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.

The Locus of Control – Rosh Hashanah 5781, First Day

The Sinai Men’s Club has an annual poker tournament.  I play a few times a year on top of that.  There is an important rule upon which my participation is conditioned.  No praying allowed.

So I go by “Josh” around the table… until there is a particularly big hand.  At that moment, I embrace my clerical role and become… Rabbi Berkenwald.

In 2009, the economist Ingo Fiedler crunched the data of 55,000 poker players, comprising several million hands, from an online gambling site.  He was trying to determine whether, and to what extent, skill plays a role in poker.

One question he asked was: What percentage of the winning hands do you think were the best hands? In poker, the winning hand and the best hand are not necessarily the same thing.  To win, you have to stay in the game.  That is to say, not fold.

90 percent?

75 percent?

50 percent?

12 percent.  In only twelve percent of pots was the hand that wins the best hand at the table.

In a recently published book called The Biggest Bluff: How I Learned to Pay Attention, Master Myself, and Win, Psychologist Maria Konikova set out to teach herself to play poker, No Limit Texas Hold-‘Em, and enter the the world of professional gambling.  She chose poker because, more than any other game, it is most similar to the world as we experience it.

In Texas Hold ‘Em, I get two cards. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change any of the cards on the table.  Furthermore, I have limited information. I know what I am holding, and I can see what is face up on the table. The rest is a mystery.

All I can do is fold, call, or raise.

Whether I am Josh or Rabbi Berkenwald, whether I pray or curse, I have zero ability to change the cards. What do I think, God is going to reaarange the deck for me?

All of those elements that I cannot control and do not know are external to me. One reason that poker is such a difficult game to be good at is because we get these things confused.

In helping to describe her experience, Konikova uses a psychological concept called the “Locus of Control,” first developed in the 1950’s by Julian Rotter. In each of our individual experiences as human beings, where does control over events seem to reside? There are two possibilities: internal or external.

Internal means that I determine what happens.  External means that something other than me controls my fate. Each of us tends to have either an internal or an external locus of control in a majority of cirumstances.

Internals tend to be optimistic about their abilities to determine their future. If I get a good grade, or a promotion at work, it is because of the effort I put in. As a result, those with an internal locus of control are more confident in their abilities to change their situation, and are therefore more willing to act and take risks.

Externals tend to attribute failure or success to outside factors like luck, fate, circumstances, or the prejudice of others. They tend to take a more passive approach to difficult circumstances because they are less confident of their abilities to affect change, and are therefore less likely to act. They also experience more stress and higher rates of depression.

5780 has been a year in which we have been made painfully aware of how out of control we are.

That I am delivering this D’var Torah in front of a camera while you experience it on a screen epitomizes what we have experienced in every dimension of our lives.

We entered this pandemic with so little knowledge of how to protect ourselves and each other.  Two hundred thousand people in this country alone have died, including the loved ones of members of our community.  Many of us have been unable to be present with sick or dying loved ones.

We have been physically isolated from one another, which takes such a high mental toll. Anxiety levels are high, raising risks of psychological illness and suicide.

With a shrinking economy, dedicated workers have lost jobs. Record numbers of people are relying on food banks.

Our country has erupted in civil unrest over the still-unresolved racism in our society. And we have felt helpless in the face of police violence, rioting, and a general feeling of social unrest.

Whatever our personal politics, we have felt exasperated at the seeming lack of understanding compassion, and common sense demonstrated by our opponents.

And for the last month, we have faced fires and dangerously unhealthy smoke that prevented us from even going outside.

So much is out of our control!

…or at least it feels that way. Arguably, we are no more or less in control than ever. We have always been subject to the laws of nature. Biology, physics, chemistry, human nature – none of these has changed. The universe continues to behave exactly as it always has since the beginning of time. Our perspective has caused the locus of control to shift towards the external.

The awesome, terrifying prayer, Unetaneh Tokef, captures this sense of powerlessness. After reading a list of our actions over the past year from the Book of Remembrance, God assembles us like sheep before a shepherd. As we pass by, God counts us and determines our fate for the year to come.

On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on the fast of Yom Kippur it is sealed:

How many will pass on, and how many will be born;

who will live and who will die…

who by fire and who by water…

who by hunger and who by thirst;

who by earthquake and who by plague…

who will be impoverished and who will be enriched…

But the book, with its sentence, is closed to us.  We did not know, one year ago, that plague and fire had been written down. Nor could we have. We do not know what is written for next year.

If we read closely, we see that there is no explicit connection between our deeds, the judgment, and the sentence. While there may be a spiritual ledger of our actions, our destiny in the upcoming year is independent. The locus of control in the prayer is entirely external. Our actions do not determine our destiny.

But wait. There is an asterisk. When we finish listing the possible fates that await us, we shout out our response:

Uteshuvah utefilah utzedakah ma’avirin et ro’a hagezeirah.

“Repentance, Prayer, and Charity turn aside the severity of the decree.” 

I cannot change fate, but I can make a difference in how it impacts myself and others. The deck has been shuffled and the cards dealt, but I can still control how I play them.

While we are living through a time in which we feel that we have very little control, our history should offer some comfort. This is surely not the first time we have faced such challenges.

In countless ways, human beings are better suited to coping than ever before. Researchers around the world are racing to develop vaccines in what will be, if expectations are met, record time.

Just 10 to 15 years ago, we did not have the technological capacity to shift school, work, and even religion online.

Medicine, science, and history have taught us so much about how to keep each other safe. Health care workers on the front lines, along with public health experts, have quickly learned and adapted to better care for those who have become sick.

Human beings are resilient, and the the Jewish people especially so. We have experienced so much external adversity, faced persecution beyond our control. We are still here because we have never given up on our ability to have an impact on our destiny.

Our Jewish tradition has always emphasized free will, that we are not supposed to be the objects of history, but rather its subjects. And, that we have a role to play in the world’s redemption.

Teshuvah, Tefilah, Tzedakah – Repentance, Prayer, and Charity. None of these will make the virus go away. They will not bring about a cure, nor hasten its development.

But they do offer answers to how we can control our fate.

Teshuvah – Repentance. I can always be better. I can work on my flaws and correct my mistakes. How I behaved yesterday does not have to determine how I will behave tomorrow. This is a lifetime project, but it is one that puts me in control of how I experience that life – whatever unexpected things may befall me.

Tefilah – Worship. This is deeply personal. Reaching out, spiritually, to that which is beyond us. God, the Divine, the universe, however you conceive It. Jewish worship combines elements of gratitude, self-reflection, petition, and penitence. It is how we develop a rich inner life and offers a way to be more centered. 

Tzedakah – It means charity. It means righteousness. And it means justice. Fundamentally, tzedakah is about taking care of each other. I have responsibilities to my fellow human beings – those who are part of my community and beyond. Especially at times of great crisis such as we are experiencing, I have the ability to effect not only my own experience, but that of others.

Right now, there are so many who are far worse off than I am. I would suggest that taking care of others’ needs leaves us feeling more empowered, more in control even, than taking care of ourselves.

While it may feel that we have no control, there is so much that we can do avert the severity of the decree.

God willing, we have all been written for life, health, success, prosperity, and love for the coming year.

But whatever the decree—whether the dealer has dealt us Pocket Aces or a 2 and 7 of mismatched suits—let us dedicate ourselves to affecting change in our own lives, the lives of others, and even the fate of the entire world. 

Shanah Tovah Umetukah. May we all be sealed for a good and sweet new year.

Tzedakah or Selfishness – Vayera 5779

Justice, tzedakah, is one of the recurring themes in this morning’s Torah portion, Vayera.  As God contemplates the fate of the Sodom and Gomorrah, two cities in the Jordan River Valley, God decides to hire a consultant.  

Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do… for I have singled him out, that he may instruct his children… to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is just and right…—tzedakah u’mishpat.

God tells Abraham about the plan to destroy the two cities because of the extreme wickedness of their inhabitants.  Abraham immediately challenges God:  Ha’af tispeh tzadik im rasha  

Will you sweep away the innocent along with the guilty?  What if there should be fifty innocent within the city; will You then wipe out the place and not forgive it for the sake of the innocent fifty who are in it?…  Far be it from You… to bring death upon the innocent as well as the guilty…

God is convinced, promising “If I find within the city of Sodom fifty innocent ones, I will forgive the whole place for their sake.”

This is just the opening salvo in the negotiation.  Abraham lowers the threshold to 45, then 40, 30, 20, and finally 10 innocent people to save the remainder of the population.  God agrees every time.  

It seems, based on God’s original assessment, that this was the plan all along.  After all, God has already identified Abraham as someone who will pass on the values of tzedakah and mishpat — justice and righteousness — to his children.

It turns out that there are not even 10 righteous individuals in the two cities, leaving God free to carry out the original sentence.  Perhaps if Abraham had gone still lower…  God would probably have agreed.

This story depicts Abraham at his best.  He puts everything on the line for the sake of his fellow human beings.  These particular human beings are the worst of the worst,  but Abraham cannot sit idly by, even for such a depraved population.

Soon afterwards, Abraham and Sarah find themselves the land of Gerar, which is near Gaza.  As in a prior encounter with Pharaoh in Egypt, Abraham passes off his wife, Sarah, as his sister.  So what happens?  The King, Avimelech, thinking that she is single, has Sarah brought into his household.  [She is 89 years old at the time, but never mind.]

Before anything happens, God speaks to Avimelech in a dream.  “You are to die because of the woman you have taken, for she is a married woman!”

Still in the dream, Avimelech defends himself.  “O Lord, will you slay people even though innocent? — ha’goy gam tzadik ta’harog?  Sound familiar?  Avimelech makes the argument with God on his own behalf as Abraham made earlier on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah.  God agrees, and instructs Avimelech to return Sarah to her husband.

The next day, Avimelech confronts Abraham.  “What did I ever do to you?  You’ve brought disaster upon us.  You have done things to me that ought not to be done!”

Abraham’s response is difficult to hear. “I thought,” he says, “surely there is no fear of God in this place, and they will kill me because of my wife.”  (Gen. 20:11)  Then he offers some weak excuse explaining how Sarah is really his half-sister, and he did not technically lie.  Whether she is his sister or not is irrelevant.  What matters is his hiding the fact that she is a married woman.

Abraham, who had just recently behaved so nobly, now thinks only of himself.  He puts a lot of people in danger.  First of all, Sarah.  As soon as they arrive, she is taken to the palace, presumably to be made part of the harem.  Avimelech is endangered, as even a King is not allowed to be with a married woman.  And finally, because Abraham is, well Abraham, Avimelech’s entire household is stricken with temporary infertility, merely for bringing Sarah in to the palace.  If things had gone further, God’s wrath would have turned lethal.

Abraham assumes the worst of Avimelech and his people.  He condemns them before he even meets them.  But Abraham is wrong.  These are not wicked people.  As it turns out, Avimelech is a God-fearing man, with a sense of justice.  

This story has close parallels to the earlier story.  Only this time, it is Avimelech playing the role of the prophet standing in the breach, arguing for justice against a vengeful God.  In this case, like the previous, God wants to be convinced.  God wants tzedakah, justice, to reign.  God does not want the innocent to suffer the fate of the guilty.  As before, Abraham must personally intercede, praying to God for the health and well-being of Avimelech and his household.  But Abraham’s prayers come only after Avimelech bribes presents him with sheep, oxen, servants, land, and silver.

Abraham does not come out well in this story.  Is this the same person who put everything on the line to argue with God on behalf of people that he knew were wicked?  He is supposed to be the optimist, the one devoted to bringing justice into the world.  He should at least have given Avimelech the benefit of the doubt.

What are we to make of Abraham?  The Torah does not hold back in presenting its heroes as flawed individuals.  They make mistakes.  Sometimes, their opponents have qualities going for them as well.  The underlying theme of these two stories is tzedakah.  God wants justice.  God does not want the innocent to suffer punishments that should be reserved just for the wicked.  And in both stories, it seems that God is not capable of holding back the injustice without human intercession.

Abraham’s abrupt turn from being a justice-hero to behaving with selfishness and distrust teaches us something about the impact that fear can have, even on the best of us.  Abraham is afraid.  He says so himself.  His fear leads him to treat others unfairly, including his own wife.  He succumbs to stereotypes.

And Abraham, remember, is a good man.  He is the one whom God has selected to be a blessing to the world, and to teach his children about justice and righteousness.  If Abraham is susceptible to fear, how much the more so are we!

I don’t think I need to detail the many examples of how fear leads to injustice.  In this case, the victim was King Avimelech, a person in power.  But usually, the ones who are most harmed by fear and distrust are those without power.

The lesson from both stories is that God needs human intercessors to bring tzedakah into the world.  Any of us has the capacity to be such an intercessor, just as any of us has the capacity, through fear, to turn our backs on our brothers and sisters.

As Jews, we take this on as a special obligation, going all the way back to Abraham, whom God selected to “instruct his children… to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is just and right.”

May we always strive to live up to that ideal.