Moses in Djerba: The Island of the Lotus Eaters

Rabbi Mishael Zion | Text and the City | Shemot 2013

Pharaoh heard of the matter, and sought to kill Moshe;

So Moshe fled from Pharaoh’s face

and settled in the land of Midyan;

he sat down by a well.

(Exodus 2:15)

Djerba: Island of the Lotus Eaters?

Here stands young Moses, alone by a foreign well, in a moment of dark failure. His adopted father has put a price on his head; his early actions as a “leader” have blown up in his face. Just a few verses ago he “grew up, and went out to his brothers to witness their labors” (Exodus 2:11). He saw – and acted. A promising start for a great leader, no? But then he killed that Egyptian, and somehow now he’s a busybody, a murderer, despised by Israelites and Egyptians alike. Are either of those “his brothers” now? Exiled to Midyan, it doesn’t look like he has any intention of ever going down the activist’s path again.

But then something happens:

Now the priest of Midyan had seven daughters. They came, they drew water, and filled the troughs to water their father’s flock;  Shepherds came and drove them away. But Moshe rose up, he delivered them and gave drink to their sheep.   (Exodus 2:16-17)

וּלְכֹהֵן מִדְיָן שֶׁבַע בָּנוֹת וַתָּבֹאנָה וַתִּדְלֶנָה וַתְּמַלֶּאנָה אֶת הָרְהָטִים לְהַשְׁקוֹת צֹאן אֲבִיהֶן. וַיָּבֹאוּ הָרֹעִים – וַיְגָרֲשׁוּם, וַיָּקָם משֶׁה וַיּוֹשִׁעָן וַיַּשְׁקְ אֶת צֹאנָם.

Like a Hollywood film, in the darkest moment, the female lead appears. Harassed by local shepherds, the young lasses need a savior. Despite himself, Moshe finds himself stepping up again. The key word here is “delivered”. Moses delivered them – ויושיען. Just as Pharoah’s daughter “delivered” him from the Nile, just as God intends to “deliver” the Israelites from Egypt (with Moshe in the lead). Yes, he’s young, and juvenile, and he made some early mistakes – but Moses is a Deliverer. משה המושיע. It’ll take many decades and a vigorous shaking from God at the Burning Bush, but eventually, Moshe will return and deliver his brothers from Egypt. And with them give the world the greatest story ever told.

Moses’ Midyan is Homer’s “Island of the Lotus-eaters” in the Odyssey, the narcotic island where Odysseus’ sailors eat of the lotus and decide they no longer have any desire to find their way home. As

Tennyson's Lotos-eaters by W. E. F. Britten

Tennyson puts it in his poem “The Lotos-eaters”:

Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar,

Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.

Then some one said, "We will return no more";

And all at once they sang, "Our island home

Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam." […]

Let what is broken so remain.

The Gods are hard to reconcile:

'Tis hard to settle order once again.

In Midyan, Moshe ate of the lotus. For all intents and purposes, he plans on staying there forever, happily shepherding Yitro’s sheep as “round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown.” He has “had enough of action”. That is, until his lotus bush bursts into flame, and yet is not consumed…

Djerba, Tunisia

Cut to another Moshe, Rabbi Moshe Halfon haCohen, who lived on the island of Djerba, off the coast of Tunisia. Djerba is perhaps the coolest Mediterranean tourist destination you never heard of. Beautiful beaches, ancient ruins, and – as it turns out - the site of Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina from the first Star Wars movie. It is also the site of the oldest continuously active synagogue in the world and is famous for its Jewish community having one quirk: the community was almost entirely made up of kohanim, priests, which made for some splendid halakhic quagmires.

Yet Rabbi Moshe Halfon haCohen, was not one to bask in self-gratifying halakhic questions. The leader

The El Ghriba synagogue, Djerba, Tunisia, 1940's.
Rabbi Moshe Halfon, center.

of the Djerba community during the pivotal years of nationalism and modernism, Halfon, the author of over 44 books, was renowned as the moral beacon of Djerba. It is said that when he died, the whole island – Jews, Berbers, Muslim and French – came out to pay him last respects.

According to local legend, Djerba is the site of Homer’s Island of the Lotus Eaters. But for Rabbi Moshe Halfon haCohen, Midyan is not the place where Moses eats the lotus, and declares “let what is broken so remain.” Au contraire, Midyan was the place where Moshe reached the height of his moral development. And it is now up to us to follow suit.

In a small book called “Darkhei Moshe” Halfon reads each weekly portion for its “moral teachings”. He begins his discussion of our portion, Shemot, by noticing that Moshe’s actions in Exodus 2 follow a symbolic path: Egyptian over Jew, Jew over Jew, and finally – Midianite over Midianite:

The four actions of Moshe inform us of Moshe’s greatness of spirit:… (1) While in the royal palace he left, to see with his own eyes the situation of our brothers the house of Israel. (2) Beating the Egyptian who beat one of our fellow Hebrews. (3) Rebuking the evil Hebrew who beat his fellow man, and (4) saving the seven daughters of the Medianite priest, Yitro, from the hand of shepherds and robbers.

Now, all people of open heart and righteous spirit must learn from Moses. Take a stand and deliver your brethren from the hand of those who exploit them. This is especially true in those places where our brothers are oppressed and tormented by those of “no covenant”. However, even if one of our fellow Jews is exploiting others– one cannot turn a blind eye. Action must be taken to help and rescue the oppressed. Even when the oppressed person is not of our faith, it is proper that even in such a situation one stand in support of those that are being persecuted, because “any oppressor is repulsive to God” (Deut 25:16).

Halfon here takes a rare stand for a Jew in a Muslim society, a brave stand which goes against some opinions in Jewish law. Our obligation, like Moshe, is to stand to the right of the oppressed, regardless of their religion, nationality or citizenship. Indeed, that is what God does.

It is important to note that Halfon’s push towards universal, blood-line-blind justice, is rooted in a particular identity. Moses’ sense of justice sprouts forth from a concern for his brothers. From this he learns the value of morality, the price of oppression. Once that is in place, the subsequent universal mission crystalizes. Concern for my brothers doesn’t make me blind to the world, it trains me to be a morally responsible citizen of the world. Where I earlier described a Moses fleeing and failing, Halfon sees a moral evolution, which stems from – and returns constantly to – its rootedness in a particular community.

Refugees off Lampedusa, Oct 2013

Halfon calls on us to read Torah and look – ethically – at the world around us. I wonder how many people read this week’s portion and look differently at the African refugees protesting in Israel this week, or the hundreds of African refugees who drowned recently at Lampedusa – not far from Djerba – seeking a better life in an indifferent EU. Indeed Halfon is not satisfied with inspiring his fellow Jews to be concerned for justice within their usual boundaries. He returns to Moses’ first action – leaving the comforts of the palace (and a lucrative career in slave-driving?) to fight for justice. He expects nothing less from the members of his community, and bravely tells them so:

And from [Moses’ actions] we must learn that even when a person is in serenity and security, in peace and comfort in his home, wealth and honor surround him, and his requests are heard by the local government – even then he must not think "Here, I have peace in my home, and what do I care about my brothers or my sisters or indeed the whole world…"In truth, many of our fellow Jews are good hearted, holy spirits, that will rescue an exploited person from his abuser – but due to our sins we also have no lack of people that only see themselves and their own profit, completely ignoring that which happens to others – as long as they themselves are in peace, while if the issue related to their own personal interests even by a hairbreadth, they would turn worlds...

Ouch.

Shabbat Shalom,

Mishael

p.s. In the interest of brevity I skipped over the most poignant paragraph of Halfon’s sermon. Here it is, an inspiring Talmudic unpacking of all the justifications we give ourselves for inaction.

A person must also not think to himself: "Perhaps by attending to someone else’s issues I will suffer some physical harm or monetary loss, or my status will fall in the eyes of the local government", even quoting the Rabbinical rule that "Your lost object and your peer's lost object – your lost object takes precedence" etc.
Only someone who is of an unclean spirit would say such things! Firstly because if he does not act to help and save the poor and impoverished – tomorrow or the day after the persecution will arrive at his door – and then it will indeed be his own affliction.
Moreover, in issues that regard the rule of the land – it is an obligation and a commandment for every person to protest, thus fulfilling the verse: "And you shall purge the evil from your midst" (Deut. 13:6). And whoever turns away from such situations is a despicable lost wretch.

Rabbi Moshe Chalphon HaCohen, 1874-1950,"Darkei Moshe", Djerba, Tunis, 19^th C. Thank you to my teacher Drori Yehoshua, advocate of rabbinic writings from Islamic countries and paragon of moral activism himself, for first introducing me to Rabbi Chalphon, Drori exemplifies St. Francis’ dictum I learned this week (from The New Yorker!): “Preach the gospel, and if necessary – use words.”

ר' משה כלפון הכהן, "דרכי משה"  לפרשת שמות

ארבע הפעולות אשר פעל משה רבינו מגידים ומודיעים לנו גודל רוממות נפשו: מלא רוח גבורה אלוהית, רם המעלה, אשר לא יוכל להביט את העול והחמס, ומציל היה בכל מה שאפשר לו להציל: אשר עם היותו בבית המלכות הלך לראות מצב אחינו בית ישראל, והכאתו את המצרי אשר היה מכה את אחד מאחינו העברים, ותוכחתו לעברי הרשע המכה את רעהו והצלתו לשבע בנות כהן מדין מיד רועים וחמסנים.

ומזה ילמד כל בר לבב ובעל נפש יקרה להיות עומד בפרץ להציל את אחיו מיד עושקיהם נפש. ובפרט באותם המקומות אשר אחינו שם מדוכאים ומעונים מבני בלי ברית. וכן גם בהיות אחד מאחינו בית ישראל עושק אין להעלים עין וראוי לעזור ולהושיע את הנעשק, גם בהיות הנעשק נכרי ראוי גם כן בבוא מעשה כזה לעמוד לימין הנעשק כי תועבת ה' כל עושה עול.

ומן האמור יש ללמוד גם כן שגם בהיות האדם בהשקט וביטחה שלום ונחת באוהלו ועושר וכבוד סביבו ודבריו נשמעים אצל הממשלה, אל יהיה חושב בלבבו לאמור הנה שלום באוהלי ומאי איכפת לי מן אחי או מן כל העולם כולו. וכן אל יחשוב בלבבו לאמור שמא על ידי זה שאני מטפל בעסקי זולתי פן יבולע לי ויהיה לי איזה הפסד ממוני או גופני או לא יהיו עוד דברי נשמעים אצל הממשלה, ואבידתי ואבידת חברי אבידתי קודמת וכיוצא. כי לא יאמר כזאת רק מי שהוא בעל נפש לא טהורה, האחד כי אם כה לא יעשה להציל ולהושיע עני ואביון למחר או למחרתו יוסיפו עוד בני עולה לענותו גם הוא ונמצא כי הדבר נוגע ממש אל עצמו ואל בשרו. ועוד כי בדבר כזה שהוא כללי לישוב המדיני, החוב והמצווה על כל אדם למחות לקיים מה שנאמר ובערת הרע מקרבך.

וכל המעלים עין בזה אינו אלא טועה נבזה וחדל אישים.

ובאמת יש ויש מאחינו בעלי לב טוב ונפש טהורה להציל עשוק מיד עושקו אך בעוונותינו הרבים איננו חסרים גם כן מאיזה אנשים שאינם מביטים רק להנאת עצמם ומצבם ומעלימים עין לגמרי מכל עסקי זולתם אם נעשק ואם עושק, ובלבד שיהיו אתם בשלום. ואם כזאת יהיה נוגע הדבר להם אפילו כמלא נימה בונים עולמות ומחריבים אותם.

ר' משה כלפון הכהן, "דרכי משה", ג'רבא, תוניס, מאה ה-19

Seventeen: Joseph and Judah

“And Yosef was seventeen years old” (Genesis 37:2)

Suddenly, we are in the midst of the Joseph story. It’s the novella hidden within the Torah, rife with emotions, drama, jealousy and much soap-opera worthy intrigue. Take an evening and a glass of wine, and re-read this 13 chapter novella in one of the recent two excellent English literary translations (Fox or Alter). You might see yourself in a new light by the end of it.

Joseph feels so familiar – the promise, the dreams, the loneliness; the self-absorption, the over confidence concealing a deeper insecurity. Reading the Yosef story is an invitation to revisit sibling relationships, parental prejudice, personal calling and the burden of promise, betrayal, displacement, hunger and authenticity. It is also an invitation to be seventeen again.

Since joining the Bronfman Fellowships and spending half my time with this age group, I am struck each year by that opening line: “And Yosef was seventeen years old”. What does being seventeen mean, and how does that age continue to shape our community? Developmental psychologist Erik Erikkson described it as the “ideological age,” an age when – as a passage to adulthood – one is empowered to decide on one’s own beliefs. Ideas, issues and agendas become burning pursuits. Recent psychologists describe three competing frames which play a role in this moment – Autonomy, Community and Divinity. It’s as true in the Joseph story as it is with our fellows each year.

But what happens to those ideological questions later in life? Where does the “urge to figure out one’s own beliefs” live on? How do adults make time to wrestle with autonomy, community and divinity?

This question has been on our mind a lot at Bronfman. In recent years we have become as focused on our 1,000 alumni as on our Fellowship Year. The alumni community experience is far less intense than the immersiveness of being a fellow, in fact it is the strength of weak ties that makes our community strong. We are spread out across many fields, representing a wide variety of ideological communities and outlooks, practices and narratives. Yet we all have all experienced the value of learning from others and questioning ourselves (at least those of us who have stuck around this far). And we share a foundational experience, a common language that allows for connection and inspiration at a deeper level than adult life commonly allows for. This is what makes for great conversations, exciting opportunities, or that “jolt of ideas” we’ve come to expect from this community. It also doesn’t hurt that somewhere along the way, someone thought we were worthy of wearing a Technicolor coat.

If maturing well is the topic, though, Joseph is not the right place to look. The adult hero of the Joseph cycle is his big brother, Judah. Re-read the novella and notice how Yehuda develops, how he steps up where the eldest, Reuven, fails. How it is he who “comes near” to Joseph the Egyptian and speaks truth to power. The key to Yehuda’s growth is chapter 38, a seeming digression from Joseph’s superstardom, in which Yehuda makes a series of mistakes involving his daughter-in-law, Tamar. Tamar takes action, seducing Yehuda to reclaim her rights (did someone say soap opera?). Significantly, Tamar awaits Yehuda in a place called פתח עיניים  “eye opening”. Surprisingly, when Yehuda’s eyes are opened, he finds the rare courage to admit his mistakes. צדקה ממני - “She is in-the-right more than I!” he says.

For me, that moment is the definition of maturity. The ability to see one’s own mistakes, and grow from them. It is a skill often lost on those in the throes of the “ideological age”. Yehuda’s leadership emanates from his ability to recognize his mistakes, to open up his eyes. He not only seeks eye opening encounters for himself, but also creates them for others.

Two weeks ago we celebrated the 15th Anniversary of our Israeli Bronfman Fellows, the Amitim. It was an opportunity to reframe the community from a nostalgic teenage program to a network of over 300 adult Bronfmanim passionate about improving Israeli society (you’ll be hearing more about this soon…). At that event I shared a poem that combines the tension of the seventeen year old upstart with the wisdom of the “homeowner” adult.

HE STEPPED INSIDE MY DOOR | Eeva Kilpi, Finland

Let me know right away 
if I'm disturbing you. 
he said 
as he stepped inside my door, 
and I’ll leave the way I came. 

Not only do you disturb me, 
I answered, 
You turn my whole world 
upside down. 
Welcome. 

As we seek to combine the dreamer and questioner which is Joseph, with the wisdom and perspective of Yehuda, my blessing to the Bronfmanim in Israel, as it is to those in North America, is that while no longer seventeen, that once or twice a year we knock on each others door, sharing something of ourselves that is worthy of the courageous response:

Not only do you disturb me, 
You turn my whole world 
upside down. 
Welcome. 

A Thanksgivukkah Manifesto

Rabbi Mishael Zion | Bronfman Fellowships | Text and the City | Thanksgiving 2013

Buzzfeed

A once in a century holiday is upon us. The menurkey will soon sit at the table with the pumpkin pie and the latkes. Let us not underestimate this moment for the American Jewish community. Thanksgivukkah is here. 

Jews have always loved Thanksgiving. Now that their favorite American holiday finds itself face to face with America’s favorite Jewish holiday – Hanukkah – the encounter can say an enormous amount about the American Jewish collective story. In other words, Thanksgivukkah tells us something important about what Jews are doing in America.

It starts with good timing. When Hanukkah falls on Christmas, it highlights Judaism as a religion, a fair contender on the scene of American denominations. But Thanksgivukkah yanks the carpet from under the convenient Christmas-Hanukkah dichotomy.

The Thanksgiving of today grew out of its religious roots. The same could be said of the Judaism of many Americans. Thanksgiving is about America, not in a celebration of patriotic triumphalism. It’s about America as a promise, an idea, a project. If, any other year, most American Jews sideline Judaism and celebrate Thanksgiving simply as Americans, this year’s calendar demands owning up to the Jewish take on the American story.

In Thanksgivukkah this generation of Jews might just have found their model holiday.

Indeed, if there is an “American Project”, Jews have been some of its most avid contributors. As narrators, critics, troubadours and activists, they took care of themselves while making plenty of room for others. To be sure, America is far from the only contemporary Jewish story. Jews have not one, but two Promised Lands: Israel and America have become the yin and yang of the Jewish people. As Hillel might have put it: “If I am not for myself – who will be for me?” – such is the Israeli project. “And if I am only for myself, what am I?” – the American Jewish project.

“And if not now, when?”

Thanksgivukkah brings home some of the challenges of a Jewry so invested in America. For the most part, American Judaism has failed at being a homemade identity, outsourcing the task to synagogues, Hebrew schools, Bnai Brith or AIPAC. Yet Hanukkah leaves the synagogues orphaned. With all due respect to public square Menorahs, any halakhist will tell you it’s the Menorah in the home that counts. Thanksgiving is the same: it is a homemade celebration of Americanism; it convenes the family in a feast of gratitude. Pilgrimages by air, track and road attest to the home’s centrality.

Thanksgiving is a much needed model for an increasingly secular American Jewry. Where “cultural Judaism” is often “soft” and “optional”, Thanksgiving has an undeniably “commanding” presence. Who doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving, from wherever that may be? Who doesn’t have a turkey at the table, even if it’s made of tofu? Thanksgiving is an unapologetic model for a cultural identity being a commanding presence in one’s life.

But Hanukkah one-ups Thanksgiving - it turns family time into story time. When asking where the Bible commanded us to light the Hanukkah candles, the Talmud responds: “We learn that we must light candles from the Biblical verse: ‘Ask your father, he will tell you’.” The candles set the stage for a story.

Buzzfeed's delicious Thanksgivukkah Table

Yet in those rare moments where a family Thanksgiving allows for a discussion, it is often of a “here and now” gratitude. Hanukkah’s gratitude, on the other hand, is rooted. A Thanksgiving-style family meal with Hanukkah-style stories ask us to place the individual narrative on a longer trajectory — why did we come here, how did we achieve the things for which we are grateful, and where do we - individuals, community and country - go from here. That is what Thanksgivukkah should be. It should turn a generation of immediate gratification into one of rooted gratitude. It’s not about religion or musty history, but about the power of local family stories. America and Judaism each face severe struggles adapting to a flat world. Both are undermined by an increasingly divided base. They need their stories more than ever. Ask your mother; she will tell you.

For an American Jewish community increasingly consisting of families of both Jewish and non-Jewish members, Thanksgivukkah is a moment that allows for a diversity of stories at the table. Hanukkah’s Jewish coat over Thanksgiving’s American jersey throws us back to the vision of America as a series of cultural pluralisms. Thanksgivukkah asks us to keep telling the stories that go beyond America.

Thanksgivukkah is an invitation to celebrate the places where Jewishness enriches America, and where America enriches the Jewish people. Jews have always preferred stories to dogma and ritual to creed. This November American Jews are invited to sit down at the Thanksgivukkah table and tell stories of rooted gratitude. Let's make sure this happens more than just every 70,000 years. Happy Thanksgivukkah.

For further discussion of these ideas, including ideas for family Thanksgivukkah conversations, and links to other Thanksgivukkah resources, visit Text and the City.

At the Thanksgivukkah Table: Stories, Rituals and Conversations

Following the ideas in my Thanksgivukkah Manifesto, here are some suggestions for conversations, rituals and activities for Thanksgivukkah night. I’d love to hear your suggestions and ideas – you can reach me at mishzion @ gmail com, or just leave a comment on this post.

Spark Conversations:

It isn't Passover, I have few illusions of getting into anything to elaborate. But a few pointed questions can get a good conversation going, even with the football in the background…

• The juxtaposition of Christmas and Hanukkah is so strong in our minds and has served as a crucial part of American Jewish identity building. What “happens” when Hanukkah is juxtaposed with Thanksgiving? What similarities and tensions does this raise? What does it mean for Judaism in America?
• Thanksgiving is an opportunity to take stock of the “American Project”. How are we doing? Where does your own story fit into this idea? What are the ways we dedicate energy and resources to bettering this country and furthering this project? And what is the role of criticism and counterculture in this project?
•           The fantastic folks at Ask Big Questions put together a conversation guide for asking "What are you Thankful for".  Use it with your family at Thanksgiving. Get a group of friends together around the fireplace during the long weekend. Or invite your neighbors from down the hall or around the block for a living room conversation.
• If Thanksgiving was a Jewish holiday, how would it look different? What laws, rituals or prayers would it have?
• Many of us struggle with Thanksgiving’s founding myths – the relationship to the Indians, the unclear religious roots. The same if often true of Jewish founding myths. What lessons can we learn from these various struggles?

Tell Stories:

Families tell stories in many ways, not just the overt “once upon a time”. Thankgivukkah is a powerful opportunity to unearth some of those family stories. Some stories to look out for:

•           Have someone share a story of a first Thanksgiving in America – from an immigrant or an older participant; or try and research your family’s earliest Thanksgivings…
•           Of the various ethnicities or families around the table, what has been the path to Americanness of each family, and what “additional” identities continue to play out in America?
•           Participate in StoryCorps’ National Day of Listening (http://nationaldayoflistening.org/) 
•           Hanukkah is the holiday of Jewish heroes – from the Maccabees to Bella Abzug, a great Jewish American heroine. What “heroes” do you recall on Thanksgivukkah?

Invent Rituals:

•           Sharing a moment of rooted gratitude, with three lenses: Something one is grateful for in the present, in relation to the past, and with a hope to the future.
•           Much has been made of various Thanksgivukkah recipes. As you eat them, have someone “say something” about the stories or values hidden within this food.
•           Some families celebrate Thanksgiving with ritual readings – like Winthrop’s City on a Hill, Emma Lazarus’ New Collosus, and some have even formed a Thanksgiving Haggadah. What would you read on Thanksgivukkah?
•           Put the giving back in Thanksgiving. Stefanie Zelkind offers Eight Giving Rituals for Your Family: Making the Most of Thanksgivukkah
•        JewishBoston has a wonderful pintrest style Thanksgivukkah site with a whole lot of resources and ideas.

What else? Let us know and we'll feature it here!

“Giving up the Art of Laughter?”: Isaac, After the Akeidah

Rabbi Mishael Zion | Bronfman Fellowships | Text and the City | Hayey Sarah 2013

George Segal, Avraham offering his son Isaac, 1973

After the Akeidah. Is there such a thing? “No poetry after Auschwitz,” said Adorno - would Isaac agree?

This week’s Torah portion focuses on the finding of a wife for Isaac, but he is barely mentioned in the process, inviting us to consider Isaac’s life after the Akeidah.

The truth is that Isaac is the blandest of the Patriarchs. The Biblical spotlight barely focuses on him. He seems to always play the supporting cast to his father/wife/neighbors/twin sons. Someone else is sent to find him a wife, he spends his life digging his father’s wells only to have them blocked or stolen by others, and finally gets tricked by his son in his old age.  Perhaps Adorno is right, and Issac’s life is to be understood as the poetry-less life of a survivor of patricide (interestingly, his son Jacob describes God as “the God of Avraham and the Fear of Isaac” Gen 31:42).

Elie Wiesel however presents a different take, focusing on the things which we might take for granted about Isaac:

 Isaac survived. He had no choice. He had to make something of his memories, his experience, in order to force us to hope. Isaac represents defiance. He defied death. Logically, he should have pursued oblivion. Instead he settled on his land, married, had children, refusing to let fate turn him into a bitter man.

He felt neither hatred nor anger toward his contemporaries who did not share his experience. On the contrary, he liked them and showed concern for their well-being. After Moriah, he devoted his life and his right to immortality to the defense of his people. He will be entitled to say anything he likes to God, ask anything of Him.

Because he suffered? No. Suffering confers no privileges. Rather Isaac knew how to transform his suffering into prayer and love rather than into rancor and malediction. This is what gives him rights and powers no other man possesses.

And as the first survivor, he had to teach us, the future survivors of Jewish history, that it is possible to suffer and despair an entire lifetime and still not give up the art of laughter.  (Elie Wiesel, Messengers of God.  pg 92)

Isaac’s calling, according to Wiesel’s auto-biographical projection, is in transforming the most traumatic moment in his life into a resource for his community. He is to become an advocate on behalf of those who suffer in silence. Wiesel’s point highlights one of the rare moments in which Isaac takes agency. When Rebecca is barren, he prays on her behalf, turning “his suffering into prayer and love rather than into rancor and malediction”:

And Isaac entreated God in presence of his wife, because she was barren; and God let Himself be entreated of him, and Rebekah his wife conceived. (Gen 25:21)

וַיֶּעְתַּר יִצְחָק לַיי לְנֹכַח אִשְׁתּוֹ, כִּי עֲקָרָה הִוא; וַיֵּעָתֶר לוֹ יי, וַתַּהַר רִבְקָה אִשְׁתּוֹ. (בראשית כה:כא)

Isaac’s behavior puts his heroic father to shame. How come Avraham, in all those years of Sarah’s barrenness, never “entreated God in presence of his wife”? Returning to Wiesel’s words above, I wonder if this is in some way connected to the “Art of Laughter”, and the connection between knowing how to pray and knowing how to laugh. Prayer is indeed laughable, in the deepest sense. Both come across as the most primal of human responses, irrational and yet totally real. They are both actions that embody full presence-in-the-moment, seemingly not representing action, but actually offering a third way. Laughter and Prayer break the evolutionary psychologist’s dichotomy of “Fight or Flight”. Avraham knew how to fight, and he know how to run. But, perhaps, he didn’t know how to laugh.

Shabbat Shalom,

Mishael

P.S. Yehuda Amichai completely disagrees with Elie Wiesel in this poem:

Avraham had three sons, not just two

Avraham had three sons: Yishmael Yitzchak and Yivkeh.

No one has ever heard of Yivkeh, for he was the youngest

And the most beloved, who was sacrificed on Har Hamoriah.

Yishmael was saved by his mother, Hagar; Yitzchak saved by the angel.

But Yivkeh was not saved by anyone. When he was young,

His father would call him, in love, Yivkeh, Yivk, little Yevk

My sweetie. But he sacrificed him in the Akedah.

And in the Torah it says a ram, but it was Yivkeh.

Yishmael never again heard about God, the rest of his life.

Yitzchak never again laughed, the rest of his life.

And Sarah only laughed once, and never again.

Avraham had three sons,

Yishma, Yitzchak, Yivkeh

Yishmael, Yitzchakel, Yivke-el.

Yehuda Amichai 

The Akeidah in Context: After What Events?

Rabbi Mishael Zion | Bronfman Fellowships | Text and the City | VaYera 2013

“Now after these events it was that God tested Avraham” (Genesis 21:1)

What events? What events could possibly serve as a pretext for sending a father to slaugh

ter his son? We usually dismiss the opening of the most intense story in the Torah as the Biblical version of “Once upon a time”. But re-reading the opening verses of the Akeidah one is struck by the exactness of the Biblical prose, more a poetry to be read slowly, with long pauses between the lines for maximum effect:

Now after these events it was that God tested Avraham And said to him: Avraham! He said: Hineni [Here I am]. He said: Pray take your son, your only-one, whom you love, Yitzhak, and go-you-forth to the land of Moriah/Seeing, and offer him up there as an offering-up Upon one of the mountains that I shall tell you.’   (Genesis 20:1-3)

(א) וַיְהִי אַחַר הַדְּבָרִים הָאֵלֶּה וְהָאֱלֹהִים נִסָּה אֶת אַבְרָהָם וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו אַבְרָהָם וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּנִי: (ב) וַיֹּאמֶר קַח נָא אֶת בִּנְךָ אֶת יְחִידְךָ אֲשֶׁר אָהַבְתָּ אֶת יִצְחָק וְלֶךְ לְךָ אֶל אֶרֶץ הַמֹּרִיָּה וְהַעֲלֵהוּ שָׁם לְעֹלָה עַל אַחַד הֶהָרִים אֲשֶׁר אֹמַר אֵלֶיךָ:

The Torah does not mince words, and while many readers of the Akeidah stress the irrationality of God’s commandment, emphasizing the lack of pretext for God’s call to offer-up Isaac as the real meaning of the “Knight of Faith” moment, some commentators have pointed at a specific act of Isaac’s parents as the impetus for the Akeidah, a mistake or sin which brought God to seek to “test” Avraham (or Sarah). In this reading, the terrible ordeal is not an act of religious courage, but rather the psychological penance of the sinner.

Uncovering their words shows us again how the Akedah is used as the threshing floor of ideas, ideologies and moral conflicts. Tell me how you understand the Akedah and I will tell you what your most basic beliefs are.

The Punishment #1: Pre-mature Peace

Rashbam, Rabbi Shmuel ben Meir, grandson of Rashi, is well known as the champion of “pshat”, the simple/literal reading of the Biblical text. This is how he unpacks our opening verse:

“Now after these events” – every place where it says “after these events” – it is to make a connection to the previous passage…. Here too it refers to “after the events” in which Avraham cut a covenant with Avimelech, the local Philistine king, binding himself, his children and grandchildren. And for that God became incensed with him, for the land of the Philistines was given to Avraham – [and not to Avimelech]. Therefore God tested Avraham, taunting and tormenting him… saying: “You have become haughty in the son that I gave you, seeking to create a covenant between your sons and Avimelech’s sons – now go and raise him as an offering up and see what good your covenant with Avimelech has caused…”

ויהי אחר הדברים האלה - כל מקום שנאמר אחר הדברים האלה מחובר אל הפרשה שלמעלה... אף כאן אחר הדברים שכרת אברהם ברית לאבימלך לו ולנינו ולנכדו של אברהם ונתן לו שבע כבשות הצאן וחרה אפו של הקב"ה על זאת שהרי ארץ פלשתים ניתן לאברהם... לכן והאלהים נסה את אברהם. קנתרו וצערו  ... כלומר נתגאיתה בבן שנתתי לך לכרות ברית ביניכם ובין בניהם. ועתה לך והעלהו לעולה וראה מה הועילה כריתות ברית שלך

It is unclear from Rashbam’s interpretation what incensed God more – Avraham compromising over the promised land, a pragmatic move of the new father seeking to protect his son from war; or the cutting of a covenant with anyone other than God. In His anger, he punishes Avraham, “tormenting and taunting him” – with the test of the Akeidah. Rashbam doesn’t balk at Divine anger and torment - the religious meaning of the Akeidah for Rashbam is not to sacrifice one’s child - God never intended that as a holy act, rather the redirecting of Avraham from a covenant with Avimelech back to the covenant with God.

Alongside the ocntemporary political reading inherent here, I hear another point: Rashbam is highlighting the fact that Avraham lost his way, settled for less and compromised. He lacked the courage to “have it all” – a struggle many young parents face. While Rashbam’s God seems quite ruthless, it does provide a most powerful context for this test: Avraham, now a parent, is torn between his calling as parent, pragmatic leader and visionary careerist.

The Punishment #2 :The Ostentatious Bar Mitzva

Who do we celebrate with? Who do we invite into our circles of gratitude? For the Zohar, the edict of the Akeidah was given as a response to this question, decided in the heavens as Avraham and Sarah were celebrating Yitzhak down below. Focusing on a different “event” which preceded the Akeidah, the celebration of Yitzhak’s coming of age, the Zohar tells the following story:

That pernicious prosecutor [Satan?] was standing at the doorway. As soon as Sarah said “God has made a mockery of me” – the prosecutor immediately rose up before God and said: Master of the World, you have called him “Avraham who loves me”, yet Avraham made a meal and did not offer anything up to you, nor to those more unfortunate then he [מסכנים]…” Immediately God said: Who in the world is like Avraham? God did not move from there until he overturned all that joy, and commanded to offer up Yitzhak as a sacrifice, and for Sarah to die in sorrow over her son. And all this sorrow was caused because they did not offer anything to those less fortunate than they. (Zohar I:11a)

וההוא מקטרגא על פתחא, אמרה שרה צחוק עשה לי אלהי"ם, מיד סליק ההוא מקטרגא קמי קב"ה ואמר ליה, רבון עלמא את אמרת אברהם אוהבי, הא אברהם עבד סעודתא ולא יהיב לך מידי, ולאו למסכני, ולא קריב קדמך אפילו יונה חד, ותו אמרת שרה דחייכת בה, אמר ליה קב"ה, מאן בעלמא כאברהם, ולא זז מתמן עד דבלבל כל ההיא חדוה, ופקיד קב"ה למקרב ליצחק קרבנא, ואתגזר על שרה דתמות על צערא דברה, כל ההוא צערא גרים דלא יהיב מידי למסכנא. (זהר ח"א יא.)

In Avraham’s haste to leave the company of the unlucky and sterile as he joined the ranks of the successful and fertile, the great host relinquished his commitment to those less lucky then him – and with God. Perhaps, suggests the Zohar, forgetting God and forgetting the needy are the same thing. Only be returning to the prospect of losing everything can Avraham be brought back to being the person who loves God, and doesn’t turn a blind eye to those less fortunate than he.

The Punishment #3: Sarah and Hagar

Modern-day readers have suggested a third sin which the Akeidah might be a punishment for: the banishment of Hagar and Ishmael. Prof. Uriel Simon shows the many parallels between the two narratives: an edict banishing a son, preparations early in the morning, divine intervention saving the child from the father’s death-sentence, etc. Comparing Genesis 20 and 21 is an eye opening experience in Biblical literary parallels – perhaps it is after “Those events” that the Akeidah was decided upon? Avraham, claims Prof. Simon, must be taken through the same experience he inflicted on his “unchosen” child as a punishment for his behavior. If the above Rashbam can be read as a call to only focus on God/Jews, ignoring the other inhabitants of the land, Prof. Simon points us in the opposite direction.

In a similar vein, Rabbi Lynn Gottleib, in her poem “Achti” (sister in Arabic), turns our attention to the unsung victim of the Akeidah, Sarah, suggesting she is just as much the perpetrator of it. In Gottleib’s reading the Akedah serves as a punishment or re-education for Sarah, who taken through the process of losing her own son, realizes the pain and suffering she inflicted on her employee-turned-rival Hagar:

Only at the end

When I witnessed my young son screaming under his father's knife

Only then

Did I realize our common suffering.

Forgive me, Achti

For the sin of neglect

For the sin of abuse

For the sin of arrogance

Forgive me, Achti,

For the sin of not knowing your name.