that although this particular Hebrew verb for ''bound'' (as in, ''Abraham bound Isaac his son'') occurs only this once in biblical Hebrew, making its meaning uncertain, we can nonetheless take a hint from the fact that when the word reappears in rabbinic Hebrew it refers specifically to the trussing up of animals. Alter's translation thus suggests a dimension of this eerie tale we would probably have overlooked: that of editorial comment. The biblical author, by using words more suited to butchery than ritual sacrifice, lets us know that he is as horrified as we are at the brutality of the act that God has asked Abraham to commit.

Rabbi Michael Beale contrasts a time for silence with a time for speaking.

I find the silence in today's Second Day Rosh Hashana reading to be deafening. I cannot stand the silence. It makes my heart burst. In a classic two thousand year old midrash, Rabbi Akiva described four reactions to suffering: "A king has four sons: one would be silent when beaten; one would kick out; one would entreat forgiveness; and one would ask for more punishment. Abraham was like the first son, the one who remained silent when suffering. Today's Torah reading recounts the binding and near sacrifice of Isaac, also called the Akeida. In that story, God said to Abraham, 'Take your son.' Abraham could have said to God, 'But I don‚t understand. Yesterday, You told me, 'In Isaac your seed will be named,' promising a long legacy from Isaac.' Abraham could have begged for his son Isaac's life. But Abraham says nothing. He leaves the world behind and climbs to cloud-ringed mountains with Isaac, in silence." The silence between Abraham and God is deafening.
Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav also takes note of this terrible silence. The only words spoken between Isaac and his father Abraham are, "Where is the sheep for the sacrifice?" Reb Nachman hears in this question the pregnant echoes of all ayeh (where?) questions: "Where is the place of God's glory?" In this obscurity, humanity knows God as distant, yielding to no form of words other than the howl of loss and loneliness. The silence between Isaac and Abraham is deafening.

He goes on to quote Aviva Zornberg, Ellen Frankel, and Lawrence Kushner. A thought-provoking read.