The Problem with the Story of Sodom and Gomorrah – Vayera 5784

I have a problem with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.

It is a story that is set up to be about Justice and righteousness. Those are the words that are used repeatedly over the course of the narrative.

Let’s review the story in broad outlines, so we know what we are talking about. God sees the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah and that they are evil, and decides to completely annihilate them. But first, God consults with Abraham. God reveals the plan. Abraham then argues on behalf of the cities. There may be innocent people there. In the end, not even ten can be found, and the cities are destroyed.

When we look at a story in the Torah, we have got to accept the way that the story is told, and the facts that the Torah presents, as being very deliberate. It is trying to tell us something, and so we have got to be true to the text when we approach and try to analyze it.

What are the starting assumptions?

First. Abraham has been singled out to instruct his children to “keep the way of the Lord by doing what is just and what is right—la’asot tzedakah umishpat.” (18:19) That is why God consults with Abraham.

Second. The cities are evil – so evil that God determines that the only course is to destroy them entirely, to literally turn them upside down. “The outrage of Sodom and Gomorrah is so great, and their sin is so grave.” (18:20) Justice demands that they be punished.

What is Abraham’s argument?

He argues that the presence of a few righteous individuals is sufficient to reverse the decree against a city that, in the eyes of God, is entirely wicked. Abraham starts with 50 innocent people. “Will You then wipe out the place and not forgive it for the sake of the fifty righteous individuals who are in it?” (18:24)

Throughout, in his description of the people living in Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham uses the langague of tzadik and rashah: Righteousness in opposition to wickedness. Abraham’s argument is that it is unjust to bring the same punishment upon the righteous as upon the wicked. Collective punishment is wrong.

God agrees to follow Abraham’s basic premise. Over the course of their discussion, Abraham drops the number down from fifty until he eventually settles at ten. Also, God uses three different terms to express God’s willingness to not destroy the cities: nasa’ti – I will lift [their iniquity]; lo e’eseh – I will not do it; lo ashḥit – I will not destroy.

The argument that Abraham is bringing to God is that mercy should overcoming justice.

Notice that God and Abraham are making inverse arguments. 

God says: I’ll wipe out everyone because of the preponderance of evil people – This is justice taking precedence over mercy.

Abraham says: You should save everyone because of the minority of good people – This is mercy taking precedence over justice.

I would argue that there are some major gaps in their arguments. 

One. There is no call for repentance.  Just like with Noah, it does not even occur to Abraham to walk down the mountain to Sodom and Gomorrah to speak with the people themselves.

This is a successful tactic, after all. Think of Jonah, the most successful prophet in the Bible. God sends him to the people of Nineveh, who are also described as completely evil, all the way down to the livestock. Jonah’s mission, which he tries to avoid at all possible costs, is to call upon them to change their ways, to repent, so that they earn their own salvation.

And it works! Perfectly, to Jonah’s dismay.

Does Abraham have such a low opinion of the residents of Sodom and Gomorrah as to think that they are irredeemable?

Should he not have given them an opportunity to save themselves?

Here is my second problem with this story. Abraham is only partially concerned with justice. Justice is the premise that people get what they deserve.

Consider that if Abraham succeeds, two whole cities filled almost entirely with wicked people are going to get away with it. What then of their future victims? Will Abraham bear any responsibility? That does not sound like justice to me. With too much mercy, wickedness thrives. If we forgive too readily, we allow evil to spread.

How does the story end? Abraham goes to bed that night feeling good about himself. He is confident that the has saved the people of Sodom and Gomorrah by bargaining God down: the presence of just ten righteous people will save the cities. Mercy wins over justice.

When he wakes up and walks to the overlook from which he can gaze down upon the plain, he is surprised to see a smoking ruin. There were not even ten righteous people.

Meanwhile, God has taken it upon Godself to save the few innocent people: Lot, his wife, and two daughters. 

The coda to the story is strange: “Thus it was that, when God destroyed the cities of the Plain and annihilated the cities where Lot dwelt, vayizkor Elohim et Avraham—God rememberd Abraham and removed Lot from the midst of the upheaval.” (19:29)

What does it mean in this text to say that God remembered Abraham? This result does not resemble anything that they have discussed. It is, however, the solution that is the perfect execution of justice. The wicked are punished and the innocent are saved.

Maybe that is what Abraham should have demanded from God in the first place. Save the innocent. Bring them out, and then do what You are going to do.

As a model for justice, mercy, the question of collective punishment or collective redemption, this story is overly simplistic. It lacks nuance.

In this particular framework, the Torah depicts people as either wholly righteous or wholly wicked, and this is just not how people are. People are not so black and white.

This is not a story about repentance and reconciliation. It sees people’s character, their morale stature, as static, something that cannot change. Either the presence of the wicked dooms the fate of everyone, or the presence of innocents releases everyone from punishment. There is no nuance here.

These problems strike me as bearing certain similarities to what Israel faces right now.

An evil, unjustifiable act was perpetrated against innocent people by Hamas. I do not think that repentance and eventual reconciliation is a reasonable goal for the estimated 40,000 members of that organization who are hiding underground, often under schools, mosques, and hospitals. But what of the fate of the 2.3 million Palestinians living in Gaza? Many of us have tried to specify that this is a war between Israel and Hamas. Noa Tishby, the Israeli actress who has emerged as a strong voice explaining Israel and fighting against antisemitism and anti-Zionism, describes herself as “pro-Palestinian” and “anti-Hamas.” I identify with that.

But this is messy. How many dead and injured men, women, and children, destroyed homes, and uprooted lives are justified in the mission to eliminate Hamas and rescue the 240 hostages who have been held now for four weeks?

How does one balance justice and mercy in a situation like this? Should one lean towards collective punishment or collective redemption? Can those who commit atrocities be allowed to go free because of the cost to civilians? Is there a way to thread that needle? I do not pretend that there are any easy or obvious moral answers here.

I would just like to point out that the outcome of Abraham and God’s argument over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah does not resolve the dilemma either, even when it paints people in moral black and white.

My prayer is that those in Israel who are responsible for waging this war are truly aware of these moral dilemmas and are putting them at the forefront of the very difficult decisions that they are forced to make. I wish there was more nuance in the discussions taking place around the country and around the world to recognize how difficult this situation is.

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.

Bereishit 5777 – The Four Sins of Bereishit and the Expansion of the Human Ego

I have been feeling a bit addicted to technology lately, so I resolved to do something that I have not done in about two decades.  I wrote a sermon completely by hand, without using anything whatsoever with a screen for ideas or research.  I scanned it and am sharing the results below (I get the irony).  Sorry if you can’t read my handwriting.
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