PARSHAT VAYERA
(5768)
FAMILY ESTRANGEMENT
“The two of them walked together.” (Genesis 22:6, 8)
“Abraham then returned to his servants.” (Genesis 22:19)
Last week I gave a lecture in Detroit entitled “Do You Have to Love Your Family?” Both during the question and answer session and following the lecture, numerous people raised issues about family breakdown and family estrangement. “My children refuse to speak to me.” “I have not spoken to my brother in five years.” “My parents favor my sister over me.” I could feel the pain in all of these questions.
This is an appropriate week to discuss family estrangement. One of the hidden messages in the story of the akeda, Abraham offering his son Isaac as a sacrifice, is the relationship between father and son. As they approach the mountain, the Torah twice mentions how the two of them walked together. One senses the deep relationship between Abraham and Isaac. But when the events were finished Abraham walked down the mountain alone. Where was Isaac? (The Midrash (Rabbinic tales) tries to provide an answer – he went off to study at a yeshiva (Jewish academy of learning.)
When I read this passage, I wonder if this is really a story about an estrangement between a father and a son. Abraham and Isaac are never together again following these events. The next time they appear at the same place is when Isaac and Abraham’s other son Ishmael, also estranged from his father, come to bury him. The Torah speaks about estrangement of children and parents so serious that they do not come back together until the funeral. (In a similar way, the Torah speaks of estrangement between siblings. Jacob and Isaac do not see each other for twenty years.)
What wisdom can I give to people in pain because of estrangement from family members? Let me share seven thoughts:
1. The Torah commands us to love God, love our neighbor, love the stranger, but never to love our family. Rather, the Torah speaks of obligations towards our family. We must honor our parents (even if they were not such good parents), be our brother’s keeper, teach our children. Even marriage is not simply about love but about mutual obligations. When love between family members breaks down, each of us needs to ask, what are my obligations towards my family?
2. Nobody should ever destroy himself or herself to fulfill a family obligation. There are some family relations that are so toxic (such as a deeply abusive parent) that is permissible for self-protection to avoid contact. Sometimes, with careful counseling, a person can learn to cope with toxic family members in a way that allows contact to be reestablished.
3. Learn to say, “I’m sorry.” So often pride causes us to avoid these simple words. The Bible teaches, “Pride comes before the fall.” (Proverbs 16:18) Pharaoh brought destruction on Egypt because he could not mouth the words, “I was wrong and I am sorry.” Usually when there is estrangement there was wrong on both sides. An apology goes a long way in rebuilding a relationship.
4. Learn to forgive, even if the other person never apologizes. I recall a recent Yom Kippur when I was seething with anger at a perceived wrong of someone I knew, while fervently praying for God to forgive my sins. Then it dawned on me – how can I expect God to forgive me if I am unable to forgive others? If someone in our family has wronged us, remember that they are human with all the weaknesses and foibles of every human. If we see their humanity, we can learn to forgive.
5. Keep the door open to reestablish a relationship. I tell people to send a card to an estranged family member three times a year – at Hanukkah, Passover, and most important, before the High Holidays (the traditional time for forgiving.) Send the bar mitzvah or wedding invitation, even if there is no response. At least they know you did not close the door.
6. If the estrangement continues, pray for the family member. There are spiritual connections in the universe that are often surprising, and prayer does work.
7. Finally, find comfort in the fact that everything changes, including human hearts.
PARSHAT VAYERA
(5766)
INFERTILITY
“For Sarah conceived, and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the set time of which God had spoken to him.” (Genesis 21:2)
Infertility is a theme that runs throughout Genesis. Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekkah, Jacob and Rachel, all are unable to have children. In the end, each couple is blessed with a child. And in the end, each has lessons they can teach couples struggling with infertility today. These lessons hit home, because my wife and I, like our Biblical ancestors, struggled with infertility. I eventually wrote my first book, And Hannah Wept, about our struggles with infertility and the insights I learned from Judaism.
When Sarah was unable to conceive after ten years living in the land, she arranged for her maidservant Hagar to have a baby in her stead. Hagar, the mother of Ishmael, became the world’s first surrogate mother. And like many surrogate mother cases today, it did not turn out real well in the end. But the idea is a powerful one. Sarah chooses to have a baby using another woman’s egg and womb. This introduces the idea that you do not need to be a biological mother to be a mother. Later Jewish law will introduce the notion of a Levirate marriage, where one man has a baby in another man’s name. This introduces the idea that you do not need to be a biological father to be a father.
Lineage is important in Judaism. But ultimately, parenting is not about lineage. The Talmud speaks of Michal who raised the five children of her sister Merab. “Merab gave birth to them and Michal raised them, therefore they are called by her name. This teaches that the true parent is the one who raises a child, not the one gave birth.” (Sanhedrin 19b) This is the basis of adoption in Jewish tradition, the path my wife and I chose to build our family. It makes sense that parenting is about far more than biology. As I have often said, in the animal world when a baby is born, the parents’ work is almost done. In the human world when a baby is born, the parents’ work is just beginning.
We also learn from the story of Abraham and Sarah that after ten years of trying, a couple cannot wait any longer. It is fascinating that this law eventually fell out of practice. The Midrash tells the story of a couple who divorce after ten years of marriage because they could not have children. They decide to celebrate their divorce with a party. The husband gets a little too drunk and tells his wife, “Take whatever you want from our home.” He falls asleep and wakes up in a strange home. He sees his ex-wife, who tells him, “You said to take whatever you want. I wanted you.” They remarry and eventually have a child.
Isaac and Rebekkah were married twenty years before giving birth to twins. The Talmud asks the question, why did they not go their separate ways after ten years? It answers that in their case, the infertility was Isaac’s problem as well as Rebekkah’s. Infertility is a couple’s issue, not just a woman’s issue. That is why the Torah pictures Isaac and Rebekkah praying across the room for each other. Even in our modern society, we still often see infertility as a “woman’s issue.” We speak of “the barren woman,” when half the time it is the man who has the medical problem. We need to treat infertility as a couple’s issue, and use it as an opportunity to strengthen marriage.
When Rachel could not have children with her husband Jacob, she cried out “Give me children or I’ll die.” Jacob became angry at her. And later sources blamed Jacob for his poor treatment of his beloved wife. Rachel gives us insight. Infertility is a kind of a death. And like any death, people need a chance to mourn. Words like “you can always adopt,” “God must have a reason,” or “You’re lucky you don’t have children; they are so difficult” are not helpful. (My wife and I heard all three comments when we went through it.) People need to mourn. But like any other death, there comes a time when we must move beyond mourning. “There is a time to mourn and a time to dance.” (Ecclesiastes 3:4) At some point we must move beyond mourning. We must move on to the next stage of our lives, with the prayer that, like Sarah, God will remember us.
PARSHAT VAYERA
(5764)
ABRAHAM’S FINAL TRIAL
“Take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that I will point out to you.”
(Genesis 22:2)
The most powerful story, some would say the most difficult story, in the book of Genesis comes at the end of this portion. God put Abraham to the test. God told Abraham to sacrifice his long awaited son and heir Isaac. Abraham awoke early in the morning, traveled three days to Mount Moriah, bound Isaac on the altar, and prepared to offer him as a sacrifice. An angel of God interrupted him and showed him a ram to be used in place of his son.
The question that cries out to us is, did Abraham pass the test or fail the test? Certainly according to traditional commentators, this was Abraham’s supreme moment of glory. Abraham proved his faith by his willingness to suspend the ethical in order to fulfill God’s command. The Danish philosopher and Christian existentialist Soren Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling, speaks of a leap of faith, even if it means putting aside ethical scruples. Jewish tradition sees the willingness to obey God as so central to its vision that it ordained this reading for Rosh Hashana. Both Jewish and Christian tradition see the willingness to offer Isaac as the greatest act of virtue. (The Koran contains a parallel story of Abraham’s willingness to offer up Ishmael as a sacrifice.)
However, there is another strand of thought running parallel to this one that condemns Abraham and feels that he failed the test. It is a father’s job to protect his son. It was up to Abraham to take a very public stand that the days of child sacrifice are over. If Abraham was willing to stand before God in defense of Sodom and Gemorrah with his words, “Should the judge of all the earth not do justly?” (Genesis 18:25) how much more so should he defend his son Isaac.
We have a hint of this point of few in the language of the text. Speaking of Abraham and Isaac journeying to the mountain, twice the Torah emphasizes how “the two of them went up together.” (22:6, 22:8) The Torah does not repeat such words unless it wants to make a point. There was an intimacy between father and son as they quietly walked together up the mountain. Their souls were joined together as one. This intimacy would be lost forever by the events that would take place on the mountain.
After the near sacrifice, the Torah teaches that “Abraham returned to the servants, and they departed together for Beersheba.” (Genesis 22:19) Where was Isaac? Abraham walked down the mountain alone. Never again would Abraham and Isaac appear together in the Torah. Isaac (and his other son Ishmael) would again see their father only at his funeral. Isaac was estranged from his father, just as earlier Ishmael had been estranged from his father. As happens too often today, it took a funeral for two sons estranged from their father to appear at his side.
Perhaps the story is in the Torah to teach us a powerful lesson. It is so easy to destroy the delicate relationship that holds a parent and a child together. Part of a parent’s job is to protect his or her children. When a parent endangers a child, whether physically or emotionally, there is a rupture in the relationship that is difficult to repair. The guidance that a child needs is no longer present. Abraham and Isaac must go their separate ways, as do too many parents and children today.
To his defense, Abraham lived in a world where child sacrifice was a common part of day to day life. But Abraham was a Hebrew, a word meaning “stands across” or apart from the norm. The message Abraham needed to tell the world, and one we need to say today, is that parents have an obligation to protect their children. In this sense, God tests each of us in every generation.
PARSHAT VAYERA
(5763)
GOOD AND EVIL
"The two angels arrived in Sodom in the evening, as Lot was sitting in the gate of Sodom."
(Genesis 19:1)
If you read my book or heard me lecture on The Ten Journeys of Life, you know that I have always been troubled by Lot's behavior. Why would Abraham's nephew leave his generous uncle to live in an evil place like Sodom? Why did he seek out evil neighbors? Certainly Lot carried on the Abrahamic tradition of inviting wayfarers into his home, an act deemed illegal in Sodom. But why did he choose to live amongst evil?
In my book I judged Lot harshly. But after reading an essay by A.Hadas that appeared in the magazine Shabbat Shalom (a publication on Jewish-Christian relations put out by Seventh Day Adventists), I am rethinking my view of Lot. Hadas writes that Lot did not choose Sodom to join in the wickedness, but rather to raise up the goodness of the city. To quote him, "A life separate from wickedness still seems to us morally superior to a life among the wicked. And yet we forget something. We forget that goodness lives not as a recluse. Goodness seeks not isolation nor withdrawal but spreads everywhere. Otherwise it is not goodness. Goodness spreads, yes, even to the wicked plains of Sodom and Gomorrah."
This contains a powerful thought that is also reflected in the kabbalah. There is a potential for goodness everywhere. Even the greatest evil contains holy sparks which need to be lifted out. Sometimes we simply need to touch evil in order to raise up the holy sparks of goodness buried there.
These ideas have been on my mind these past weeks as I reflect upon the growing evil I see in the world. I am not simply speaking of the terrible events of murder and mayhem - the bombing of a nightclub in Bali, the ongoing terrorism in Israel, the shooting of innocents by a sniper in the Washington suburbs. There is also a more subtle evil in the world. It is shown by the rise of anti-Semitism in Europe and South America, and right here on college campuses. It is evil when a former prime minister of Israel is prevented from speaking by an anti-Jewish riot on a campus in Canada. It is evil when Israeli professors, many of them active in the pro-peace movement, are told that because of their nationality, they are no longer welcome to publish in European academic journals. And it is sad when the president of Harvard University accuses his own faculty and students of evil in their demand that Israel be singled out for divestiture.
Some would say to separate ourselves, avoid places where such evil exists. The Torah teaches that Abraham was called a Hebrew from the word Ivri which means across, he stood across, separated from the evil. Lot on the other hand was willing to settle in the midst of evil, with the hope that he could lift out the sparks of good, and be a source for renewal and change.
There is an old legend that thirty six righteous people live secretly among the rest of us (known as lamed vavniks), raising holy sparks and being sources of goodness. Without these thirty six secret righteous, the world could not exist. They often live in the least expected places. Goodness must live among evil; only then can it bring out the good.
PARSHAT VAYERA
(5762)
LOOKING BACK ON TRAGEDY
"Lot's wife looked back and she turned into a pillar of salt."
(Genesis 19:26)
God destroyed the wicked cities of Sodom and Gemorrah with fire from heaven. Only Lot, his wife, and their two unmarried daughters were allowed to flee. Lot's wife looked back and turned into a pillar of salt. Why such a dreadful punishment?
Rabbinic Midrash teaches that she sinned with salt and was therefore punished with salt. Lot had welcomed guests into their home and told his wife, "Give the guests a bit of salt." She was opposed to having guests at all, and mocked her husband, "You want to introduce our guests to the vile custom of seasoning food." She went to everyone's home in the community and said, "Give me salt, we have guests." Visitors were not permitted in Sodom, and soon the community gathered against Lot and his guests. Thus was she punished. (Genesis Rabbah 51:5 and 50:4)
I find this midrash unduly harsh. Lot's wife looked back because her two married daughters stayed behind and were victims of the conflagration. She probably lagged behind and was covered in the ashes and soot. One can feel a certain sympathy for this poor mother who lost her home, two of her children, and was forced to flee with her other two children. Still, why does the Torah speak about her punishment?
I came across a wonderful commentary by Judith Antonelli in her book In the Image of God; A Feminist Commentary on the Torah. Antonelli mentions that it is wrong to look at a tragedy while it is happening. It is somehow inappropriate to watch other people in pain, especially when one is surviving that same tragedy. To watch others going to their doom while one is escaping is improper.
There are two other cases in the Torah that suggest the same idea. When Noah built the ark, there was only one window on top with none on the sides. Noah and his family could not sit in the safety of the ark and witness the flood and destruction happening around them. Similarly, when the tenth plague struck the Egyptians, the Israelites were commanded to stay locked in their homes. They were forbidden to witness the tragedy that was striking their neighbors.
I find this idea compelling as I think of the tragedy in New York on September 11 being played over and over on television. We watch those planes striking the World Trade Center, those buildings collapsing, the smoke and fire and tragedy. We can almost imagine what it must have felt like to watch the destruction of those ancient cities. Will we also be turned into a pillar of salt?
When tragedy hits, sometimes we need to say, "I cannot watch." We need to give the victims some modicum of privacy. I have had some sad moments in my Rabbinic career when I have been called to the home of a victim of violence. Part of my job was to keep the press away and allow the family their privacy so they could mourn. Certainly there is a right to know, to see, to witness. But there is also a responsibility to protect the family of victims.
Perhaps the story of Lot's wife is teaching us that it is not healthy to witness sadness and destruction. Certainly the victims deserve their privacy. In addition, when we witness too much violence, do we become immune to violence? When our children witness too many killings in the movies, do they become indifferent to the violence in our society?
Lot's wife looked back when she should not have. We can understand why a mother might look. But maybe the Torah is teaching that as a society, sometimes we have to avert our eyes.
PARSHAT VAYERA
(5761)
VISITING THE SICK
"The Lord appeared unto [Abraham] by the terebinths of Mamre, as he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day."
(Genesis 18:1)
The Torah speaks of God appearing before Abraham as Abraham sat resting by his tent door. Why was Abraham sitting home in the middle of the day when he should of been working? And why did God appear to him? What did God say?
Rabbinic tradition filled in the blanks. Abraham was recovering from his circumcision, the last event of the previous chapter. God simply came by to visit Abraham when he was sick. From this story came the mitzvah of bikur holim, visiting the sick. The Talmud teaches, "As God visited the sick, so you should visit the sick." (Sota 14a) When we visit and comfort those who are ill, we are imitating God .
Visiting the sick plays a role in healing. According to a Rabbinic source, each visitor takes away one sixtieth of the illness and suffering. (Nedarim 39b) (Would sixty visitors take away all the illness and suffering? Not really, but it would sure help!) People can help other people heal.
Why do visits help in healing? The answer is that we humans are not merely machines. It is tempting to see medicine as just a way to get the parts of the body working properly once again. Find the right drug, give the right surgery, replace the right body part, and there will be healing. After all, when our automobile breaks down, we take it to a mechanic. The mechanic's job is to replace the parts, clean out the system, do some physical change to get the car running once again.
Would it help the broken car if some healthy cars stopped by the garage to pay a visit? One cannot imagine such an image. When cars or computers or appliances break down, we fix them. When humans break down, treating them as mere machines is not enough. We are far more than machines.
The Torah teaches that we humans are a mix of the physical and the spiritual. We contain the dust of the ground; part of us is material, subject to the laws of physics and chemistry. We also contain the breath of God; part of us is spiritual, beyond the reach of the surgeon's scalpel or the pharmacist's drugs. Our spiritual part can be touched by another spiritual being. Humans can help heal other humans.
As a rabbi, a major part of my day to day duties include hospital visits. Parking is difficult at many of the hospitals I visit. Sometimes I have to search for a spot in the visitor's lot, sometimes there are a few spots up front reserved for clergy which are occasionally even empty. In my favorite hospitals, I am permitted to park up front in the doctor's lot.
I remember receiving a suspicious look from one physician who pulled up next to my old Ford in his fancy Mercedes. "Why are you parking here?" I smiled at him and said, "I guess we are both healers. You heal bodies; I heal bodies and souls."
Whether it is a rabbi, a relative, or even a stranger, when someone visits the sick, they see beyond the body to the soul of that person. The soul is the part of a human being that cannot be touched by the illness. Often by visiting the person, touching the soul, in a strange, mysterious way they help heal the body. For our bodies and our souls are intimately joined together.
The commandment to visit the sick is a way of saying that we humans are more than machines. We contain the breath of God. And it was God visiting Abraham who taught us humans the importance of person to person contact - a touch, a hug, a gift, a prayer - in healing the sick.
PARSHAT VAYERA
(5760)
A SCARCITY COMPLEX
"The people of Sodom were exceedingly wicked."
(Genesis 18:20)
This portion contains the destruction of the evil cities of Sodom and Gemorrah. What was so evil about these two cities? The rabbis taught that their evil ways were based on their attitude towards money.
We learn that someone who says "What is mine is mine and what is yours is yours is a mediocre person, but many would say these are the qualities of Sodom." (Avot 5:10) The people of Sodom hoarded their money. When Abraham's nephew Lot moved into town, they certainly welcomed him. He was a wealthy man, and they saw an economic advantage having him as a neighbor. But poor people, beggars, visitors without money to spend, were not welcome in Sodom.
According to the Rabbinic midrash, a poor man came into town and one young woman was kind to him and shared her money. When the people heard this, they attacked and tortured her. Helping the poor would set a bad precedent for the community; beggars and poor people would move into town. The Torah teaches that "God heard her cry," the cry of a generous young woman attacked by her wicked neighbors.
The people of Sodom had a scarcity complex. There was only so much wealth to go around, and if people shared money each would have less. It is the way of the animal world. If a group of dogs has a fixed number of bones, and if more dogs come, each dog will receive less. This scarcity attitude towards money is not the way of human beings.
The Sodom story is in the Bible to teach us a different attitude towards money - wealth is to be shared and passed on. "What's mine is yours and what's yours is yours, this is the way of the righteous." Or, as a Buddhist leader taught, "Money is round so that it will keep rolling." Many great teachers have taught that when we share our wealth, in the end we often receive more. Our charity comes back to bless us.
Rather than a scarcity paradigm (wealth is limited and the more I give away, the less I have), we ought to live by a prosperity paradigm. This teaches that wealth is unlimited. If one person has more, it does not mean that someone else has less. Because Bill Gates is a multibillionaire, does not mean that the rest of us are poorer. (If anything, his wealth created more wealth.)
The people of Sodom were bitter and unhappy, hoarding their money and constantly frightened that someone would take it away. The Biblical lesson is that wealth is unlimited, and is given to us on condition that we constantly give some away. We humans are different from the animals fighting over limited scraps of food. We live in a world of unlimited wealth. Let us switch from a scarcity to a prosperity paradigm.