Parashat Bo

            What was the purpose of the plagues? At first glance, it seems it would be to punish Pharaoh for not listening to G-d. Each time Pharaoh refuses to let the people of Israel go, G-d brings down a new plague. It looks like a classic struggle of good and evil, a fight between two titans, although it is too obvious who is the greater titan, who will end up the winner. This idea, though, often leads to the same questions. How can the plagues just be about punishing Pharaoh each time he refuses to let the people go? How can this be a struggle between good and evil or a fight between two titans? We’re talking about G-d verses a mere mortal, here! Sure, it’s Pharaoh, the great king of Egypt. Probably the most powerful man in the world at the time. In his own culture, people revered him as the embodiment of one of their own gods. But, we know there is no G-d but Adonai. Pharaoh has no unearthly powers. Although I think we have some proof that G-d cannot be both omniscient and omnipotent, or the Jewish people wouldn’t have been enslaved for so long in the first place, it seems that once G-d “heard their moaning, and remembered the covenant with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, and [finally] took notice of them,” it should have been pretty easy to swoop in and save them

But maybe, G-d didn’t want to save them right away. In last week’s parasha, the Torah speaks of Pharaoh being stubborn, or hardening his heart. In this week’s parasha, the text is more explicit, that G-d is hardening Pharaoh’s heart. Why would G-d do this? Why does G-d want to drag out the suffering of all the people in Egypt? The children of Israel continue to suffer as slaves, though they are safe from the plagues, and the children of Egypt suffer from the plagues, though they are safe from slavery. Perhaps this time was meant to prepare them for their journey.

In Parashat Shemot, there is a hint that the people were oppressed and enslaved for a long time before they thought to call out to G-d for help. When they cry out, their cries rise to heaven, and G-d takes notice of them, resolving to free them. Why didn’t they think to call out sooner? Maybe because they were busy being oppressed! It’s easy to forget about G-d’s protection when not actively benefitting from it. Sometimes, when at a low point, it’s hard to believe that someone out there really cares at all. Sometimes it’s hard to accept help or reassurance after getting quite used to despair. Maybe G-d was worried that these people weren’t emotionally ready to be freed, to have their whole lives uprooted and flipped upside down, even if for the better. First G-d needed to show the people that they were noticed, that they were still cared for, by an Awesome Being that truly had the power to free and protect them. While protected in Goshen, the people of Israel could see G-d’s wrath reign down on their oppressor through the plagues. They could see that G-d had great power to both destroy and protect at the same time, and build their trust in this G-d that put up a fence around them to keep them safe while swarms of wild beasts, locusts, and hail plagued the people of Egypt.

Additionally, I think the plagues served as something of an equalizer between the people of Israel and Egypt. The Egyptians, cruel slave masters and uninvolved citizens alike, suffered from the plagues. Even innocent children were forced to suffer the plagues. I’m sure this made the people angry toward their Pharaoh and the slave masters that brought this suffering down on them. Maybe not at first, but once it became evident that indeed Moses brought the wrath of Adonai, and Pharaoh was powerless to stop it, not an embodiment of their own god at all,  they might wonder why Pharaoh didn’t just admit defeat and end it. What kind of leader allows the suffering of their own people to continue, because of his pride and his hatred of the “others”? (Well, most, but it’s still not right). Certainly by the tenth plague, the people of Egypt might have come around to see that G-d is powerful, and loves and protects the people of Israel, and Pharaoh is a stubborn meanie. Thus, by the time the Israelites were able to flee, the Egyptians were disposed favorably toward them, and gave the Hebrews all their gold and silver to escape with.

So, when you find yourself in a time when you feel plagued, try to think of it as a learning opportunity. You probably will never be plagued by slavery or by swarms of wild beasts and locusts. But you might find yourself otherwise oppressed, or feel like the world is coming down around you more figuratively. This happens to everyone, at several different points in life. It’s normal. It’s awful, but it’s normal. When it happens, try not to forget about G-d’s love and protection, as the Israelites might have. Try to look around at the situation and find where G-d’s might is playing a role, and what good the time of darkness (figuratively, or as in the 9^th plague) may lead to. What lesson is it trying to teach you? Should you change your alliances or help out a neighbor or another community you never paid attention to before? After the plagues comes freedom, made all the more sweet by the contrast of the hardships endured to get there. May you all have the patience and wisdom to make it through the plagues, and reach a time of safety and freedom with peace. Amen. Shabbat Shalom. 

Parashat Va’era

            For a man who claims to hate to talk, Moses seems to talk a lot about his speech impediment. In this week’s Torah portion, he calls himself a man “of impeded speech” twice in the same chapter. In last week’s Torah portion, as well, he claims he cannot be the messenger G-d seeks, since he “has never been a man of words … [and is] slow of speech and slow of tongue.” G-d reassured Moses then that his brother Aaron will serve as his mouthpiece and together they will free the Israelites. Yet, still, in this week’s parasha, Moses is still harping on about his speech impediment.

            However, as the parasha goes on, it seems that Moses ends up doing most of the talking. Aaron spoke to the Israelite people for Moses in the beginning of this adventure, and in several places the Torah says that “Moses and Aaron went and said to Pharaoh” or “they spoke to Pharaoh,” making it not completely evident who is actually speaking. But by chapter eight in the book of Exodus, the text clearly says, “Moses said to Pharaoh,” and throughout this week’s parasha, we never once see Aaron speaking. G-d keeps telling Moses to instruct Aaron to hold out his rod or strike his rod to bring about each sign of G-d’s might, each plague. Aaron seems to be more of Moses’s magician than mouthpiece.

            Moses was extraordinary in spite of his disability, or more accurately, in spite of how he viewed his handicap. There is an often-cited Midrash explaining how Moses came to be slow of speech and tongue. As a baby in Pharaoh’s palace, he liked to play with Pharaoh’s jewels and crowns. Pharaoh was afraid this was an omen that Moses would one day usurp his crown and kingdom. So his advisors proposed a test to determine the baby’s fate: put the crown and a hot coal both in front of the baby and see which he grabbed for. If he grabbed the crown, it was a sign that he would grow up to overthrow the king, and should be killed or cast out. If he grabbed the coal, he was just a regular baby. G-d guided Moses’s hand to the coal, to ensure that he would live, and the baby popped the coal into his mouth. Although, he spit it back out immediately, his mouth was permanently burned, and he would always have trouble speaking clearly. However, since this is Midrash, we don’t actually know how bad Moses’s speech impediment might have been, how long he lived with it, or how he came to develop it. Even if we were to accept the Midrash as cannon, we still don’t know how it might have impacted him growing up. If the other Egyptian kids teased him for it, if he developed low self-esteem, if he avoided speaking his whole life out of embarrassment of what he might have sounded like.

            Everyone has something they’re embarrassed of in their lives. Something they avoid doing, at least for a time, because others made them feel bad about it. For someone, it might be he refused to dance in public because someone he had a crush on made fun of his dancing. For another, it might be she was afraid to sing loudly because a music teacher once told her she shouldn’t sing with her friends who were much better than her. Even if Moses didn’t have that complex, maybe he just felt self-conscious of showing off how great a speaker he really was, and wanted to sound modest. Many people are afraid to show how smart or strong they are, or how much they enjoy bettering themselves. People are afraid of looking over-zealous about anything, afraid that others will demean their efforts, or envy and resent their achievements. People are afraid to be too different from those around them. We are all told that each of us is a special snowflake, and it’s true. We are all so different already, that to distinguish ourselves any more is intimidating. If we make ourselves too visible, how will our peers view us?

            But Moses gets over it, and so can all of us. It takes time to develop that much maturity and confidence, but it’s possible, and it’s important. Everyone is their own person. Everyone is exactly who they are meant to be. We are all made in the image of G-d, and so our personality quirks are all, in some way, Divine. Kate Bornstein said it best when she spoke at my college orientation, stating that as long as you are not hurting yourself or others, you should absolutely feel free to be exactly who you are. Best advice I ever heard. You should say it loud and proud. You should speak out with that speech impediment. You never know who is listening, or how far your words may take you, and others close to you. May we all learn to speak out, as Moses did, shed our self-consciousness, and free ourselves. 

Parashat Shemot

            Happy New Year! Welcome back to Hebrew school and our Saturday morning services. I hope everyone enjoyed their vacations. I know I did, and partly because I got to spend most of my New Years’ Eve and Day watching the Twilight Zone marathon on the SyFy network. I love the Twilight Zone, and always look forward to this marathon every year. Every episode is different, with a new cast and story; there’s no consistent storyline throughout the series, which lasted many years. Each episode is filled with some sort of science fiction or supernatural events. When I was younger, I especially loved the outright scary ones – “Night of the Living Doll” or “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.” Around high school and college, though, I started to realize how many of the others – the ones I found kind of boring when I was a kid – had great social commentaries hidden within them, and I love every year watching the marathon and finding more and more like that. “Number 23 Looks Just Like You,” which could be the inspiration for the very enjoyable current Young Adult novel series, Uglies, warns of the problems with a society that requires total conformity. “The Monsters are Due on Maple St” is one that is commonly shown as part of a curriculum teaching about the Holocaust, used to show how easily people can be manipulated into turning on each other.

 In “The Monsters are Due on Maple St,” an average suburban neighborhood is startled by a sudden power outage and a clear day. When the adults want to investigate the rest of the town, a teenage boy warns they probably can’t leave or re-enter to the neighborhood. But one adult leaves anyway. He says he once read a comic book wherein aliens shut down the power in a neighborhood just like this to isolate them and make it easier to take over. In the book, he says, one of the families in the neighborhood are actually part of the invading aliens’ force, sent ahead to blend in and learn the ways of the earthlings. Immediately, the whole neighborhood freaks out and starts accusing each other of being aliens, and eventually, one particularly panicked man shoots a shadowy figure coming down the street. The shadowy figure turns out to be the neighbor that had gone to investigate the next neighborhood on his return. Truthfully, though each episode might have a different lens or be about specific facets of society’s ills, at least half of the Twilight Zone is basically about xenophobia, the fear of people different from us. Whether showing the attempt to make everyone the same, or showing the panic that leads to the deaths of innocent people to simply because they might be different, the route of the problem is the same.

            In this week’s Torah portion, the Jewish people face xenophobia for the first of many times in history. A new pharaoh arises that did not know Joseph and all that he had done for Egypt. All he knows is that there is the huge family of people who are not Egyptian living on Egyptian soil, and he is scared. Like in most Twilight Zone episodes, there is a tragically small minority of upstanding people who refuse to give in to fear. In the parasha, we find two Hebrew midwives are asked to kill Hebrew babies as they are born. The women lie to the Pharaoh, saying that the children are already born and in their mothers’ arms by the time they arrive, and it is too late to kill the boys. As Hebrews themselves, there is the possibility that Pharaoh already hates or is somehow afraid of them, too. They are lowly midwives, with no real power or voice in Egypt, and yet they have the courage to stand up against the great king of Egypt. They could easily have been harshly punished, even killed, but they are spared.

            Pharaoh then orders his own people to throw all baby boys into the Nile. Given that these two unimportant, outsider women, were not harmed for passively disobeying Pharaoh’s orders, it seems it would have been fairly easy for the Egyptian people to also just, you know, not go out looking for Hebrew babies to actively drown. But there is nothing in the text that lets us believe there was any dissent from the Egyptians. Again, like in “The Monsters Are Due on Maple St,” the real “bad guy” is distant. Pharaoh is in his palace, the aliens are on a hill behind Maple St. They are not actually doing any of the violence themselves. They are merely creating the situation that makes it easy for normal humans to become the monsters themselves. When the community only has one guy willing to say, “We’ve lived next to each other for years, how can you suddenly believe any of us to be monsters from outer space?” or only two women willing to quietly assist in the healthy births of children ordered to die, the odds are not great that they can triumph over horror.

            But with just one or two “good guys,” the community is still better off than with none. At least the “bad guy” has some difficulty, sees that not everyone agrees with him. It’s not easy to be that one, or one of few, willing to stand up against what’s wrong. Especially in these particular situations, when the opposing force is so powerful or unseen. It requires a lot of courage. As Jews, we have a particular responsibility to find that courage. To draw inspiration from the midwives of this week’s Torah portion and from the one good protagonist found in almost every Twilight Zone episode. As a people who have faced xenophobia and exile many times throughout history, we should have the empathy to help stop it when it happens elsewhere. In our country, we don’t have quite the problem with this issue that we did 60 years ago, or anything like what we see in this week’s parasha, but racism still lives in this country. You can be like the kind, brave midwives of the story simply any time you hear a racist joke or receive an offensive email forward, and speak out against the joke teller. Keep your eyes and ears open, and you will find how much xenophobia still thrives in our world. Keep your hearts open, and you will find how much you can do to fight it.

            May you all find the courage and openness to openly accept anyone of all shapes, sizes, creeds, and colors. And may the monsters stay far away and leave us all alone.  Shabbat Shalom. 

Parashat Vayigash

In the past few weeks, we have seen amazing transformation in Joseph. He goes from annoying kid brother, arrogant and tactless, to humble slave, hard-working and respectful, to second most powerful man in a large empire, self-possessed but still gracious. In this week’s parasha, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers. They hang back, afraid of what might be coming next, ashamed of what they did to him, until Joseph calls them close and expresses forgiveness. He says, “It was not you who sent me here, but G-d; [G-d] has set me as a … master of [Pharoah’s] entire household, as a ruler in the entire land of Egypt.”

            So far in our Torah readings this year, we have seen G-d directly interacting with our main characters. Conversations, even arguments, have occurred between many of our ancestors and G-d or at least G-d’s messenger angels. However, Joseph just believes. He’s seen the success of his father, and knows G-d has spoken directly to his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, so it stands to reason that G-d would bestow upon him the same good fortune that befell his progenitors, even if it had never been explicitly promised him.

            All of the time between leaving his brothers and being reunited with them, he had plenty to blame G-d for: shackled and brought across borders by strangers, forced into labor for someone with different laws than he’s used to, complicated domestic drama, thrown in jail. But he never blames G-d, never expresses anger, never even prays that G-d might smite down his brothers for their evil act. Although it says in Parashat Vayeshev that G-d endowed Joseph with appeal, and put favor for him in the eyes of the warden, it doesn’t seem like Joseph is very aware of this. Again, there is no interaction between Joseph and G-d, just G-d looking out for Joseph, and Joseph maintaining faith that all will work out by the grace of G-d.

            Now, in a place of power, Joseph credits his power to G-d. He is able to forgive his brothers’ betrayal because it led to his being able to save them all from starvation. As in the very beginning of the Joseph saga, he sounds vaguely arrogant, but it’s different now. First of all, he has accomplished quite a lot to fee arrogant about. Correctly interpreting Pharoah’s dreams, coming up with a plan to save all of Egypt and surrounding areas, becoming a hero and a rich, powerful man, is more than any of us have ever accomplished. He insists the rest of his family move down to Egypt, to Goshen, a plot of land nearby to where Joseph lives, and they will live off his prosperity. Joseph just wanted to have his family together again, safe, healthy and happy, and they could really only do that by moving to Egypt. He says, “G-d has sent me ahead of you to insure your survival in the land and to sustain you for great deliverance.”

            In Joseph’s context, the words are completely valid and appreciated. In today’s context, anyone who said something like that, even if they were truly helping to sustain others through enormously philanthropic acts, would sound a little nutter. At a very young age, I felt a pull on my heart, and sense of responsibility for things that could not possibly be my responsibility. Guilt for all that went well for me when others suffered. I didn’t yet have Joseph’s certain faith; I didn’t have much for G-d language. They glossed over that a lot in my Reform Jewish education. What they talked about most was Tikkun Olam, and I constantly felt that no matter what I did it was never Tikkuning enough of the Olam. Then in high school, sometime between my summer at Kutz Camp and my two spring visits to the L’Takein seminar at the Religious Action Center in DC, I was empowered. I suddenly felt G-d’s support and guidance. I thought, for sure, now that I understand what it is G-d actually wants of me, I will be able to Tikkun more of the Olam. I envisioned myself a sort of new Rev. King, Jr., becoming ordained so that I could use my pulpit as a place to preach social justice, equality, peace, freedom, environmental justice, whatever needed to be said in order to finish Tikkuning this Olam, I could say, and people would have to listen. I was speaking for G-d, how could they not hold that in high importance? I was certain that G-d had touched me, had “sent me ahead of you to insure your survival in the land and to sustain for you a great deliverance.”

            Now, having the same words that Joseph said as he welcomed his long lost brothers into his palace, come out of some random 18 year old girl, indoctrinated by Reform Judaism’s rhetoric, with no real plan or power, sounds completely ridiculous. I tried my best not to really talk about my goals or feelings on this matter, because even at the time, I realized they sounded completely mad. I would have come across like a crazy, megalomaniac, false messiah crackpot. But it was still basically what I believed. Not the megalomania or messiah part, although my mother did accidentally instill a strong fear of Immaculate Conception in me, which certainly didn’t help my delusions of grandeur. But I did believe that G-d sent me messages. Sometimes, random strangers would approach me and start a conversation, usually about my smile, that it’s unusual to see teenage girls smiling while they are out grocery shopping with their mothers, or waiting alone in the cold for a bus, that I must have some inner light. Then in the course of the conversation, they would tell me something that I felt was exactly what I needed to hear. How did they know? Because G-d was speaking through them to give me messages. I felt so certain.

            As time went on, I progressed toward my goals: studying violence, thinking I would find some missing link and learn how to stop it forever, spending a semester at the Arava Institute, working on environmental collaboration efforts between Israelis and Palestinians, and other neighboring countries when possible, entering rabbinical school. The closer I got to what I was so sure G-d wanted of me, the less I found signs that G-d really cared about what I was doing. I often felt unsure, insecure, and abandoned. But Joseph never seemed to really have any signs from G-d, other than the talents and successes themselves, and he still never lost faith, neither in G-d nor in the fact that his gifts were definitely from G-d. Joseph should be an inspiration. May we all look at our own talents, successes, good fortunes as gifts from G-d, and remember as Joseph did, that whatever comes of our dreams, it is only by the grace of G-d. 

Parashat Mikeitz

            “And Joseph named [his] firstborn Manasseh, for "G-d has caused me to forget all my toil and all my father's house."” In last week’s Torah portion, Joseph is shown to have suffered greatly the price of being his father’s favorite, and letting that favoritism go to his head and ego. This week, he is redeemed, appointed a position of power, his dreams literally come true, and, additionally, he has two children. These two children are not given much stage time in our stories; they are not the lead roles in any Hebrew school plays, but they are important. Every Friday night, around the world, parents bless their sons by saying, “May G-d make you like Ephraim and Manasseh,” because they supposedly are the only two siblings in the Bible who don’t have any fierce rivalries. And yet, here we read that Manasseh’s name is derived from a wish for Joseph to forget all his father’s house. While it is more than understandable that he would want to forget his brothers, and even understandable for Joseph to blame his father for the way his brothers mistreated him, it sounds harsh for Joseph to pass onto his child his desire to forget his former life and family. In contrast, he names his second son Ephraim, “G-d has made me to prosper in the land of my affliction,” showing that while he does not want to remember his father’s home, the place he currently lives does not quite feel like his home either.

There is much to learn from the Joseph story, and one lesson among many is on the question of respecting our parents even when it’s hard. Many of you are still very young and hopefully still revere and trust your parents and try your best to obey their rules. Those of you who are now parents probably see your parents differently now than you did before having children yourself, and hopefully can better appreciate all they did for you. But there are a few in this room who are of an age notorious for not showing proper respect for their parents. Speaking from purely anecdotal evidence and personal observations, I’d say starting at about 12 and peaking at 16 for girls, starting at about 15 and peaking closer to 20 for boys, the angst of adolescence starts to get in the way of appreciating the things your parents do for you. Often times, it feels like everything is all wrong and it’s all your parents fault and they’ll just never understand you and you just can’t wait to be grown up and out of their house and then you can forget all about this!

Joseph is considerably past this age when he names his firstborn child “G-d caused me to forget my toils and all my father’s house,” but since time in the Bible is generally very different than the way we view time now, let’s assume it’s safe to compare his attitude with that of a teenager’s. He does not want to acknowledge his connection to his father and family, he plays tricks on his brothers, and he cries a lot. Sounds like being 16 to me. In his tears, there is the implication that he wishes he could be close to them again, let his brothers know who he is, reunite the family. But he is afraid and distrustful, and understandably so. So he waits. In next week’s parasha – spoiler alerts – he does make himself known, and his whole family comes to live in Egypt and live off his success, and everyone lives happily ever after [at least until a new Pharoah arises who enslaves all the Hebrew people, but that’s not for quite a while].

Although it’s not shown explicitly, I think there is something in this on how we can show parents and family respect even when there is still anger and mistrust. It’s not easy, and the parasha certainly doesn’t tell us how to do it, but I think it can be done, and the parasha is at least saying that much. It’s okay to hold your cards close to your chest and still be gracious. Our Jewish law commands us to always show honor and respect our fathers and mothers, not to feel honor and reverence for them all time. Joseph messed with his brothers a little bit, but he still fed them, and ultimately welcomed them into his new life. Although he may have wanted to forget the pain of his childhood, he didn’t. He remembered and when the time was right, he re-embraced them all. Occasionally, people come to a point where they start to feel that as much as they love their family, they don’t like them so much right now. This generally passes, and it’s important to not to burn your bridges, since you might want to cross back at some point. Or in Joseph’s case, invite the rest of the family over to your side of the bridge. Either way, the bridge needs to still be in working condition, even if a little shaky.

May you always remember where you came from, who brought you up, and all they did to help make you the person you are today. May you survive your teenage angst and reunite in love with your family. And may G-d make us all like Ephraim and Manasseh, able to put aside our differences and just get along. Amen. 

Parashat Vayeshev

12/3/12

            Happy holidays. This time of year often raises debate over that phrase, but why should anyone bother trying to determine the correct holiday to wish each person? There are so many to wish happy! Thanksgiving has barely passed, Chanukah is nearly upon us, before we know it will be New Years, and in between, many, if not all of us will be helping various friends and family celebrate their holidays – Christmas, Kwanzaa, Solstice, and so on. Holidays can be loads of fun and a source of great warmth, but they can also be a source of stress as we plan large family gatherings and worry about what family members will likely start a fight right in front of the cheese and crackers table, keeping everyone else from being able to have their nosh before latkes are ready.

            In this week’s parasha, we find a family in turmoil. Many of us have a Joseph in our family. That brother, uncle, mother-in-law, whatever who is too smug, who is too favored, who always get first pick of the dark meat off the turkey at Thanksgiving, gets the crispiest latke at Chanukah, and who has a habit of rubbing it everyone else’s faces. Hopefully, each family also has a Reuven, though, eager to smooth out the family feuds, willing to be bipartisan, who runs to the rescue when any of us are backed in a corner by less forgiving other relatives.

            In the Torah, Reuven convinces his fellow brothers not to kill Joseph, no matter how obnoxious he might be. He allows the brothers to throw Joseph in a pit, instead, with the intention of pulling him out and returning him to their father at a later time when the other brothers aren’t looking. But where is Reuven when Joseph is sold into slavery? The Torah just says Reuven returned to the pit and found Joseph was gone, without mention of where or when he had left in the first place. Rashi explains this is because he had gone back home to serve their father and returned to the pastures where the brothers had been grazing sheep only to save Joseph from the pit. Reuven is split, having to care for different family members in different places, and in making a choice to uphold his commitment to one, he has effectively turn his back on another. What an awful choice to have to make.

Should Reuven have been more forceful with his brothers in convincing them to not kill Joseph? If he hadn’t had to be sneaky, maybe he would have been able to stop Joseph’s sale into slavery, but then again, maybe he would only have estranged himself from their other brothers in the process and furthered the family struggles. Joseph seems to be very unaware of why his brothers hate him so much; although there is some indication that he does know that they hate him. Maybe it would have been helpful for Reuven to pull Joseph aside and explain why his behavior was problematic, and given him the opportunity to make things right with his brothers himself. But then again, maybe Joseph would get offended and defensive, feeling like he’d lost his last ally, and family dinners would just get that much more awkward.

 Of course, we all know that if Joseph hadn’t been sent to Egypt as a slave, then Pharaoh would have no one to interpret his dreams, and Egypt would have been unprepared for the famine, and the rest of Joseph’s family wouldn’t have been able to come to get food from Egypt, and maybe everyone would die of starvation and there would be no Jewish people. Everything worked out the way it did for a reason. But Reuven didn’t, and couldn’t have had the opportunity to realize it for another 22 years, at which point all the family is reunited with Joseph. In the meantime, imagine the guilt he must have felt, the anger at his other siblings, the fear of his father finding out. This winter, with all our holiday craze, as we run around like chickens with our heads cut off, worrying about who is going to whose house for the holiday dinners and parties, who has gifts and who needs what, who gets along and who we have to seat at opposite ends of the table, let’s all take a minute to stop and breathe. Remind all your relatives to stop and breathe. To reflect. To search themselves and look carefully at all the family dynamics. Are you the Joseph, obnoxious and arrogant, off-putting to most of your family? Are you the other brothers, irrationally angry and overdramatic in your reactions to Joseph? Are you Reuven, wanting to make peace in the family and not knowing how? Most likely, we each have a moment to be each of these characters, depending on where we are in our lives, and which relative we are interacting with. This holiday season, can we find to just be Reuven, who loves and is loyal to each of his relatives? Can we all find a way toward humility and understanding? Set aside your angers and your petty differences. Invite back to your holiday dinner that uncle you haven’t spoken to in ages, remember to include everyone on your gift or card list, let your annoying younger brother have the tastiest-looking crispy latke fresh from the pan. It doesn’t matter anymore who is dad’s favorite or what their personal beliefs are. Family can brighten your harsh winter better than any menorah, but only if you let it. As the days start to get very cold, and the dark nights longer, may the light of all the different holidays keep us warm, and may sharing in each other’s joys keep us cheerful. 

Parashat Vayeira – Akida

It was suggested to me that I think about writing a new sermon that relates to the storm. I had a few strings of ideas but none that I was able to push through to something I liked. I'll be using this, which I wrote last week before the storm for my homiletics class, at services today.

            Last week, I mentioned the beginning to the story of the binding of Isaac – or the Akidah – and used Rashi’s commentary on “Your son, your only one, that you love, Isaac,” as some proof that Abraham also loves his son, Ishmael, who is the only one of his mother, just as Isaac is the only son of his mother. But what good is this father’s love if he is so willing to slaughter is favored child? This is a difficult story to contend with, for how can our first patriarch be so cold and thoughtlessly obedient that he was willing to sacrifice his own son, and what kind of G-d do we pray to that would ask this of such a faithful servant? Has not Abraham already proved his worth, by moving when and where G-d commands, by trying to do his best to keep peace in his home, between his own household and that of his nephew Lot, between his wife and her servant, between his sons? And when it comes to blind obedience, Abraham has already shown he will not always cow down; he bargained with G-d to allow him to find enough righteous people to warrant saving Sodom and Gemorrah. Abraham manages to get G-d to agree to spare the whole city if he can find enough righteous souls, and haggles G-d down from 50 righteous people to 10. Of course, it turns out there were not enough righteous to save any but Lot and his family, but still, that Abraham was willing to try to save this town of wicked strangers makes his willingness to sacrifice his own son all the more disconcerting.

            Being that it is so disconcerting, there is much Midrash on this to try to ease our discomfort with this story. My favorite was one I learned from my childhood rabbi, Doug Segal. I distinctly remember that one Rosh HaShana he told us a story he had made up himself of G-d asking Sarah first to sacrifice Isaac and she would not. She argues that G-d promised her this child, G-d promised her and Abraham that through this child would their descendants become as many as the number of stars in the sky. Basically, Sarah knew that G-d couldn’t possibly want Isaac dead, or those promises could not have been made, and she called G-d’s bluff.

            Rashi points out these inconsistencies in G-d’s word, but rather than use them to show that Abraham knew it was a test all along and was secure in knowing he would not really have to finish the job, Rashi uses it to explain Abraham’s confusion and hurt over the matter. In fact, many of Rashi’s comments on this parasha suggest that Abraham was easily confused. Why didn’t G-d tell Abraham at first to slaughter Isaac, but went through this back and forth with him about which son? So as to break the news in steps, to be gentler about asking Abraham to kill his son, lest his mind become disoriented and addled. And why did they travel for three days before G-d pointed out the right mountain to up on? If G-d were to point out the first mountain they came to, it would “bewilder and confuse Abraham unexpectedly, and addle his mind,” but if G-d were to wait more than three days, Abraham would have time to change his mind about the whole thing. And once the angel appears to stop Abraham, Abraham expresses confusion that G-d should promise him one day that Isaac will be the line from which many descendants will come, and then tell him to kill Isaac the next. After the ram appears, and the angel has already told Abraham that G-d does not want Abraham to harm his son, according to Rashi, as Abraham performs each piece of the sacrificial ritual, Abraham calls to G-d, “May it be your will that this should be as if it were my son.” We already learned it is not G-d’s will for this to be as if it were Isaac!

            There are many who say that this was a test of Abraham’s faith and ever-present loyalty to G-d, and he passed. What if this was a test of Abraham’s sanity and ability to continue to be a strong leader and he failed? What if G-d really expected Abraham to call his bluff, as Sarah did, and sent the angel and the ram at the last minute, because G-d realized that Abraham might go through with it?

            I think that too many people in the world today have difficulty remembering to open up their ears and hearts to G-d’s voice and will. I wish for you all to have some deep connection to G-d and that you feel that the things you do with your life are the direct will of G-d for you. But if you should ever hear a voice telling you to kill for G-d, please don’t. This of course, sounds exaggerated, but extend it to your general conscience. Probably none of you in this room have ever or will ever feel a great sincere urge to kill, but maybe to hurt, and possibly even to hurt yourselves. Even if it feels like it’s coming from so deep inside you it must be from G-d, do not do it. We can learn from this parsha that it is never really G-d’s will that we cause ourselves or our loved ones pain. And there may not always be a ram to stop you in time.

            At least not one that readily appears. As we go on with our lives, we will all have to continue to struggle with this story. As Jews, it is a part of our regular yearly Torah reading for Parashat Vayeira, and the traditional reading for Rosh HaShana. As you continue to contend with this story on your own terms, and as you grow and face your own challenges and have to make decisions about sacrifices of your own, may you all find your own rams, your own alternatives to causing harm, and may G-d grant you all peace. Amen.