Even before
we begin the Torah reading today, I know you can picture the story. It is one of Judaism’s most perplexing reruns
- I can call it that because it is read twice a year from the Torah. God calls Abraham to take his son Isaac to a
specific mountain to offer a sacrifice there.
They embark on their journey. The
main moment of dialogue is when Isaac asks his father where the animal is for
the offering. Abraham tells his son God will provide whatever they need when
the time comes. They ascend Mount
Moriah, and the next “cry aloud” comes not from Isaac, or Abraham, but an
angel, who stops the action and prevents the tragedy at the last moment.
Many commentators on this tale have held up
Abraham as a great exemplar of faith because of his desire to do anything for
God. Others have asserted that the
lesson of the story may not be that one should follow God without asking
questions. After all, just 4 chapters before, Abraham had argued with God about
the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.
He convinced God to spare the cities even if there should be found only
10 righteous people in the population.
In this story of the journey to a far-off mountain, for some unknown
reason, Abraham lost his voice. What was
it that took away his ability to utter even a feeble protest?
The answer is still elusive for me, after
many years of speaking about this passage.
Rabbi Donniel Hartman, in his book PUTTING GOD SECOND: HOW TO SAVE
RELIGION FROM ITSELF, expressed his own
concerns about what this and other biblical stories might teach us. Looking at our world and people who practice
various religions, Hartman suggested that some people who are fervent about
their faith may become so focused on God that they will see or hear nothing
else. What he calls “God intoxication”
can lead a person or a group of people to apply and mobilize religious texts in
a way that defines some human beings out of the circle of salvation.
For Hartman, this type of God intoxication
and God mobilization is not religion at its best. Anyone who sees Abraham in this instance as a
superhero of faith might not be able to discover the best lesson of this story that can guide us in the New Year. And one thing that we know and admire about
superheroes is their usual desire to help people who are in danger and, when
necessary, to listen to a respected, external guiding voice turning him or her
to do good.
Early in his book, Hartman shared a
poignant story about balancing between faith and concern for our fellow human
beings.
A famous Hassidic master was walking along
a cobbled street in Eastern Europe some two hundred years ago, when he heard
the cry of a baby coming from his student’s house—a cry that pierced the night.
He rushed into the house and saw his student enraptured in prayer, swaying in
pious devotion. The rabbi walked over to the baby, took her into his arms, sat
down, and rocked her to sleep. When the student emerged from his prayers, he
was shocked and embarrassed to find his master in his house, holding his baby.
“Master,” he said, “what are you doing? Why are you here?” “I was walking in
the street when I heard crying,” he responded, “so I followed it and found her
alone.” “Master,” the student replied, “I was so engrossed in my prayers that I
did not hear her.” The master replied, “My dear student, if praying makes one
deaf to the cries of a child, there is something flawed in the prayer.”
The father who did not see or hear his
child was not acting like God, because God sees and hears people in distress in
some of the most important tales in the Torah. In Exodus Chapter 3, when God revealed the
divine presence to Moses from the burning bush, God said, “I have clearly seen
the plight of My people in Egypt and have heard their outcry because of their
taskmasters; yes, I am mindful of their sufferings.” And God knew that Moses was the right
person to lead the Israelites because he turned aside to see the wonder of a
bush that appeared to be burning but remained intact.
Various forms of the verb “see” appear in this
morning’s Torah reading. Abraham saw their destination from far away. He told his son that “God would see to the
ram for the offering.” But Abraham did
not truly see his son, at least, not at first.
What changed Abraham’s ability to see so
that he spared his Isaac? It was
something he heard. It was the cry of the angel, that declared, “Abraham! Abraham!
"Do not lay your hand on the lad; do nothing to him; for now I know
that you are one who reveres God!”
Abraham’s eyes were opened again so that he saw Isaac clearly, and he
saw the ram caught in a nearby thicket.
According to the Torah, that place gained the name ADONAI YIR’EH: the
place where God will see.
So we are called upon to hear and see
like God, and sometimes we need an angel nearby to make that happen.
In his book, Hartman encapsulates the
message of Judaism with the term “nonindifference.” That means that we are obligated not to ignore
the cry of someone who needs our help.
We are commanded to identify with people who are on the outside looking
in, because we have been in that position so many times throughout our history.
“A Jewish society,” Hartman said, “is one in which everyone is obligated to be
able to see and be seen. Jews must create
a society in which seeing is possible.”
The title of Hartman’s book, “Putting God
Second,” was intended to elevate the importance of basic human decency in our
tradition. Calling people to remember to
be ethical and respectful was the mission of the prophets in Israelite
society. In the story of the binding of
Isaac, the Angel was the prophet, the conscience, issuing the call that
reminded the Torah’s first monotheist that piety should not take the form of blinders
that shut out other people.
We are likely familiar with the Talmudic story
of the man who went to both of the ancient teachers Shammai and Hillel and
asked them, “Teach me the Torah while I stand on one foot.” In his impatience, Shammai drove the man out
of his house with a measuring rod.
Hillel, though, calmly answered him, saying, “What is hateful to you, do
not do to your neighbor. That is the
whole Torah. All the rest is commentary.
Now, go and study.”
Hartman revealed in his book that some
streams of rabbinic tradition criticized Hillel’s statement for its lack of
reference to God. Such comments claimed
that fervent belief in the Eternal was
more important than seeing, hearing and even loving one’s fellow human being as
oneself.
Hartman also cited the two great medieval
Jewish sages who were ready to back up Hillel 150%. Rabbi Moses Ben Nachman, Nachmanides, taught
that we should always try to do what is good and upright. Rabbi Moses Ben Maimon, Maimonides, asserted
that “piety and wisdom” should guide us, where piety is expressed in action to
help other people and not just in belief. Maimonides taught that all the stories
in the Torah must be evaluated based on a high ethical standard. That is why
the Angel of the binding of Isaac episode might be considered the moral
superhero of the tale.
So consideration, decency, respect and
seeing and hearing people calling for our help should be the values at the
foundation of our moral approach to the world.
And there is one more value to
mention. The father and the baby in the
story I told before were living in their home, side-by-side, and it took the
passing rebbe to remind the father to activate the love inside him and turn his
attention to his crying infant daughter.
Abraham and Isaac walked side by side to Mount Moriah, and it took an
Angel to open Abrham’s eyes to this child that he loved.
Yes, the son he loved. God had originally called out to
Abraham, “Take your son, your only one,
the one you love, Isaac.” We might prefer that this loving father had refused to take
his son on this divinely-commanded journey.
God may have wanted Abraham to do just that in this instance: at least
to question the command he was given.
Perhaps this story relates to the times when
loving families face difficult times.
We hope that people who love one another know how to navigate the
challenges of life while preserving an ability to see and hear each other in
their time of need.
In his book, THE FIRST LOVE STORY: ADAM,
EVE AND US, Bruce Feiler expressed why he believed the Bible’s first
description of human relationships is actually a story of two people who learned
to support each other based on the value of love. In his book, Feiler shared and evaluated many
classic interpretations of the Garden of Eden story and its aftermath.
Feiler first thought of writing this book
when, while standing in the Sistine Chapel, his daughter made him see, for the
first time, that the famous depiction of God and Adam by Michelangelo also
portrayed Eve sheltered under God’s arm.
This realization led to a journey of discovery to find the essence of the
Garden of Eden story that took Feiler around the world to explore centuries of
telling and retelling the biblical recounting of the origins of humanity.
Feiler gravitated to religious commentaries
that established Adam and Eve as equal partners, which even the Hebrew text does
in its own way.
So why did Feiler view the tale of their
relationship as “The First Love Story?”
It was because Adam and Eve faced great
upheaval and displacement in their lives, and their relationship survived. It didn’t matter so much to Feiler, as with
some other authors and commentators, that it was the actions of the first man
and woman in this story that led to what has been called their expulsion from
the garden. Some scholars and sages
have asserted that Adam and Eve were destined not to remain in paradise,
because, even in the context of the Torah’s narrative, humanity would not have
been humanity without Adam’s and Eve’s exit from Eden.
In the Garden, the Torah portrayed two
human beings, living side by side, within God’s love. We aren’t sure, though, that they loved each
other. According to Feiler, their love wasn’t certain until they began their
post-paradise lives. It was out of
their new existence filled with toil, pain and hardship that they were able to
truly experience real contentment and, yes, love.
So if Adam and Eve could survive through
all of those changes, then it was love that
kept them together. Or, as
Feiler said, quoting from the famous lyrics from “Fiddler on the Roof,” “if
that’s not love, what is?”
Like that first couple, we live side-by-side
not only as spouses and as members of different generations in a family, but
also as neighbors, colleagues, and friends.
We thrive when we meet challenges together. We are stronger when we see and hear each
other, both in good times and in moments of challenge when it is crucial to
reach out and offer our assistance and support.
And such times came upon us in recent
days. How many of you have friends or family who were affected by Hurricane
Harvey ? How many of you have friends or family touched
by the strong winds of Hurricane Irma?
Many of the victims of the storms have expressed their feeling of
despair. Along with that sense of loss
and uncertainty has been extreme and heartfelt gratitude for those who have
sent many types of donations and offered help in person to enable people who
lived in the areas damaged by the storms to gradually get back on their
feet. It will take them a long time to
recover, but they deeply appreciate that so many of us have seen and heard
them, providing them with hope and even love. And the last several days have seen more
disasters, with more deaths and more people to whom we must offer our
help.
To see and hear each other and to love one
another - these are crucial to our well-being as individuals and as members of
the greater human community. We can be
angels for each other when we need a reminder of who we are and where we need
to go, making sure that no one in the human family is on the outside looking
in. So may we hear the child’s cry and
answer right at that moment. May we see the plight of the despairing and oppressed and bring them into our circle of
hope. May we walk along the path of life
doing what is good and upright, pious and wise, so that we will feel in our
feet that God is walking with us, side-by-side.
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