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October 22, 2023

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Divrei Torah (Weekly Sermons), Genesis (בראשית)

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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?

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August 29, 2023

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Be The One to Take the First Step – Ki Teitzei 5783

One of my personal favorite mitzvot appears in this morning’s Torah portion. It is called hashevat aveidah – the return of a lost item.

I love it so much because I know what it is like to lose something that is important to me, and to despair about ever getting it back.

When someone, out of the blue, brings that lost item back to me, the feeling transcends the mere restoration of an item of value. It is a reminder of the potential goodness in a random stranger. What a gift to be able to be that stranger for someone else.

Parashat Ki Teitzei is notable for containing the most number of mitzvot, commandments, of any portion in the Torah: 74. Like many of the Torah’s law codes, the topics range widely, covering ritual obligations, business law, criminal law, as well as personal and family ethics. 

One of these laws is hashevat aveidah. This is how it is introduced:

If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow. 

Deuteronomy 22:1

The Torah continues to specify that we have an obligation to take the lost animal home and care for it if the owner cannot be immediately identified or located. It then expands beyond animals to include garments, or any other item that we may find.

Twice, the Torah emphasizes that we are not allowed to remain indifferent, using the expression v’hit’alamta mahem – which literally means “and hide yourself from them.” If I find a lost item, I must return it.

A corollary mitzvah follows this one, also with instructions to not “hide yourself from them.”

If you see your fellow’s donkey or ox fallen on the road… you must help him raise it.

Deuteronomy 22:4

I have always liked these two mitzvot. Being part of the covenanted community of the Jewish people means more than just treating one another properly. Our obligations extend to one another’s possessions as well. Consider for a moment what these mitzvot are saying. I incur an obligation simply for my discovery of an item, even when I do not know to whom that item belongs. I am obligated to a mystery person such that I commit a sin if I do not step up.

I recently discovered a commentary by a medieval Spanish sage, Rabbi Baḥya ben Asher. Rabbeinu Baḥya, as he is known, wrote a commentary on the Torah that offers allegorical, midrashic, and mystical interpretations. In his discussion, Rabbeinu Baḥya offers three explanations for these commandments to take responsibility for the property of our neighbors.

First, he cites the Talmud. The Torah repeats Hebrew words hashev teshivem, “Return you shall return.” This does not merely emphasize our obligation to return a lost object. It conveys that we must keep returning it, even 100 times in a row, if necessary.

Imagine my neighbor has a donkey that keeps wandering on to my property. As many times as it wanders over, I must still make the effort to bring it back home, however annoying or inconvenient it might be. That is a fairly conventional midrashic interpretation.

Rabbeinu Baḥya then explains that this kind of behavior is midarkhei haḥesed v’haraḥamim – among the ways of kindness and compassion. This is how people who are all descended from the same human ancestor ought to treat one another. We each have an interest in the success and well-being of one another, he says. As such, we must go beyond the obligation to merely care for the “things” belonging to our neighbor. It is not just about stuff. If I find myself in a position in which I have the ability to protect another person from financial loss, I must do so. I may not “hide myself.”

The principal behind this responsibility, says Rabbeinu Baḥya, is v’ahavta l’re’ekha kamokha, which we usually translate as “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” But here, Rabbeinu Baḥya understands it as “You shall love that which is your neighbor’s as if it were your own.” It is quite an extension of the principle.

His second explanation is a theological one, focusing on the warning against “hiding yourself.” He notes that it is easy to look the other way and pretend not to have seen a wandering donkey, or a lost item. Who is going to know?

The answer is “God knows.” And just as we are commanded to return that which is our neighbor’s, God will one day return that which is ours.  That is to say, God will return our souls to our bodies. And here, Rabbeinu Bahya goes into a description of the Jewish concept of the resurrection of the dead, which will occur after the coming of the mashiaḥ. The point is, how can we expect God to return our souls to us if we fail to return that which is our neighbor’s?

The third explanation is the one that most took me by surprise. Rabbeinu Baḥya notes that these mitzvot in Parashat Ki Teitzei are a reiteration of mitzvot that first appear in the the book of Exodus, but with a significant distinction. Where Deuteronomy uses the word aḥikha, “your brother,” to describe the person whose donkey has wandered off and gotten into trouble, Exodus uses the word son’ekha, “your enemy.”

That is a pretty significant difference. What does it mean? At first, we might think that this merely indicates that it does not matter whether or not I like the owner of the donkey. I am still obligated.

Rabbeinu Baḥya suggests that there is a deeper lesson to be learned. If I assist my enemy with their fallen donkey, they may come to see me differently, and my enemy may transform into my brother. The assistance I offer may be the very thing to cause the hatred to be forgotten and the love that unites us to be remembered.

What an inspiring—and difficult—observation.

I suspect Rabbeinu Baḥya may be talking about more than just a wandering donkey. When there is conflict, it can be really hard to be the one to take the first step at reconcilliation. Our egos get too involved.  How often do we get into fights with other people when we forget the reason for the conflict in the first place, and it becomes all about the hatred, the negative feelings which are reinforced every time I hear that person’s name.

What would be so terrible about swallowing my pride and taking that first step to do something that helps out my enemy? Perhaps that is the very act to shatter the hostility.

As we prepare for the new year, this is the time when we are supposed to be examining our relationships, reviewing our deeds. We engage in teshuvah, repentance. Our tradition teaches us the only way to do teshuvah for sins between ourselves and another person is to appease that person directly.

Rabbeinu Baḥya offers us an approach to repair broken relationships. Swallow my pride, do not wait for them to apologize first. After all, they are probably waiting for me to apologize first. Just take the first step. Perhaps this will be the year that my enemy becomes my friend.