Pidyon Shvuyim – Bring Them Home – Lekh Lekha 5784

The Masorti Movement in Israel, along with the Conservative Movement here, has designated this Shabbat as Solidarity Shabbat. We stand with Israel and all the victims of the terrible attack against our brothers and sisters three weeks ago and the ongoing war. We unite in the face of hatred and proclaim our love and pride as Jews.

This Shabbat is also the fifth anniversary of the massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, the worst attack against Jews in the history of the United States. We remember the lives of those who were murdered then.

The massive increase in antisemitic and anti-Israel incidents in the United States, including some violence, are bringing up a lot of fear and anxiety here at home. We must always remain proud of being Jewish, proud of our tradition, and proud of our extended family. 

Parashat Lekh Lekha begins the story of the Jewish people. It is the story of a family struggling to find its place in the world. Avram and Sarai Follow the Divine command to a new land with a promise that it will one day become home to their descendants. They themselves are wanderers, struggling to find a place, to find peace.

Their situation is tenuous in the early years. They wander. They experience famine and become economic migrants. They eventually begin to prosper as nomads, but do not have access to sufficient land, forcing Avram and his nephew Lot to go separate ways. Lot pitches his tents outside the city of Sodom, in the verdant Jordan River valley, while Avram settles at the Terebinths of Mamre, near Hebron.

One day, a refugee comes to town with news that is of interest to Avram. A confederacy of Kings from the East came to attack five cities in the Jordan River valley, including S’dom. The leaders of those cities hid in caves, but the cities themselves were plundered, and Lot, his household, and all of his possessions were taken captive.

Without hesitation, Avram jumps into action, assembling a force comprised of 318 retainers from his own household. They travel a long distance, all the way to Dan, which is located in the northern Galilee, about 250 km away. Avram and his forces attack at night. They defeat the enemy, and pursue them for another 60 km or so, as far as Damascus, in order to rescue Lot, his household, all of his possessions, and the possessions that had been captured from the cities that were attacked. Afterwards, when he returns home with Lot and his family, Avram refuses to keep any of the plunder for himself, even when the kings of the towns offer him a reward: “not so much as a thread or a sandal strap.” All he wants is his nephew.

This is a story in which Avram puts absolutely everything on the line for his family. He puts his own life at risk, the lives of his entire household, and the Divine destiny which he has been following. There is no question, whatsoever, in Avram’s mind as to what he must do. Lot is family, and despite any differences they may have had in the past, he must be saved.

This story serves as the paradigm of the mitzvah of pidyon shvuyim, redeeming of captives. It is a religious obligation to every one of us to rescue our fellow Jew from captivity. Listen to how Maimonides describes this commandment.

The redemption of captives receives priority over sustaining the poor and providing them with clothing. [Indeed,] there is no greater mitzvah than the redemption of captives. For a captive is among those who are hungry, thirsty, and unclothed and he is in mortal peril.

To emphasize how significant redeeming captives is, Maimonides goes on to list all of the mitzvot that a person violates if they fail to act. First come the negative commandments:

If someone pays no attention to his redemption, he violates the negative commandments: “Do not harden your heart or close your hand” (Deuteronomy 15:7 , “Do not stand by when the blood of your neighbor is in danger” (Leviticus 19:16 , and “He shall not oppress him with exhausting work in your presence” (ibid. 25:53).

Next, Maimonides lists the positive commandments that a person violates if they fail to act:

And he has negated the observance of the positive commandments: “You shall certainly open up your hand to him” (Deuteronomy 15:8), “And your brother shall live with you” (ibid. 19:18), “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18), 

In total, Maimonides lists six distinct mitzvot from the Torah which all pertain to the obligation of redeeming our fellow Jews who are taken captive. Then, to put an exclamation on the matter, he concludes with a quote from Proverbs:

“Save those who are taken for death” (Proverbs 24:11) , and many other decrees of this nature. There is no mitzvah as great as the redemption of captives. 

Maimonides, Gifts to the Poor 8:10

Maimonides’ description of pidyon shvuyim feels personal. And we know that these are not mere words. Jewish history is filled with examples of communities setting absolutely everything aside to free their fellow Jews. Throughout the middle ages and into modern times, Jewish organizations were established to raise funds to ransom captured Jews. When sufficient local funds could not be raised, fundraisers were undertaken to collect money from Jews living abroad.

A 16th century French traveler expressed surprise that, during his travels throughout the Ottoman Empire, where slavery was legal, he never encountered any enslaved Jews. Explaining this surprising discovery, he wrote that Jewish solidarity “never permitted one of their people to remain in servitude.”

So it should not surprise any of us to witness how Jews all over the world, religious and secular, Israeli and non-Israeli, have mobilized to demand that the approximately 220 Israelis taken captive be brought home now. 

Sadly, terrorists know how personal it is for Jews, how hard we will work for the release of Jewish hostages, how high a price we will be willing to pay. For decades, they have taken hostages to further their aims.

Hamas and their ilk are a cult of death. They celebrate suicide bombers, use their own people as human shields, and rejoice over the murder, rape, and torture of civilians.

The commandment to redeem captives is indicative of how much Judaism values life. We cannot rest until captive Jews are freed.

Halakhah (Jewish law) on redeeming captives developed at a time when Jews were living as minorities without the capacity to rescue captives. So the Jewish laws deal mainly with paying ransoms, trying to walk the tightrope between rescuing Jews and not encouraging further hostage taking. But Avram offers us a more forceful example: a man who acted with conviction and purpose to rescue family. 

By now, I am sure you know all about the current situation. There are approximately 220 hostages, among them 30 children, even babies. Four hostages have been released. One of those who was taken is named Omer Neutra. Born and raised in the United States to parents from Israel, he celebrated his Bar Mtzvah at Midway Jewish Center in Syosset, New York. He went to Young Judea summer camp and was a counselor at Camp Ramah Day Camp in Nyack. Omer was the Regional President of METNY USY, and was captain of his soccer, volleyball and basketball teams at the Schechter School of Long Island. After high school, Omer took a gap year, and then decided to put off university and enlist in the IDF as a Lone Soldier. He became a tank commander.

Omer is believed to be one of the more than 220 souls taken captive by Hamas on October 7. Omer turned 22 two weeks ago. As is his family custom, his parents,  Orna and Ronen, and his brother Daniel, had a cake for Omer with 23 candles – 1 extra. They did not blow out the candles. They let them melt into the cake while they recited prayers for their son.

This Shabbat, we set a symbolic seat for Omer in our shul, and pray for his freedom and the freedom of all our brothers and sisters in captivity and distress.

Might and Peace – Noach 5784

My heart is still broken, broken for 1,400 Israelis who were killed and their families. We have been witnessing the funerals and the shiva and a nation that is still in the midst of trauma.

I am relieved for the release of mother and daughter Judith and Natalie Raanan yesterday, and praying for the 200 others who were taken hostage, particularly 30 children whose fate and whereabouts remain unknown.

Once again, we have in our Torah portion a fitting story to describe our current reality.

By the end of last week’s parashah, the humans, who were created in the image of God, whom God blessed and declared to be tov me’od, very good, have failed to meet expectations. After just ten generations, God sees “how great was man’s wickedness on earth, and how every plan devised by his mind was nothing but evil all the time.”

How sad. The creation that God declared to be “very good” is now “nothing but evil all the time.”

As this morning’s Torah portion, Noach, opens, the Divine displeasure continues. 

וַתִּשָּׁחֵ֥ת הָאָ֖רֶץ לִפְנֵ֣י הָֽאֱלֹקִ֑ים וַתִּמָּלֵ֥א הָאָ֖רֶץ חָמָֽס׃ 

The earth became corrupt before God; the earth was filled with ḥamas. When God saw how corrupt the earth was, for all flesh had corrupted its ways on earth, God said to Noah, “I have decided to put an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with ḥamas because of them: I am about to destroy them with the earth.

Genesis 6:11-13

The irony is tempting. Ḥamas is the Hebrew word for lawlessness. It is a word that expresses the chaos and evil of the world before the flood, the complete lack of boundaries and respect for the divinity contained within every human being. 

God decides to wipe it all away, to allow the waters of chaos to undo all of the order and good that God had created. And God decides to give us another chance.

After the flood subsides, Noah offers a sacrifice. When God smells the pleasing odor, God says to Godself, “Never again will I doom the earth because of Adam, since the devisings of Adam’s mind are evil from his youth…”

Notice that human nature has not changed one bit. God uses nearly identical language to describe humanity’s proclivity for evil. But this time, God provides some instructions. Among them, one stands out in this moment. 

For your own life-blood I will require a reckoning… of every man for that of his fellow man! Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for in His did God make man.

Genesis 9:5-6

This verse, considered by our tradition to be the basis of one of the seven Noachide commandments, forbids murder, the wrongful taking of human life. And, it obligates human beings to punish the one who commits murder.

This is the foundational principle of justice. Human beings may not wrongfully harm one another, and society must have institutions in place both for protection, as well as for lawful adjudication and punishment.

In a world that is prone to chaos, this is the only way that we can hope to live together.

In the next passage, God makes a covenant with Noah and his children, establishing the rainbow in the clouds as a sign of God’s commitment to never destroy the earth by flood again.

We tend to think of the rainbow as a symbol of peace, but that is not quite right. In the language of the Torah, the rainbow is a sign only for God. For God, it is a sign of stepping back. It is a sign of God being resigned to the inherently selfish and violent qualities of humanity. The Torah does not say anything about what the rainbow is supposed to mean for us.

But implied by stepping back is that God is saying to us, “I cannot solve your problems for you. From now on it is your resonsibility. You may not allow the lawlessness that existed before the flood to persist.  You are created in My image, and that means you have an obligation to rise above your evil nature.”

From this perspective, to hold someone accountable for their evil actions is to treat them as a human being. When Hamas commits its atrocities, justice demands a response. 

When innocent civilians are taken hostage, every effort must be made to bring them home, and those who took them must be punished. Why? It is because every human is made in the image of God.

We know the problem. Hamas and its allies surround themselves with civilians. They hide in schools and mosques, and fire rockets from right next to hospitals.

This makes it impossible for Israel to target its enemies without harming civilians. I trust that the IDF, in its training, its policies, and in its wartime decision making, strives to abide by the ethics and laws of war. But war is messy, especially in the Middle East. I do not envy those who have to make the decisions.

While none of us can know what the future has in store, this war will likely go on for some time. It will be ugly. Many civilians will die, mostly Palestinians. The propaganda battle will be intense, and we can predict how it will play out. As time goes on, Israel will come under increasing pressure to agree to a cease-fire.

The reality is that from here in San Jose, there is a little that we can do to impact any of this, other than by sending money and continuing to reach out on the human level to friends and family in Israel and here at home.

For me personally, I worry about what this war will do to my ability to see the Divine in every human being.

When news of the Ahli Arab hospital explosion came out earlier this week, my first reaction was to feel ill, saying to myself something along the lines of “I hope it wasn’t an Israeli bomb.” 

When it appeared to have been caused by an errant Palestinian Islamic Jihad rocket, I felt relief and vindication… and also anger and frustration that for so many, the truth of which side’s explosives caused the damage does not matter.

What I did not feel and still do not feel so much of, is sadness for the deaths of people who were already injured and already seeking shelter from violence. For them, what difference does it make whose bomb caused the explosion? They are human beings, made in God’s image. We are supposed to fell a connection to that. In the midst of war, it is so easy for that fact to be smothered by our tribalism. 

This is what war does. It hardens our hearts, making it difficult to feel compassion, making it hard to see the Divine in my fellow human being who is on the other side of the battle line.

It should be possible for us to simultaneously hold on to our love and support for our Israeli brothers and sisters, to pray for the safe return of the hostages, and also feel empathy for Palestinian civilians.

We should be able to pray for the defeat of Hamas, while also mourning civilian deaths.

And I know that there are not a lot of voices within the Muslim world that are calling for that kind of nuance right now. I was there were.

Is that not the burden that God placed on the children of Noah after the flood? To treat all life as sacred, as well as to hold to account anyone who violates that sanctity.

We recite Psalm 29 twice on Shabbat, once during Kabbalat Shabbat, Friday night, right before Lekha Dodi, and then when we return the Torah to the ark. The final two verses may sound familiar. Especially the last verse, which is used as the last verse in Birkat Hamazon, the Grace After Meals.

יְ֭הֹוָה לַמַּבּ֣וּל יָשָׁ֑ב וַיֵּ֥שֶׁב יְ֝הֹוָ֗ה מֶ֣לֶךְ לְעוֹלָֽם׃ 

יְֽהֹוָ֗ה עֹ֭ז לְעַמּ֣וֹ יִתֵּ֑ן יְהֹוָ֓ה ׀ יְבָרֵ֖ךְ אֶת־עַמּ֣וֹ בַשָּׁלֽוֹם׃

The Lord sat enthroned at the flood, the Lord sits enthroned, King forever

May the Lord grant oz, might to His people, may the Lord bless His people with shalom.

Psalm 29:10-11

I never thought about it before, but this last verse might seem contradictory. Asking for might sounds pretty militaristic, the direct opposite of peace. But history has shown that in our imperfect world, strength is what often makes peace possible. This is a lesson that the State of Israel certainly knows well.

Does shalom in this context really mean “peace.” I cannot accept that when we say “peace,” we mean “the annihilation of Gaza.”

I suggest that shalom, paired with oz, might paired with shalom, means something like wholeness and balance. When we are blessed with might, we pray that we not lose ourselves, that we not fall from the divine image, nor lose the ability to see the divine image in others, including even our enemies.

If we can’t strive for that, what business do we have praying for shalom?

Who we are, and whom we are meant to become – Bereishit 5784

All week I have been dreading this moment of having to say something in front of the congregation. We have all been struggling with disbelief and anger, grief, fear, our hearts ripped open; emotions too raw to express in words. 

And of all Torah portions to read this week, we have Bereishit. The beginning. This is a parashah which lays out the core aspects of what it means to be a human being. As a Rabbi, I turn to our tradition, our words.

Let’s look at five details, five snapshots that tell us who we are and what we are here for.

First comes creation. God spends six days making heaven and earth. As the Torah opens, we learn that the primordial state is one of chaos—tohu vavohu—with the spirit of God hovering over the deep. Reading on, the earth and sky form when God pushes out the watery chaos, the forces of evil and destruction. God divides them above and below, and from side to side. There, those waters, with their monsters and evil dragons, wait, eager to rush back in to reawaken the chaos. As the final creative act, God forms human, male and female, in the Divine image. God blesses them, us, and assigns us responsibility of dominion over the earth, the sea, and all they contain. Humanity is God’s partner, our duty unique among the rest of Creation. Our job is to keep those waters of chaos and evil at bay, to allow the rest of the world to flourish.

The next snapshot is in the Garden of Eden. God forms the first human out of the dust, and almost immediately declares lo tov heyot ha-adam levado – “It is not good for the human to be alone.” The solution is to divide the human into two, male and female, to serve as one another’s companions. We learn that humans are social creatures. We rely upon one another in the most fundamental ways. 

The third snapshot is also in the Garden of Eden. God had planted the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, with instructions to not eat from its fruit. You know what happens. The woman and the man eat the fruit, and thereby gain moral knowledge. They experience something new: shame, as they hide their nakedness from one another, and from God. Their punishment is to be expelled from the Garden. 

The fourth snapshot is of their children: Cain and Abel. When God favors Abel’s sacrifice, Cain is overwhelmed with jealousy and anger. God warns, “Sin couches at the door. It’s urge is toward you, but you can be it’s master.”

Cain does not master his rage, and he murders his brother. 

“Where is your brother Abel?” God asks.

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” is Cain’s response. I believe his question is an honest one.

God does not answer the question with a simple yes or no, but with an expression of horror and disbelief. “What have you done? Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground!” Cain’s punishment is to wander the face of the earth, marked with the sign of a curse. 

The final snapshot: Zeh sefer toldot adam —“This is the book of the generations of Adam. When God created man, God make him in His likeness; male and female He created them.” What follows is a geneaology of the children of Adam and Eve, covering the ten generations to Noah. The Talmudic Sage Ben Azzai declares this verse to be the fundamental principle of the Torah. All human beings are descend from the same origin. All of us carry the divine image. All of us are brothers and sisters.

These five snapshots merge into a portrait of the human condition. We human beings are God’s partners in Creation. It is our responsibility to keep the waters of evil and chaos at bay. There is a moral purpose to the universe, and we play a critical part…

…and we are morally imperfect. We have the capacity to know the difference between good and evil. We have the capacity to overcome sin, but we are no longer living in Eden. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain asks. It is the dominant moral question of the entire book of Genesis, perhaps even the Torah. The ultimate answer is “yes. I am my brother’s keeper.” But violence and bloodshed are a constant presence.

And despite this all human beings are brothers and sisters. And we are stuck in this world, outside of Eden, that is filled with love and hate, peace and violance, order and chaos, grief and joy. And we need each other. And God does not want us to be resigned. All of this from our Torah’s opening parashah.

We have been witness to all of these humanity this week. I simply do not have words to talk about Hamas’ murderous rampage one week ago, last Shabbat, the morning of Simchat Torah, other than to call it pure evil, the worst of what humanity is capable of. There have been those that have tried to say that “they are not humans. They are animals.” I disagree. They are humans, and we know all too well that humans are capable of such evil.

This is the forces of creation ripped apart by chaos. Human beings utterly shirking their obligation to be partners with God in creating order and goodness. The blood of our brothers and sisters still cries out from the ground. It demands our grief, and our response. 

We have also seen inspiring acts of human connection. Jews everywhere around the world experienced last week’s horrors deeply. Israelis immediately set aside their differences to come together in shared grief. They did everything imaginable to help victims, to protect and defend their fellow citizens. Jews around the world gathered in mourning and solidarity, demanding the freeing of our captive brothers and sisters. We have sent our financial support, and marshalled our political and social resources.

We have received outpourings of support from friends and allies around the world – those who rightly see the other as their brothers and sisters in shared humanity.

Astonishingly, there has been silence from too many, not to mention those who celebrate and cheer the torture, murder, and kidnapping of innocents.

Parashat Bereishit shows us exactly who we are, and it begs us to be who we are meant to become.

I have been thinking all week about how we are going to respond ritually to the demands of this moment.

This week has been filled with laments of grief, outpourings of rage, demands for vengeance, expressions of hope. Prayer helps us put what we are feeling into words. Prayer can sometimes be a statement of faith. Sometimes it is not a statement of faith but it is as a way of expressing ourselves when we cannot formulate the sounds on our own. It gives us the words when we do not have the words.

So, we are going to add prayers to our services. This morning, and probably for quite some time. This is what I could come up with for this morning. Our feelings and emotions may change in the weeks ahead and our prayers may change also.