Parasha Lech Lecha

Like Terach or Abraham?

This evening I am going to do something quite audacious.  This evening I am going to do something very bold, something that I have never done before on a pulpit. This evening I am going to do something that requires a lot of hutzpah – or "choots-spa", as Michelle Bachman would say. This evening I am going to disagree with one of the greatest sages who ever lived!   I am going to take issue with one of the greatest Jewish minds of the 20^th century.  Who is this great Jewish sage who our fearless rabbi is about to take on, you are asking yourselves?  Why, none other than The Chofetz Chayim!

For those of you who have not heard of him, The Chofetz Chaim was born in Europe in 1838. Despite his recognition as a scholar and an extraordinarily righteous man, he refused to accept a pulpit and lived in a small town where his wife supported them running a grocery shop.  The Chofetz Chayim was able to devote himself to studying and writing and teaching Torah.  He is best known for his book on Lashaon Harah – gossip – and for his Mishnah Berurah, a 6 volume commentary on the Shulchan Aruch, the authoritative work of Jewish law. The Chofetz Chaim died in 1933.

Each week this year I have been studying a selection from the Chofetz Chaim's Torah commentaries.  This week he cites the verse in this week's Torah portion, "Abraham took his family and his possessions and went forth to go to the Land of Caanan – and he came to the land of Caanan." He compares this to a verse about Terach, Abraham's father that we read last week.  There the Torah says, "Terach went forth from Ur Kasdim to go to the Land of Caanan, and he came to the city of Haran, and he settled there."  Comparing these two verses teaches us a valuable lesson, says the C.C.  We should be like Abraham and not like Terach. When we set out to do something, we must not deviate from our goal nor change our plans, like Terah did – we should continue until we accomplish our task, as Abraham shows us.  We must persevere until we reach our goal.

Therein lays my disagreement with the Chofetz Chaim.  Here is where I take issue!  I am going to argue, and I am going to show you here this evening, that sometimes you need to be like Terach, and change your mind, and not be like Abraham, and persevere in your journey.  I am going to prove this to you by telling you the true story of and Israeli man named Nadav ben Yehudah.

Last May Nadav ben Yehuda, set off to become the youngest Israeli ever to climb to the top of Mt. Everest.  Nadav was only 24 years old.  With a summit of 29,000 feet, or almost 6 miles above sea level, Mount Everest is the tallest mountain in the world and a very dangerous one to scale.  The first known person to reach the summit was Sir Edmund Hilary, in 1953. Two hundred and sixteen people have lost their lives trying to climb Mt. Everest.  Their bodies usually remain on the mountain – it is too dangerous to bring them down to give them a proper burial. They are well preserved because of the cold.  Climbers pass them on their way to the summit, a grisly reminder of their own fate should they falter on the way.

On an average day in May, when Nadav tried to reach the Mt. Everest summit, the temperature reaches a high of minus 17 Fahrenheit, and the winds howl at 50 mph.  The air is so thin that it only contains 1/3 of the oxygen of sea level air. 

Yet Nadav ben Yehudah is a profession mountaineer.  He had always dreamed of climbing to the top of Mt. Everest.  He dreamed of the glory that would accompany his achievement, the riches that would be sure to follow, and the name he would make for himself in the annals of Jewish history. On the night before his assault on the summit, he slept at a camp about a half mile below the peak.  He didn't get a good night's sleep. Perhaps he was thinking about the six people who had already died this year trying to make the summit.  Perhaps it was the rickety tent or the bed of rocks he slept on that night at camp. He woke before sunrise and set off for the top of the world. He was about 900 feet below his goal, and it appeared he would reach the top of Everest before sunrise.  He was so close, he could taste the triumph!

It was then that he recognized a figure sprawled out beside an icy ridge before him, unconscious.  It was Aydin Irmak, a Turkish climber who Nadav had met at the base camp.  A number of climbers had already passed the unconscious climber on their way to the summit.  Nadav ben Yehudah had a choice to make. He could pass by the helpless climber, as others had, and leave him to die from exposure.  Or, he could abandon his quest for the top of Mt. Everett and try to rescue the half frozen Irmak.  Even if he tried to get him down the mountain, there was no guarantee that he would get him down alive.  Perhaps both of them would perish in the rescue attempt.

What would you do in that situation?  Attempt a dangerous rescue that had only a modest chance of succeeding?  Or climb to the top of Everest, only 900 feet away, and become the youngest Israeli ever to do so.  Fame and fortune were within his reach. Nadav knew that he had to make a choice. He could not do both.

I will let Nadav Ben Yehudah tell you his choice in his own words.  ""People passed him by and didn't do a thing. I didn't think for a second about politics – the fact that he was Turkish and I was Israeli. I also didn't think about the glory. All I thought about is that I can save this person – and that's what I did."

So Nadav abandoned his quest for the summit and turned back. Nadav had to carry the injured Turk down the mountain alone, attached to a harness.  It took ten hours to get him to the base camp.  Both were flown by helicopter to Katmandu and hospitalized. Ayden Irmak survived and regained his health. Nadav suffered severe frostbite if his fingers because during the rescue he had to remove his gloves.  "I hope the doctors don't have to amputate them," he said, "because I want to keep climbing".

In our study group on Thursday we were discussing a passage from Isaiah about the uncertainty of life.  In this context Rabbi Rami Shapiro wrote, "G-d is asking you to live without certainty; knowing only the way – justice, kindness, and compassion – and giving no thought to the destination."  Nadav ben Yehudah certainly had a destination – the top of Mt. Everest.  But when uncertainty crossed his path, his "way" became not the shortest path to the summit. His way was his justice, his kindness, and his compassion.  It was no detour. He was on that path all along.

Our world, for the most part, looks at things the other way around.  It values the destination more than the way we achieve it.  Witness the athletes, for whom winning is more important than the way they wins. Witness the bankers for whom making a profit is more important than the way they make a profit. And yes, witness the politicians for whom getting elected is far more important than the way they get elected.  Witness all the climbers who made their way around an injured fellow in their single minded attempt to reach the top of the world.

Nadav ben Yehudah never reached the heights of Mt. Everest.  I think you will agree with me that he reached heights far greater than that.  I think the Chofetz Chaim would have been proud of Nadav ben Yehudah.  May he serve as an example and as a reminder to us all.  Yes, we should persevere in our goals, like Abraham.  But we ought not to be so single minded that we shunt aside our values on the way to reaching our destination.  Sometimes, it is better to be like Terach.   Shabbat Shalom

 

 

Parasha Noah

Servant or Partner?

We are smack in the middle of the college football season and talk has begun about who is a candidate for the Heisman Trophy, the award for the best player in college football. Geno Smith, the quarterback for West Virginia, is a leading candidate for the award.  However, his team suffered a humiliating 49-14 loss to Texas Tech, and Smith had a below par game, passing for only 275 yards and one touchdown. Smith has completed over 75% of his passes this season over 6 games, but in the Texas Tech game he completed only 52% of his passes.  This led ESPN sports curmudgeon Skip Bayless to say about Smith, "He is a great quarterback on a mediocre team.  Just think how much greater he could be if he were on a good team."

Perhaps more than in any other sport, the people who surround you on the football field are crucial to a player's effectiveness and ultimate success on the field.  Because of the team that Geno Smith plays on, he may not get the award as the best college football player in the land.  He may never reach his full potential as a college football player.  Something similar to that reasoning is operating as the rabbis evaluate Noah.  In the beginning of our Parasha, the Torah describes Noah as "a righteous man – he was complete in his age – Noah walked with G-d."  Some rabbis interpreted this to mean that Noah was righteous compared to others of his generation. Had he lived in any other generation, he would not have been considered righteous at all.  In other words, he was head and shoulders above everyone else, but everyone else was hopelessly flawed.  Other rabbis, however, interpret this to mean that Noah was righteous despite the corrupting influences of the generation in which he lived.  This is especially praiseworthy. Had he had better people surrounding him, he could have achieved even greater heights.

Whether in team sports or in life, the people who we surround ourselves with really matter.  They can either support us to reach our full potential, or they can hold us back so we can never truly become our best selves.  The rabbis advised, in the collection "Pirke Avot" that one should "uproot oneself to a place of Torah, and do not say that it will come after you.  Only with a community can your study be fortified." 

One cannot be a Jew alone, in isolation.  In using the term "uproot oneself" the rabbis are acknowledging that at times one has to overcome inertia to be a part of a Jewish community.  We have to uproot ourselves from in front of the television, uproot ourselves from our couch, uproot ourselves from our daily routine to make Jewish participation and study a regular part of our lives.  As the midrash says, "If a person does not come after words of Torah, it is unlikely that words of Torah will come after him."  If we fail to pursue a Jewish life, a Jewish life will not pursue us, and we will not be complete.

The Torah describes Noah as walking WITH G-d and "being complete".  In contrast, G-d says to Abraham in next week's parasha, "Walk BEFORE me and become complete".  This difference in wording gives us a clue to Noah's character.  With Noah, there doesn't appear to be any room for growth.  Noah is already complete.  Noah is a finished product.  What we see is a man totally submissive to G-d.  G-d tells Noah that G-d is going to destroy the world and he should build an ark. Noah doesn't argue with G-d about the justice or wisdom of this plan. Noah does not try to get his community to repent and thereby avoid destruction. Noah just builds an ark. G-d tells Noah to load his family into the ark, along with two of every kind of animal.  Noah carries out that order too. He doesn't protest that the animals will be smelly and noisy!  Nowhere do we see Noah engaging in any kind of dialogue with G-d.  Noah does what he is told.

Even in the construction of the ark we glimpse Noah's submissiveness.  The ark is not really a boat. Rabbi Baruch Melman points out that if we look at the instructions in the Torah, the ark is built in a rectangular shape, with square edges and a flat bottom.  The ark is more like a "tub" than it is a boat – in fact, the word "tub" may have its origins in the Hebrew word for ark – teba".  The ark has no steering mechanisms.  It will float, but it cannot be guided by Noah.  This is in keeping with Noah's character – he is perfectly comfortable with his journey being completely guided by G-d.

Here is a difference between Noah and Abraham.  Noah walks "with G-d" – Abraham walks "before G-d".  This conjures up an image of the child who doesn't want to hold his parents hand.  He wants independence.  Abraham does listen to G-d – after all, he does leave his homeland to travel to Canaan at G-d's command. But when he gets there, he finds a famine in the land. He decides, on his own, to descend to Egypt. While there, he realizes that he and his wife are physically vulnerable, and he devises a plan to protect themselves --without any input from G-d.  When he returns to the land of Canaan there are problems between him and his nephew Lot.  Abraham comes up with a solution without G-d advising him. When Lot is taken captive in war, Abraham doesn't wait around for G-d to tell him what to do. Abraham saddles up 318 men and rides to the rescue.  When G-d tells Abraham that he will have a child with Sarah his wife, Abraham laughs at the preposterous thought of such elderly people having a child.  He responds with an alternative suggestion – "Let my son Ishamael live by your favor!" 

By the time G-d contemplates the destruction of Sodom and Gommorah, G-d cannot imagine carrying out the plan without first sharing it with Abraham.  Abraham has become a true partner with G-d.  Abraham even convinces G-d not to destroy the cities if there can be found ten righteous people living in them. I cannot imagine Abraham getting into a boat that he could not steer.

We Jews are the Children of Abraham.  It is Abraham, not Noah, who serves as our model for a relationship with G-d.  It is partnership with, not submission to, G-d that is our guiding principal in our relationship to the divine.  When Abraham heard that his nephew Lot had been kidnapped, he did not throw up his hands and say, "Well, that must be part of G-d's plan."  When G-d shared with Abraham that He was going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham did not respond "Thy will be done".  That was Noah's way, not Abraham's way.  We Jews are not so much servants of G-d, like Noah, as we are partners with G-d, like Abraham.  We are partners with G-d in bringing G-d's holiness into our world.  In working to do so, we, like Abraham, can grow to become more complete human beings.

 

Shabbat Shalom                                                                                                               Friday, October 19, 2012

 

Shabbat Chol HaMoed Sukkot

The Sukkah of Peace

The prayer, Hashkivenu, which we say on Friday night, contains the phrase "sukat Shelomecha" three times.  It concludes with the blessing, "Ufros alenu Sukat shlomecha" – spread over us the Sukkah of Your peace.  The question I would like to explore this Shabbat Chol HaMoed Succot – this Intermediate Sabbath of Succoth – is "what does a Sukkah have to do with peace?  Why does our prayer compare peace to a Sukkah?"

One suggestion is that like a Sukkah, peace is fragile and temporary.[1]  Indeed!  In 2011 alone there were 26 active armed conflicts in the world, an increase in two from 2010. ^[2]  One worldwide organization puts together what it calls the Global Peace index, a ranking of the amount of peace enjoyed by each country in the world. New Zealand is rated the most peaceful country in the world, followed by Iceland and Japan. Fifteen of the top twenty countries are Western or Central European states. The Scandanavian countries all rank in the top ten. The United States was ranked 85^th most peaceful country.  Two wars, a high prison population and high rates of violent crime and homicide contribute to our relatively low ranking on the peaceful country scale. [3]  Forget about peace being fragile and temporary. This makes it sound completely unattainable, far from our reach.  I hate to be a pessimist, but the most we can hope for, it would seem, is some respite from war and conflict in this troubled world of ours.  The Sukkah, easily blown down by the wind, open to the elements, here for a short duration and then gone, reminds us of how difficult it is to bring lasting peace into the world.

Here is another thought about the association of a Sukkah with peace.  A Sukkah is a place of hospitality. Hospitality is synonymous with care and protection and peace.  In former times, it was customary for a family that was eating in the Sukkah to invite at least one poor person to the dinner table.  Then there is the kabbalistic custom of Ushpizin.  On each night of the holiday, traditional Jews invite one of the seven exalted men of Israel to take up residence in the Sukkah – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron and David.  Each of these exalted people also reminds us of our obligation to protect the vulnerable and the uprooted – Abraham left his birthplace, Isaac traveled to Gerar, Jacob fled his brother Esau, Joseph was sold to Egypt, Moses and Aaron wandered in the desert, and David fled from King Saul. 

Hospitality is still a sacred obligation in parts of our world. Marcus Luttrell, a Navy seal, was the sole survivor of a battle in Afghanistan. He and three other Seal commandos were on a mission to hunt down an al-Qaeda terrorist leader hiding in a Taliban stronghold.  Injured and bleeding, he eluded six al Qaeda assassins who were trying to finish him off.  He made his way to a Pashtun village. The tribe took him in and risked everything to protect him.  He came under the law of hospitality, he wrote, considered "strictly non-negotiable".  "They were committed to defend me against the Taliban until there was not one left alive."

This same law of hospitality prompted Abraham to offer food and shelter to three strangers who happened by his home. It is the same law of hospitality that prompted Lot to protect the angels who visited him in Sodom from the angry crowd who wanted to harm them.  We shudder at the price he was willing to pay – to hand over his daughters as a substitute – but the point is the same. The Law of Hospitality says that we protect those who come under our roofs even at the expense of our loved ones.

I offer one final though about the association of a Sukkah with peace.  Succoth is the only holiday on our calendar that we publically celebrate outdoors. In fact, although we may be tempted to build a Sukkah in our family room, and thereby avoid the cold or inclement weather of our area in October, it is not valid to build a Sukkah indoors. It has to be outdoors, for all to see. It makes perfect sense, then, that the Sukkah is such a humble dwelling.  Since they are such humble dwellings, and others will see it, they are unlikely to stir up envy -- and envy is a threat to peace.

When Jacob sent his sons to Egypt to seek provisions for the famine, he cautioned them not to make themselves conspicuous. Rashi explains that Jacob was warning them not to show that they still had provisions to eat and they were not yet going hungry. Jacob was concerned this would stir up envy among the pagan tribes living in the area. In a commentary to this, the Stone Chumash notes that this has been the theme of many leaders who exhorted their fellow Jews not to flaunt their wealth to their neighbors, as that can stir up envy.  "Whatever food Jacob's family had was honestly acquired," writes the Stone Chumash, "but even honest resources should be displayed judiciously."   

"Spread over us the Sukkah of Your Peace" asks our prayer.  We are reminded in using this language that peace is fragile like a Sukkah, and impermanent.  "Spread over us the Sukkah of Your Peace" asks G-d to be with us and protect us, at least as well  as human beings protect and care for the guests that dwells within their homes.  "Spread over us the shelter of Your Peace" teaches us that we should be modest and judicious in displaying our wealth, for we do not wish to incur envy, which is a threat to peace.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

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[1] This was suggested by Rabbi Marc Saperstein of the Leo Baeck College of London in a d'var torah to students

[2] http://www.ploughshares.ca/content/2012-armed-conflicts-report

[3] http://www.visionofhumanity.org/news/global-index-finds-world-has-become-less-peaceful/

October Newsletter Article

Between Israel and the Nations

When I practiced as a psychotherapist I learned a valuable lesson – what people tell you is not nearly as important, at times, as what people leave out. So it peaks my interest when our newsletter editor quotes from the Havdalah blessing that is in our prayer book, Kol Haneshama.  "Blessed are You……..who separates between holy and ordinary, between light and dark, between the seventh day and the six days of work."  What phrase did our prayer book leave out of the traditional blessing? It is the phrase "Bein yisrael le-amim" -- "Between Israel and the nations."  The traditional prayer blesses G-d for separating Israel from the rest of the nations of the world.  Our Reconstructionist prayer book omits these words, without offering an explanation.

Our prayer book does have a note, on page 444, which is relevant to the editorial decision to delete this phrase from our Havdalah prayer. "The traditional Aleynu ….. has troubled Reconstructionist Jews because it implies inferiority of other faiths and other peoples," explain the editors.  They are concerned about Jewish chauvinism.  They are concerned that Jewish people will understand the prayer as saying not that Jews are "different" from others, but that Jews are "better" than others.  That is a legitimate worry, as Heaven knows we have our Jewish chauvinists.  Throughout the prayer book, the editors address this issue by changing the traditional language of the few prayers that can be misinterpreted in this way.

Or, perhaps, it is the idea that Jews are "different" that makes us uncomfortable.  As Chicago writer Joseph Epstein beautifully puts it, "At the center of Judaism, if not always at the center of Jewish life, is separateness. Part of the burden of being, as the Bible specified, G-d's "chosen people" was that Jews were to declare and maintain their separateness, which they did in myriad ways: through circumcision, through dietary laws, through hundreds of small rituals that qualified a Jew to call himself 'observant'."

Jews have been struggling with the issue of separateness ever since the French National Assembly invited Jews to become French citizens with the same rights and obligations as other Frenchmen in 1791. If "separateness" is indeed, as Epstein says, at the center of Jewish life, how does one maintain it while fully participating in the national life of the country in which one is a citizen? If we give up most of the ways that set us apart – dietary laws, reading Hebrew, synagogue attendance, most home rituals, Sabbath observance, Jewish study – as many have, how do we maintain our difference as a distinct people?  How do the Jewish people keep from being swallowed up by the majority culture if we fail to practice our distinctive way of life? We are caught between a rock and a hard place. Epstein quotes writer Frederic Raphael in a lecture on Anti-Semitism: "If assimilated, the Jew becomes indistinguishable; if he insists on being indigestible he sticks in the throat of the world." [1]

Such dilemmas cannot be addressed by deleting some words from our prayer book.  Let the words remain, and make us uncomfortable, so we are forced to struggle with the issue of separateness and assimilation.

 

 

 

 

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[1] Epstein, Joseph  Envy  Oxford University Press 2003