No Easy Answers: Seeking a Path of Integrity

In 19th century Baghdad, a group of students turned to their teacher with a question, seeking guidance on one of the most elusive human dilemmas: when is it justified to lie?
Question: We know that deceiving is a grievous act, so much so that deceivers are said to “not see the face of the shekhina” (divine presence). Yet we also know that at times it is justified to deceive, as the Rabbis taught that “it is permissible to fib in the interest of peace”… Now there are many occasions when a person could find justification to lie and to justify it as being in the interest of peace… Therefore we ask our teacher to instruct us in other situations in which it is justified to lie, so that we shall recognize the right path to take, and may your reward be multiplied by the heavens. Responsa Torah Lishma #364, Iraq 19th Century.		מצינו בענין השקר שהוא חמור מאוד והוא מארבע כיתות וכו' ומצינו שנעשה בו היתר לפעמים שאמרו רז"ל מותר לשנות מפני דרכי השלום... והנה יזדמן כמה עניינים שהאדם יוכל לעשות להם היתר לשנות בהם ולתלות ההיתר משום דרכי השלום ... על כן יגיד לנו מורנו אופנים אחרים שיש בהם היתר לשנות כדי שנדע את הדרך אשר נלך בו ושכמ"ה. (שו"ת תורה לשמה סימן שסד)
Striving to lead a life of truth, one confronts this question constantly, in various iterations: Should I tell this “white lie” in the interest of peace? Was it right to avoid the truth that time? Do I forsake peace and order for the sake of speaking truth to power? Should I stick by the rules or can I play dirty for the sake of a greater cause?
Writ large, this dilemma touches upon the question of civil disobedience (Occupy anywhere), of how much governments should tell their people (Wikileaks), of legal deals settled in back rooms in the interest of “moving forward” (Judge Rakoff vs. the SEC-Citibank settlement), or nations preventing full democratic rights from the people in the interest of peace (hello, Egypt).
Yaakov and Lavan, the heroes of this week’s parsha, VaYetze, are the paradigms of this dilemma. Lavan goes down in Jewish memory as the paradigm of the deceitful, untrustworthy “other.” He tricks Yaakov by giving him Leah and swindles him from the profits of shepherding.
But our Yaakov himself is the paradigm of uncomfortable Jewish stereotypes: the runaway-victim-cum-sneaky-businessman, the master of deceit whose tricks get played right back at him. Yaakov literally means “Heel/Sneak,” and the end of this week’s parsha sees him sneaking off with Lavan’s daughters and flocks back to Canaan.
Back to our Iraqi students and their dilemma: They are hoping for clear guidelines: when is it justified to lie, and when is it not. In between the lines of their question, you can hear that more than a fear of the consequences of lying, they are afraid of themselves, of the power of their sharp minds to justify any situation under the rubric of: “it is OK to fib in the interest of peace”.
The teacher on the other side of the question was the leader of the Iraqi Jewish community, and perhaps the greatest sage of Arabian Jewry in the 19th century, Rabbi Yosef Chayim, aka the “Ben Ish Chai”(son of a living man). Unfortunately, he offers no easy solutions:
Answer: To produce before you my own understanding of the exact iterations where it is justified to lie – that I will not do! Rather I will quote the stories where this dilemma is brought up in the Talmud, and you will learn directly from them. And so I shall begin:			המצאות של אופנים שיש בהם היתר לא אעשה לכם מדעתי בדבר זה ורק אביא לכם אופנים הנזכרים בתלמוד ואתם תלמדו מהם וזה החלי בעזר האל צורי וגואלי.
The Ben Ish Chai then quotes 45 (!) scenarios of lying and deceit from Rabbinic texts (read them all – in Aramaic - here). He concludes by saying:
I have now set before you a table full of the various iterations about lying and deceit mentioned in Rabbinical texts that are justified. And you must be punctilious in learning these scenarios yourself, and logically deduce one thing from another. Only keep the fear of God on your face: do not create leniencies for yourself beyond the bounds through remote analogies. And this is sufficient guidance – may it bring peace.	הרי סדרתי לכם שלחן מלא כמה אופנים בענין השקר וגניבת דעת הנזכרים בדברי רז"ל להיתרא ואתם תדקדקו בכל דבר ודבר ותלמדו דבר מתוך דבר אך תשימו יראת ה' על פניכם לבלתי תעשו קולות חוץ מן השורה בדמיון דחוק... ודי בזה,  והיה זה שלום. ואל שדי ה' צבאות יעזור לי. כ"ד הקטן יחזקאל כחלי נר"ו.
The Ben Ish Chai, R. Yosef Hayim What I find fascinating about this obscure responsa is the way the Ben Ish Chai refuses to delineate exact guidelines for navigating this dilemma. The Ben Ish Chai is “setting the table” for his students, not spoon feeding them. In a Halakhic tradition that is often quick to seek higher authorities to tell people exactly how to behave, the Ben Ish Chai offers an empowering cry for autonomy: study the stories yourself, and reach your own conclusion (it is fascinating that this is a choice Jewish law makes often in the realm of the ethical, and rarely in the realm of ritual…). He avoids giving strict moral guidance, and instead offers a moral education, hinting that each person must go through their own journey of studying and encountering the detailed dilemmas of differentiating right and wrong, truth and lie, for themselves.
Next week, Yaakov will turn into Yisrael. The conniving anklegrabber will find the courage to become a face-to-face confronter, as he struggles with an angel and is granted a new name:
“Not as Yaakov/Heel-Sneak shall your name be henceforth uttered, but rather Yisrael/God-Fighter, for you have fought with God and men and have prevailed.”    (Genesis 32:29)		וַיֹּאמֶר: לֹא יַעֲקֹב יֵאָמֵר עוֹד שִׁמְךָ, כִּי אִם-יִשְׂרָאֵל: כִּי-שָׂרִיתָ עִם-אֱלֹהִים וְעִם-אֲנָשִׁים, וַתּוּכָל.בראשית לב:כט
Perhaps Yaakov needed to go through his own biographical education into the depths of deceit in order to establish his own commitment to truth. For the Ben Ish Chai it is the stories of the Talmud that help him design a life of truth amid the occasional need to deceive. As we try and walk the “straight and narrow” ourselves, we must make use of the resources that our biographies and cultures give us, being “punctilious in learning these scenarios ourselves” as well as sharing the stories that were helpful to us, with those who walk alongside us. There will be moments when we might find ourselves still being Yaakov’s, let’s hope it will only be a step on the way to being Yisrael.

Shabbat Shalom,

Mishael

Read this, past and future BYFI Divrei Torah on our Blog: Text and the City

The Art of Parenting: Being the Mother of both Yaakov and Esav

Parashat Toldot | Heshvan 5772 | November 2011

It is rare to gain insight into who our parents are as parents. A holiday visit after a long period apart might raise that moment of realization: Oh, so that’s the kind of parent my mother is! Observing how my parents act with my children has raised the same understanding: So that’s what my dad was like… The insights about our parents often become insights about ourselves: I guess that’s why I am so… Of all the mothers of Bereishit, I find Rivkah to be the most fascinating, as a person and as a parent. Ambitious, tough, smarter than you, Rivkah is unique in the bible: she is a real go-getter. We are introduced to her watering a stranger’s ten camels, in an act that will land her a wealthy husband. After years of barrenness, when she experiences a severely painful and debilitating pregnancy with twins, she becomes the first seeker of existential meaning:
Rivkah became pregnant. But the children almost crushed one another inside her, so she said: If this be so, why do I exist? And she went to demand God. (Genesis 25:22)		וַיִּתְרֹצְצוּ הַבָּנִים, בְּקִרְבָּהּ, וַתֹּאמֶר: אִם-כֵּן, לָמָּה זֶּה אָנֹכִי?! וַתֵּלֶךְ, לִדְרֹשׁ אֶת  ה'.  (בראשית כה:כב)
Rivka’s strategic thinking comes to the fore in this week’s parsha when she pushes her preferred son, Yaakov, to steal his brother’s blessing. It is a troubling ethical moment, but also a fascinating parental moment. Rivka is not only favoring one son over the other, but she is pushing her chosen son beyond his comfort zone. She is so certain in her acts that she takes responsibility for any consequences as she ignores his strong objections:
Yaakov said to Rivka his mother: … I will be like a trickster in his eyes, and I will bring a curse and not a blessing on myself! His mother said to him: Let your curse be on me, my son! Only: listen to my voice and go… (Genesis 27:11-13)	וַיֹּאמֶר יַעֲקֹב, אֶל-רִבְקָה אִמּוֹ: ... וְהָיִיתִי בְעֵינָיו כִּמְתַעְתֵּעַ; וְהֵבֵאתִי עָלַי קְלָלָה, וְלֹא בְרָכָה.  וַתֹּאמֶר לוֹ אִמּוֹ: עָלַי קִלְלָתְךָ בְּנִי; אַךְ שְׁמַע בְּקֹלִי, וְלֵךְ קַח-לִי. (בראשית כז:יא-יג)
In trying to imagine how Rivka convinced Yaakov to do this (and how she convinced herself of the legitimacy of her actions), I hear a different mother’s voice. Langston Hughes’ 1922 poem, of a Harlem mom prodding her son to keep climbing up the social ladder, could easily be put into Rivka’s mouth:
Mother to Son | Langston Hughes Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I’se been a-climbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners, And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light. So boy, don’t you turn back. Don’t you set down on the steps ’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard. Don’t you fall now— For I’se still goin’, honey, I’se still climbin’, And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
Rivkah has worked hard to get to this moment. She walked through splinters to get out of Lavan’s house, out of the darkness of Avimelech’s grasp, and out of the clasp of barrenness. She will not see her life’s destiny (“why do I exist?”) become lost to an older son who has chosen the wrong path in her eyes, or a younger son who does not grab his destiny like his mother did. She wants her travails to be about something, and the way she’s going to make that happen is through her son Yaakov, even at the cost of thrusting him into a dark corner of his own. Rivkah is a tribute to those many parents who pushed their children to demand more from life, sometimes even at the risk of losing their own authenticity, but hopefully to the benefit of the world at large. Allow me one more twist: In the last mention of Rivka in the parsha, the Torah gives a tiny hint that opens up an entirely untold episode of Rivka’s parenting. As Yaakov leaves for Lavan’s house, the text describes Rivkah in unique terms:
[Yaakov] went to the country of Aram, to Lavan the son of Betuel the Aramean, the brother of Rivka, the mother of Yaakov and Esav. (Genesis 28:5)			וַיֵּלֶךְ פַּדֶּנָה אֲרָם אֶל-לָבָן בֶּן-בְּתוּאֵל, הָאֲרַמִּי, אֲחִי רִבְקָה, אֵם יַעֲקֹב וְעֵשָׂו. (בראשית כח:ה)
This last description, “Rivkah, mother of Yaakov and Esav” throws all the close bible readers off. Who needs this extra piece of biographical information here? As Rashi puts it, in a rare moment of interpretive befuddlement: איני יודע מה מלמדנו – ”I do not know what it teaches us.” Nechama Leibovitz, in her ever inspiring essays on the parsha, answers Rashi’s query by suggesting that the text is opening up a window to Rivka as the parent of Esav as well, not just Yaakov’s doting mom. One wonders – what are the missing episodes of Rivka’s parenting that this verse is alluding to? How many pep talks did Rivka offer to Esav, how often did she give him a Langston Hughes’ style motivational? Perhaps even at the very moment when she is preferring one son over the other, she is doing that as a parent of both, not only one. Rivkah reminds us that choosing to throw your lot in with one destiny does not mean that your complex ties with the alternative destiny must necessarily be severed (as my teacher Rav David Bigman once said, about a different parenting dilemma: “The tragedy of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is that God’s two children are warring with eachother. What is he going to do?”). Even when faced with the toughest of choices, we are also at some level the mother of both options, Yaakov and Esav … The story of Rivka shines a light on the complicated art of parenting: How much we push our own agendas and stories onto our children’s lives, and how much we are living the lives our parents have pushed us to live. It is easy to call for authenticity above all else, but the truth is that there are times when shoving a hairy coat in your child’s face is exactly the right move, and then there are times when living your parents’ dreams would be an act of tragic blindness. Perhaps Yaakov would have been best served if Rivka would have taught him to ask for himself her question: “If this be so, why do I exist?” But then again maybe he needed to be pushed into his brother’s blessing and out to his uncle’s home in order to reach the point where he could start his own existential journey. Through those dilemmas, there’s an element of thankfulness to those people who walked the tightrope of those decisions, raising us and being parents to both the Yaakov and the Esav within us. Shabbat Shalom, Mishael

A special thank you to Rachel Cohen (’05) who helped me sharpen the ideas here, and in many previous divrei torah.

Two Funerals and a Wedding: A Pre-Thanksgiving Thought

Two Funerals and a Wedding: A Pre-Thanksgiving Thought

Rabbi Mishael Zion | Text and the City | Bronfman Fellowships | Parashat Chayey Sarah| Heshvan 5772 | November 2011

I vividly remember my father’s reaction upon receiving the news that his mother died: His hands curled into fists as he ripped the shirt he was wearing in two. I was only five years old, but my father’s symbolic expression of pain taught me an essential lesson about loss: Only when the tragedy of death is outwardly and emotionally expressed, does the value of life become clear.
Part of the power of living with the Torah is that the text invites us to reflect on questions and values that we otherwise wouldn’t think of. While outwardly this week’s Torah portion of Chayey Sarah invests most of its attention in the optimistic endeavor of finding a bride for Isaac, it is bracketed by two losses – the tragic loss of Sara and the peaceful passing in old age of Avraham. These two life-cycle events: marriage and death, the joyous and the tragic, reflect two different doorways through which we often find ourselves engaging with community and identity. While I believe in a more joyous   Judaism, I want to revisit the doorway of mortality as a jumping-off point for engaging with our identity.
Sara's death marks a sea-change. Avraham, the eternal nomad, must now take root: He buys land in order to bury his wife. Amid this change, readers often discuss the buying of the plot in Hevron, but miss the very human moment of the widower crying for his wife:
And Sara died at Kiriath-arba, that is now Hevron, in the land of Canaan; And Avraham came to eulogize Sara and to weep over her. Then Avraham arose from the presence of his dead, and spoke to the Sons of Het, saying: ‘I am a sojourner settled among you; give me title to a burial holding among you, so that I may bury my dead from my presence… (Genesis 23:2-4)	וַתָּמָת שָׂרָה, בְּקִרְיַת אַרְבַּע הִוא חֶבְרוֹן בְּאֶרֶץ כְּנָעַן. וַיָּבֹא, אַבְרָהָם, לִסְפֹּד לְשָׂרָה, וְלִבְכֹּתָהּ. וַיָּקָם, אַבְרָהָם, מֵעַל, פְּנֵי מֵתוֹ; וַיְדַבֵּר אֶל-בְּנֵי-חֵת, לֵאמֹר: גֵּר וְתוֹשָׁב אָנֹכִי, עִמָּכֶם; תְּנוּ לִי אֲחֻזַּת-קֶבֶר עִמָּכֶם, וְאֶקְבְּרָה מֵתִי מִלְּפָנָי... (בראשית כג:ב-ד)
I wonder what kind of eulogy Avraham gave for Sara. Did he apologize for the Akedah, which according to the midrash caused Sara’s death? Did he discuss their other highs and lows in the epic life they led? The biblical verse here is very exact: “to eulogize Sara, and to weep over her.” In the ancient tradition of Mediterranean eulogies, the function of the eulogy is very exact: to cause people to cry. The eulogy serves to manifest the loss, forcing us to surface our emotions, removing the mask of fake calm in the face of death.
Gustav Dore’s illustration marks this loss beautifully. Avraham is being dragged out of his wife’s catacomb, his gaze and body language yearning to be with her, as the big block of stone creates a seal between the living and the dead.  Looking at Dore’s painting, I hear a eulogy from a very different time, but of a similar human response. WH Auden’s “Funeral Blues”:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.  Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.  Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.  He was my North, my South, my East and West,  My working week and my Sunday rest,  My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.  The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,  Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,  Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;  For nothing now can ever come to any good.  (Of course, I know this poem not because I am an avid Auden fan, but thanks to the memorable scene in “Four Weddings and a Funeral”)
It is the sense of total disorientation that grabs me. Spatial disorientation (“my North, my South, my East and West”) and temporal (“My working week, my Sunday rest / My noon, my midnight”) – which leads to alienation from self and from the world (“my talk, my song” and “dismantle the sun”). These themes of grief are the very same issues that the Jewish mourning rituals seek to relieve: time is rebuilt from scratch, one unit at a time (the “shiva”=week, the “shloshim”=month, the year of saying kaddish). So is space, through the restrictions on the mourner’s movement outside the shiva house (one “sit’s shiva”). Finally, the house of mourning is a silent house of “muffled drums.” Upon visiting a traditional shiva, the consoler is never to speak first, rather one must wait for the mourner to speak, allowing the mourners to slowly regain their “talk,” and eventually - their “song.” These rituals serve to   counter the despair that Auden feels (“nothing now can ever come to any good”), instead incorporating us back into community, meaning and the world.
This week’s parasha places a spotlight on the pain of loss, and on the generative power of loss. There is a growing troupe in American Judaism that as a privileged community, we need to found a religiosity grounded in “the positive”. I see why this makes a lot of sense. We are a highly successful group, and people don’t seem to be looking for God, Judaism or community out of need – maybe they’ll search for it to give meaning to their abundance?
A week before Thanksgiving, I don’t mean to put a damper on the religiosity of thankfulness. But I for one find that the deeper urges for meaning and community stem from a realization of the fragility of life. The realities of loss and mortality can serve to remind us that within the pitiful trajectory of our lives, we might be able to actually do some good while we’re here. For me, that is the moment when I reach for something larger than I am, which in my case often involves something Jewish, and something ethical. I wonder what it opens up in you.

Shabbat Shalom,

Mishael

p.s. Following some requests and responses (thanks!), I’ve also begun posting these divrei torah on a blog: textandcity.blogspot.com. Keeping it low key at the moment, but for those of you who mentioned forwarding the emails, I thought this’d be helpful. 

Rabbi Mishael Zion

Co-Director, Director of Education

The Bronfman Youth Fellowships in Israel

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