Listen to our shiurim on Masekhet Kiddushin from this past week!
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Parashat VaYishlah: Prayer
Prayer
A Message for Parashat VaYishlah 2016
Click here to view as PDF.
The
opening episode of last week’s parashah introduced us to a “changed”
Yaakov. A mysterious encounter with God brought him to recognition of a realm
that lay beyond his comprehension. Yaakov woke up from his dream “afraid,” and
immediately recognized the inexplicable “awesomeness” of his resting place. It
was a turning point in the life of a patriarch whose early life was pronounced
by rational perception and intellectual manipulation.[1]
Twenty years pass by in
Yaakov’s life before we learn of his next significant “God encounter,” at the
onset of this week’s parashah. This time in came in the form of a
struggle with an unidentified “man” and Yaakov’s ultimate victory. Its
preceding act, however, is perhaps most significant:
And Yaakov was greatly
afraid, and he was distressed … And Yaakov said: “God of my father Avraham and
God of my father Yitzhak! … O save me from the hand of my brother, from the
hand of Esav, for I fear him, lest he come and strike me, mother with sons. And
You Yourself said, ‘I will surely deal well with you and I will set your seed
like the sand of the sea, multitudinous beyond all count.’” (32:8-13)
Momentarily
relinquishing self-control of the situation, Yaakov begged God for help in his
upcoming encounter with Esav. He admitted his human finitude and turned to Him
in an act so foreign to the rational-minded folk: prayer.
It
is worth contrasting Yaakov’s response in this instance to his specific actions
and words following his earlier vision of the ladder.
Yaakov responded then by
erecting a memorial pillar, renaming the location, and vowing:
“If God will be with me
and guard me on this way that I am going and give me bread to eat and clothing
to wear, and I return safely to my father’s house, then Hashem will be my God.
And this stone that I set as a pillar will be a house of God, and everything
that You give me I will surely tithe it to You.” (28:20-2)
The memorial pillar and
place-renaming were Yaakov’s attempt to exert control of the situation. His conditional
vow followed in a consistently “controlled” fashion, as he sought God’s
entrance into a deal that granted him continued security in return for his
pledged acts of respect.
Though
the pesukim clearly describe Yaakov’s extreme fright in both instances,
his particular reactions differ greatly from one to the next. With the conditional
vow, he sought to be an “equal party” in the deal, pledging his own
sacrifice in return for that of God. In prayer, however, he simply
screamed for help. Gone was the man whose every action and decision were driven
by intellect and rationality, as he poured out his heart to a Being greater
than he could ever fathom or comprehend.
Eminent Jewish thinker R.
Norman Lamm once responded to the “major complaint of contemporary man” that
they cannot bring themselves to pray. Accepting it as an honest objection, R.
Lamm argued that the complaint is based on the faulty premise that “the
cognitive affirmation of religion must precede its affective relationship.” He
explained:
When
we are convinced, however, that confrontation precedes cognition, that the
existential encounter and the sense of trust have priority over the
propositional belief-that aspect of faith, then we shall realize that it is
possible by an act of will to locate ourselves in a situation of prayer.
While
admitting that prayer will not answer philosophical questions nor resolve
theoretical doubts, R. Lamm posited that the force of relationship latent in
prayer will nonetheless “take the sting out of them,” and transform the
substantive doubts into methodological ones. [2]
The
late R. Shimon Gershon Rosenberg z”l similarly remarked:
God’s presence in my
prayers is as tangible to me as the presence of a human interlocutor. That is
not a proof but rather an immediate experience. Similarly, I do not
assert that the sight of someone standing in front of me is proof of the
person’s existence. That would be foolish: After all, I see you.
Rav
Shagar’s conception of God’s presence in his prayers matched his broader understanding
of faith, which lay not in the realm of “proof” but in that of “experience.”[3]
Yaakov’s
emotional outpour to God prior to his encounter with Esav must serve as a guide
for our approach to prayer. It must remind us of the necessary encounters with
God in realms beyond our comprehension, and force us to seek an experiential
relationship with Him that will sometimes defy our cognitive capacities.
[1] Recall our broader
analysis of the experience and its significance in last week’s devar Torah,
“Mystical Moments.”
[2] R. Norman Lamm, Faith and Doubt: Studies in Traditional Jewish Thought (Jersey City, NJ, 2006),
pg. 27.
[3] R. Shimon Gershon
Rosenberg, Faith Shattered and Restored: Judaism in the Postmodern Age (New Milford, CT, 2017), pg. 23-4.
Monday, November 27, 2017
Bicycle Riding on Shabbat
Follow along with R. Messas's teshuvah here.
Follow along with our source sheet here.
Read the short passage from R. Mazouz's Asaf HaMazkir, which we mentioned, here.
For further research: Read R. Ovadia Yosef's full analysis in Halikhot Olam here, and R. Shlomo Brody's summary in A Guide to the Complex here.
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Lighting an Electric Hanukiyah
1) Listen to this evening's class on the topic of "Lighting an Electric Hanukiyah," here.
Follow along with the sources here.
Follow along with the sources here.
2) See the major sources in their original context: a) Mayim Hayim, b) Ner Missvah, c) Yehaveh Da'at.
3) Read R. Daniel Z. Feldman's survey of this issue, with a special emphasis on contemporary poskim, in his brand new Binah BaSefarim - Inyanei Hanukkah.
Friday, November 24, 2017
Parashat VaYesse: Uncertainty
Uncertainty
A Message for Parashat VaYesse 2017
* * * *
And
Yaakov awoke from his sleep and he said, “Indeed God is in this place and I did
not know.”
(Bereshit 28:16)
The Torah’s precise recording of Yaakov’s reaction
during his encounter with God at Bet El is difficult to understand. There is an emphasis
on his initial state of “not knowing,” which calls attention to its
significance. The actual importance of that uncertainty, however, is never
explained. What was the significance of Yaakov’s “not knowing” at that time?
* * * *
Sports psychologist Bob Christina is the
assistant coach for the University of North Carolina at Greensboro men’s golf
team. Among his various creative teaching styles and techniques, Christina
prides himself for not helping. Though his students were initially
uncomfortable with his method of withholding feedback, they soon came to
appreciate it. His pupils found that it stimulated them to a keener sensitivity
for the nonverbal feedback of how their body feels after a swing and how the
ball moves and sounds. Christina has chosen this approach because he is
convinced that a coach’s constant feedback is used by the players as a crutch,
which hurts them later on when they have to think and play for themselves.
In his Nonsense: The Power of Not Knowing,
Jamie Holmes wrote that higher education faces a problem that is similar to that
of Christina. He wrote that professors generally fail to incorporate gaps in
logic for the students to fill in, contradictions to work out, or pauses that
encourage reflection. Holmes explained that today’s graduates are therefore
unprepared for a labor market that emphasizes creativity, and revolves around
individuals who can successfully explore uncertainties and learn from failure.
Holmes challenged his readers to consider how
they learned a skill. He ventured to guess that our knowledge and understanding didn’t
emerge from being told how to do it, but rather by doing it –
figuring it out on our own or with help. [2]
Dr. Stuart Firestein’s dual role as head of a laboratory and Professor of Neuroscience at Columbia University alerted him to a disconnect between how science is perceived and how it is actually pursued. He realized that although only the “answers” of science were being taught in the classrooms, a successful laboratory is actually built upon its “questions.” Firestein sought to transmit the “undone part of science” to his students. He explained its importance as the realm that “gets us into the lab early and keeps us there late…the very driving force of science, the exhilaration of the unknown.” He was therefore inspired to begin a course on “Ignorance,” which is led by guest scientists who emphasize to the students the critical aspects in their fields of science which they do not know.[3]
Dr. Stuart Firestein’s dual role as head of a laboratory and Professor of Neuroscience at Columbia University alerted him to a disconnect between how science is perceived and how it is actually pursued. He realized that although only the “answers” of science were being taught in the classrooms, a successful laboratory is actually built upon its “questions.” Firestein sought to transmit the “undone part of science” to his students. He explained its importance as the realm that “gets us into the lab early and keeps us there late…the very driving force of science, the exhilaration of the unknown.” He was therefore inspired to begin a course on “Ignorance,” which is led by guest scientists who emphasize to the students the critical aspects in their fields of science which they do not know.[3]
* * * *
The Torah’s description of Yaakov’s early
life paints the portrait of an individual bestowed with the traits of self-sufficiency
and manipulation. He twice wrestled away control from his unexpecting brother
Esav, without ever experiencing the discomforts of confrontation. Fleeing his
parents’ household in fear of his life, however, Yaakov first encountered “real
life.” His journey began with the realization that “he did not know.” As Estelle Frankel wrote: "Jacob is both humbled and awed by this realization. It is this recognition of his own ignorance that will catalyze Jacob's spiritual development."[4]
This feeling of uncertainty was most
appropriate for Yaakov at this time. It initiated his relationship with the
Almighty – a bond which necessarily begins with the submission to “not
knowing.” Leon Kass noted, as well, that whereas Esav was married to two wives
at the age of forty, self-sufficient and controlling Yaakov was never compelled
to search for a soulmate until leaving the comforts of his homeland and
encountering the realities of uncertainty. Reflecting upon his state of “not
knowing,” Yaakov left Bet El in search of a wife.[5]
* * * *
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance. (T.S. Elliot)[5]
Although the realization that we “do not know” feels
uncomfortable, much of individual growth depends upon it. Approaching the
various realms of our lives with the open eyes and mind of one who “does not
know” engenders a state of heightened sensitivity and creativity. Embracing our
uncertainties forces us to realize our need of others, as well, which enriches our
relationships with people and God.
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Cited by Plato in Apology.
[2] Jamie Holmes, Nonsense: The Power of Not Knowing (New York, NY, 2015), pg. 164-6.
[3] Stuart
Firestein, Ignorance: How it Drives Science (New York, NY, 2012), pg. 2-6.
[4] Estelle Frankel, The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Discovering a Life of Wonder by Embracing Uncertainty (Boulder, CO, 2017), pg. 64.
[4] Estelle Frankel, The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Discovering a Life of Wonder by Embracing Uncertainty (Boulder, CO, 2017), pg. 64.
[5] Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom (Chicago, IL, 2003), pg. 412.
[6]“East Coker.” Cited by Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg, in The Murmuring Deep (New York, NY, 2009), pg. 270.
[6]“East Coker.” Cited by Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg, in The Murmuring Deep (New York, NY, 2009), pg. 270.
Thursday, November 23, 2017
Parashat VaYesse: Mystical Moments
Mystical Moments
A Message for Parashat VaYesse 2016
There are moments, and it is only a matter of a few seconds, when you feel the presence of the eternal harmony...A terrible thing is the frightful clearness with which it manifests itself and the rapture with which it fills you...During these five seconds I live a whole human existence, and for that I would give my whole life and not think that I was paying too dearly. (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
* * * *
There were no visions, no
prophetic voices or visits by totemic animals, just this blazing everywhere.
Something poured into me and I poured into it … It was a furious encounter with
a living substance that was coming at me through all things at once, too vast and
violent to hold on to, too heartbreakingly beautiful to let go of.
The
experience inspired Ehrenreich to set forth a broad agenda for the enhanced
scientific study of mystical experiences and encounters.[1]
A few days later, Ross Douthat responded by pointing out the near impossibility
of Ehrenreich’s suggested mission. He noted that since the field of cognitive
science has a great enough difficulty explaining what happens during non-mystical
states of consciousness, shedding light on the “moments of encounter” does not
stand much of a chance. He instead suggested a shift in scientific focus, from
one of dependence on brains scans and fMRI machines to the revival of
philosophically-informed psychology and anthropology.[2]
* * * *
As
Yaakov set out from Be’er Sheva for Haran, the setting sun forced his stop and
subsequent sleep in Bet El, where he dreamed:
…And, look, a ladder was
set against the ground with its top reaching the heavens, and, look, messengers
of God were going up and coming down it. And, look, God was poised over him… (28:12-13)
God
then promised Yaakov the inheritance of Canaan, abundance offspring and
continued protection (13-16). Yaakov awoke from his sleep, took note of God’s
presence in that place, and said:
“How fearsome is this
place! This can be but the house of God, and this is the gate of the heavens.” (17)
Several
scholars have noted a connection between this ladder scene in Yaakov’s dream
and the terraced towers traditionally built as temples in ancient Mesopotamia,
known as ziggurats. The sight of a stairway connecting heaven and earth
is strikingly similar to the ziggurat, with its external ramp linking
each stage of the tower to the other.
Indeed,
the description of Yaakov’s dream employs many similarities to the scene of the
tower of Bavel (11:1-9), which seemingly detailed the failed mission of the
construction of a ziggurat.[3]
The tower had “its top in the sky” (11:4) just as the stairway’s “top reached
the sky” (28:12). Each episode furthermore focused on “stones”: the creation of
bricks “in place of stones” at Migdal Bavel,[4]
and the erection of a stone pillar following Yaakov’s dream and his declaration
that the stone be “a house of God” (28:22).[5]
What was the significance of this connection?
* * * *
…And Yaakov awoke from his
sleep and he said, “Indeed, God is in this place, and I did not know.” And he
was afraid. And he said, “How fearsome is this place!” (17)
Yaakov’s
response of fear and wonderment to his first encounter with God stands out as
unique among the patriarchs. God’s promises and concurrent lesson to him on
this occasion notwithstanding, Yaakov’s intense emotional response demands our
attention.
Let
us first consider the Torah’s narrative of the early life and actions of
Yaakov. It consists of two stories: (1) the cunning purchase of the firstborn
rights from Esav, and (2) the deception employed to receive Yitzhak’s blessing.
Each event is underscored by Yaakov’s ability to manipulate the situation with
his wits and cognitive perception. Indeed, the Hakhamim similarly
highlighted Yaakov’s intellectual depth, interpreting his occupation as a “tent
dweller” (25:27) as reference to Torah study,[6]
and describing his 14-year halt to study upon leaving home.[7]
Imagine
now the probable approach to knowledge of and faith in God for a person imbued
with the smarts and tendencies of Yaakov. It would probably consist of
something along the lines of an attempt to prove His existence, an effort to
perceive His ways of governance, or the study of His created world. And yet,
contrary to man’s historical attempt to approach God by building ziggurat
temples or a tower in Bavel, Yaakov’s vision consisted of a ladder that he
did not erect, upon which he could not ascend and whereupon God’s presence unapproachably
loomed. It replaced rational man’s attempt to approach of God with God’s
incomprehensible approach of man.
Leon
Kass similarly described the situation:
Jacob’s dream turns out to
be a perfect (not to say heaven-sent) device for confronting the rational man
with the limits of his rationality…Yet the substance of the dream shows
precisely the limits of the human mind’s ability to discern the truth about the
world and to provide for a man’s most urgent needs. The sharp-eyed man – and
also the sharp-eyed reader – is invited to see the limits of his own sharp
-mindedness.[8]
Yaakov
encountered God in this instance in a fashion reminiscent of Rudolph Otto’s
description of the “numinous” – when man encounters the Almighty by means of an
essentially irrational and unconscious feeling.[9]
Alternatively referring to this sensation as “mysterium tremendum,” or a
“creaturely feeling,” Otto’s association of religion with an internal feeling
of “awe” may similarly describe Yaakov’s unexpected experience at this time.
We
have all experienced it at some point of our lives. Even the most
rationally-minded individuals can relate to an emotionally-rich and
difficult-to-describe encounter at some point in their life. Consider, for
example, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s description, in his early work Halakhic
Man, of the way that his grandfather and role mode R. Hayyim of Brisk would
overcome his fear of death through cognitive means, such as the study of the
laws of ritual defilement (tum’ah and taharah). R. Soloveitchik
provided this account as a primary instance of halakhic man’s insistence that
“objectification triumphs over the subjective terror of death.”[10]
Years later, however, R. Soloveitchik reflected upon death and noticed:
…The cognitive gesture
points toward the unknown, towards the mysterium magnum, which escapes
our comprehension. Man’s knowledge rests upon substitution of the known for the
unknown, the comprehensible quantity for the qualitative phenomenon; the
immediate sense experience will remain an eternal enigma.[11]
William
Kolbrener suggested that this shift in R. Soloveitchik’s thought, from an
insistence on strict rationalization and objectification to a submittal to the
subjective experience, reflects his ongoing engagement with the legacy of the
Holocaust, personal tragedies and his perception of American Jewish life in the
1950s.[12]
* * * *
The
lasting effects of Barbara Ehrenreich’s mystical encounter led to her desire
for the study and objectification of all such experiences. Russ Douthat’s
response, however, rings true to reality. Admitting that “I did not know,”
Yaakov could not possibly objectify his encounter with God and was instead
overcome by the moment’s intensity of fear and awe.
The
moments during which we “do not know” provide us with an emotional
strength inaccessible through cognition. Setting out on a journey that would
lead him far from the comfort of his family and home, Yaakov’s dream taught him that his own rational perceptions couldn't singularly guide him through
the difficulties that lay ahead. His emotional experience at Bet El, albeit mystical
and indescribable, continues to inspire.
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Barbara Ehrenreich, “A Rationalist’s Mystical Moment,” The New York Times, Apr. 5, 2014.
[2] Ross Douthat, “How to Study the Numinous,”
The New York Times, Apr. 9, 2014.
[3] Recall our analysis of Parashat Vayera,
several weeks ago, Cities & Human Progress.
[4] “And they said to each other, ‘Come, let
us bake bricks and burn them hard.’ And the brick served them as stone, and the
bitumen served them as mortar” (11:3).
[5] “And Yaakov rose early in the morning and
took the stone he had put at his head, and he set it as a pillar and poured oil
over its top” (28:18), “…And this stone that I set as a pillar will be a house
of God…” (28:22). For the various parallels and extensive analyses, see, among
others, Nahum M. Sarna, Understanding Genesis (New York, 1966), pg.
193-4; Yair Zakovitch, Mikra’ot be-Eress ha-Mar’ot (Tel Aviv, IS, 1995),
pg. 60-2); and Yehudah Elitzur, Yisrael ve-ha-Mikra (Ramat Gan, IS,
2000), pg. 44-8;
[6] See Rashi’s commentary ad loc.
[7] See Rashi’s commentary to 28:11
(s.v. va-yishkav).
[8]
Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom (Chicago, 2006), pg. 415.
[9] Rudolph Otto, The Idea of the Holy
(Oxford, EN, 1958), translated by John W. Harvey.
[10] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man
(Philadelphia, 1984), pg. 73.
[11] R. Joseph B. Solovetichik, “The Crisis of
Human Finitude,” printed in Out of the Whirlwind (Jersey City, NJ,
2003), pg. 156.
[12] William Kolbrener, “Review Essay: Into the Whirlwind: The Persistence of the Dialectic in the Works of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik,” Tradition 40:2, pg. 81.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Torah LiShmah - Hasidim vs. Mitnagdim
Listen to this morning's class on "Torah Lishmah - Hasidim vs. Mitnagdim" here. Follow along with the sources here.
For further research:
1) As mentioned, the classic book on this topic is R. Dr. Norman Lamm's Torah for Torah's Sake.
2) R. Reuven Raz recently published הרב קוק בין חסידים למתנגדים, in which he probes Rav Kook's thought for his stances on classical Hasidim vs. Mitnagdim debates. Chapter 6 deals with "Torah LiShmah." Read the part relevant to Rav Kook here.
3) R. Elyakim Krumbein has authored an entire series on the topic of "Torah Lishmah," published on Har Etzion's Virtual Beit Midrash - explore it here.
3) R. Elyakim Krumbein has authored an entire series on the topic of "Torah Lishmah," published on Har Etzion's Virtual Beit Midrash - explore it here.
Friday, November 17, 2017
Parashat Toledot: Innovation
Innovation
A Message for Parashat Toledot 2017
…And Yisshak dug anew the wells of water that had been dug in the days of Avraham his father, which the Pelishtim had blocked up after Avraham’s death, and he gave them names, like the names his father had called them. And Yisshak’s servants dug in the wadi and they found there a well of fresh water…And they dug another well…And he pulled the stakes from there and dug another well... (Bereshit 26:18-22)
The Torah’s description of the wells that Yisshak dug is puzzling. The text meticulously detailed the various excavations and subsequent quarrels, but never explained their significance. How do these details contribute to our understanding of Yisshak’s life, mission, and accomplishments?
* * * *
One day in the late 1870s, a Parisian
obstetrician named Stephane Tarnier took a day off from his job at a maternity
clinic to take a stroll in the nearby Paris Zoo. As he watched the chicken
hatchlings enclosed in their incubators, he was struck by an insight. He
contacted the zoo’s poultry raiser, Odile Martin, and tasked him to construct a
similar device for human newborns. Martin obliged, and Tarnier then installed
the incubators at the medical center and conducted a quick study. He found that
while 66 percent of low-weight babies died within weeks of birth, only 38
percent of those housed in his incubating boxes died. The medical world soon learned
of Tarnier’s innovation, and more advanced incubators became standard equipment
in all American hospitals. The use of infant incubators triggered a startling
75 percent decline in infant mortality rates between 1950 and 1998.
Modern incubators are expensive and complex.
A standard American incubator generally costs more than $40,000 and requires
specific parts and technical expertise to repair. Incubators are therefore rare
in developing countries such as Liberia and Ethiopia, and the fatality rates of
premature babies in those countries is consequently high. In 2008, MIT
professor Timothy Prestero set out to design the appropriate incubator for
developing countries. Realizing that even the smaller towns of the developing
world seemed capable at keeping their automobiles in working order, he decided
to design for them an incubator using car parts. Prestero reasoned that since
the car replacement parts are abundant and their necessary technical knowledge
elementary, the hospitals could more easily maintain such machines. Using
sealed-beam headlights to supply the warmth, dashboard fans for air circulation
and door chimes as sound alarms, he and his team solved a severely fatal
situation.
* * * *
The scientist Stuart Kauffman wrote about the
process to innovation and change. Terming it “the adjacent possible,” Kauffman
explained that novelties are discovered through a course of “opening doors.”
Following an initial breakthrough – a “door opening,” we are opened to a new
perspective – an “entrance into another room,” wherein future breakthroughs are
possible – “new doors can be opened.” While ideas that are “ahead of their
time” may indeed be true, since the doors leading up to that room have not yet
been opened, they will generally fail to be implemented.[1]
Steven Johnson used “the adjacent possible”
to explain the ironic development of incubators for developing countries. He
wrote that although we tend to think of our ideas as $40,000 incubators,
shipped direct from the factory, they are in fact the result of an initial
encounter at the zoo and subsequent project with spare parts that happened to
be sitting around in the garage.[2]
* * * *
The wells of Avraham represent his lifetime’s
accomplishments. Trailblazing a new path in this world, Avraham “brought forth
water” in unprecedented ways. Following his death, however, the wells were
temporarily closed. The effects of his legacy were halted until the emergence
of Yisshak as a leader. Intuitively understanding “the adjacent possible,”
Yisshak looked to build his own innovations upon the foundations of his
father’s. He returned to the wells of
Avraham and undug them. Then – and only then – did Yisshak set forth upon his
own path to growth and expansion – by digging his own wells.
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Stuart A. Kauffman, Investigations
(New York, NY, 2000).
[2] Steven Johnson, Where Good Ideas Come From (New York, NY, 2010), pg. 24-42.
Thursday, November 16, 2017
Monday, November 13, 2017
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Is it a Missvah to Live in Israel?
1) Listen to tonight's class, "Is it a Missvah to Live in Israel?" here.
2) See the sources we cited:
a) Ramban - Shikehat Asin 4
b) HaRambam - Hilkhot Melakhim 5:9-12
c) R. Hayim - Tosafot Ketubot 110b
d) R. M. Feinstein - Igerot Moshe EH I 102
e) R. S. Wosner - Shevet HaLevi 5:173
f) R. O. Yosef - Yehaveh Daat 4:49, Yehaveh Daat 5:57
3) Read an original teshuvah by R. Ovadia Yosef to the Prime Minister of Israel's office regarding this matter, here.
Friday, November 10, 2017
Parashat Hayei Sarah: Community
Community
A Message for Parashat Hayei Sarah 2017
...And the
servant said to him [Avraham], “Perhaps the woman will not want to come after
me to this land. Shall I indeed bring your son back to the land you left?” And
Avraham said to him, “Watch yourself, lest you bring my son back there…” (Bereshit 24:5-6)
Avraham’s absolute demand that Yisshak remain in Canaan is perplexing.
What did he fear? Raised with the values of Avraham and strengthened by God’s
promise of the Land, it seems likely that Yisshak would succeed even in exile.
Why, then, was Avraham so deeply concerned?
The final verse of this episode may
illumine its preceding motive:
And
Yisshak brought her [Rivkah] into the tent of Sarah his mother and took Rivkah
as wife. And he loved her, and Yisshak was consoled after his mother’s death. (67)
The Torah highlighted Rivkah’s entrance into Sarah’s tent as an act of
continuity that concluded the search for Yisshak’s wife. But why did it need to
end in Sarah’s physical tent? Couldn’t Yisshak and Rivkah continue the
family’s moral and theological legacies while starting out in a different land?
* * * *
In the introduction to his best-selling book Outliers: The Story of
Success, Malcolm Gladwell described the fascinating story of the
town of Roseto, Pennsylvania.[1] He
wrote that in the late 19th Century, several thousand residents of
the Italian town Roseto Valfortore set sail for America. The people founded and
settled a small but self-sufficient town on a rocky hillside in Pennsylvania.
They established a centralized church, and built schools, a park, small shops,
bakeries and various other community venues.
In the mid-1950’s, Dr. Stewart Wolf stumbled upon an astonishing
phenomenon in Roseto. Studying the results of an extensive study that he had
conducted, Wolf found that virtually no resident of Roseto under the age of
fifty-five had died of a heart attack or showed any signs of heart disease. He
discovered that the death rate of men over sixty-five was roughly half that of
the United States, and the death rate from all causes in Roseto was 30 to 35
percent lower than expected. Pairing up with sociologist John Bruhn, Stewart
then found that there was no suicide, alcoholism, drug addiction and very
little crime in Roseto. Bruhn summarized their findings: “These people were
dying of old age. That’s it.” Informed of the facts, their next step was to
determine the secret of this tiny town in eastern Pennsylvania.
Thinking that a unique dietary practice may have contributed to their
health, Wolf investigated but found that it was anything but healthy. He then
checked their exercise habits, soon realizing that they too were deficient.
Many struggled with obesity and others smoked heavily. He studied the lives of
the Rosetan relatives who lived in other areas of America for a potential
genetic link, but found no evidence of remarkable health in them. Finally, he
analyzed the lives of the residents of Roseta’s neighboring communities, but
found nothing special in them either.
Wolf began to realize that the secret of Roseto wasn’t diet, nor
exercise, genes or location. It was Roseto itself. Walking around the
town, he and Bruhn figured out why. They watched the Rosetans stop to chat with
one another in the street. They saw them cook food for each other. They
realized that many homes had three generations living under one roof, and
noticed how much respect the grandparents demanded. And in that modest town
with a population below two-thousand, they counted more than twenty separate
civic organizations. They discovered, to their astonishment, that the physical
health of the Rosetans was rooted in the community.
* * * *
Someone recently argued to me that in today’s era we must expand our
conception of community. She argued that technology’s advances in
communication have forced the transition from many local communities to
one large international community. Though I believe that her general
logic is correct, I nonetheless know that the existence of a local community
will forever maintain a vital function. As Wolf and Bruhn learned, our personal
interaction with one another engenders within us capabilities that would
otherwise be impossible. The physical proximity and close spaces that we share
create unfathomable realities.
Insisting that Yisshak and Rivkah continue in Canaan, Avraham understood
that the unique entity which he had tirelessly built could only endure within the
structure of its physical community.
Shabbat
shalom!
Rabbi Avi
Harari
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Parashat Hayei Sarah: Life and Death
Life & Death
A Message for Parashat Hayei Sarah 2016
In the opening scene of Parashat Hayei Sarah,
Avraham approached the citizens of Hebron to purchase a burial place for Sarah.
He curiously introduced himself to them as a “resident alien” (23:4).
Paralleling his self-description to the Torah’s subsequent use of similar
wording, this phrase appears to indicate a legal disadvantage.[1]
Indeed, archaeologists have found that while the urban agriculturalists during
the time of the Avot possessed familial burial plots in the cities, the
general practice of nomadic shepherds was to bury in desolate lands that lay
distant from civilization. Avraham’s request of a sepulcher for Sarah in
Hebron, then, was a clear divergence from his social status, thereby deeming
him a “resident alien.”[2]
Bearing in mind Sefer Bereshit’s
aversion to the innovations of city-dwellers and its consistent depiction of Avraham’s
life as a nomad,[3]
his decision to bury in the city in the way of city-dwellers is particularly
difficult to understand.
* * * *
Prominent thinker Leon Kass noted the Torah’s
deliberate contrast between the burial of Yaakov at Me’arat ha-Makhpelah
and the mummification of Yosef in Egypt, in the last chapter of Bereshit.
He explained the significance:
The contrast between
burial and embalming/mummification reveals a crucial difference between Israel
and Egypt: the difference between the acceptance and the denial or defiance of
death.
While embalming the body is an attempt at
human control after death – to prevent decay and to beautify the body, burial
accepts that we are “dust to dust” and submits to the impossibility of eternal
life in this world.[4]
Kass noted, as well, that the Egyptian counter-cultural custom of men to shave
their beards was underlain by a similar drive, as shaving is “a perfect emblem
of the Egyptian penchant to deny change and to conquer decay by human effort.”[5]
What was Avraham’s approach to life and
death?
Consider this intriguing midrash:
Until
Avraham, there was no old age, so that one who wished to speak with Avraham
might mistakenly find himself speaking to Yitzhak, or one who wished to speak
with Yitzhak might mistakenly find himself speaking to Avraham. But when
Avraham came, he pleaded for old age, saying, “Master of the universe, You must
make a visible distinction between father and son, between a youth and an old
man, so that the old man may be honored by the youth.” God replied, “As you
live, I shall begin with you.” So Avraham went off, passed the night, and arose
in the morning. When he arose, he saw that the hair of his head and of his
beard had turned white…[6]
The Hakhamim traced the origins of
whitening hair – the paradigmatic mark of old age – to Avraham. They clarified
its significance by imagining Avraham’s request and intent – that “the old man
may be honored by the youth.” Avraham marched on a mission to establish a derekh
Hashem in this world. He fought for faith in monotheism and the practice of
justice and righteousness. But he knew that this undertaking would not be
accomplished in his lifetime. As stated by God, “For I have embraced him so
that he will charge his sons and his household after him to keep the way of
God, to do righteousness and justice” (Bereshit 18:19), Avraham was aware that
this mission awaited his children’s completion. Trailblazing this path, Avraham
prayed that his descendants honor their predecessor and continue upon it.
French-American philosopher Gabriel Rockhill wrote
about his personal transition from fear of death to its wholehearted acceptance,
in an article entitled “Why We Never Die.” Describing our continued existence
after death, he wrote:
The
artifacts that we have produced also persevere, which can range from our
physical imprint on the world to objects we have made … There is, as well, a
psychosocial dimension that survives our biological withdrawal, which is
visible in the impact that we have had – for better or for worse – on all of
the people around us. In living, we trace a wake in the world.[7]
Leon Wieseltier similarly wrote that man’s
death is “almost never complete,” explaining, “He survives himself in many
ways, he leaves many traces of himself behind, in his works and in the people
he loved.”[8]
Seen from this angle, the deceased’s life continues after death by those who appreciate
and continue their mission.
It is in this light that we may imagine that
Avraham was not frightened by death, as were the Egyptians of old. Avraham was
instead conscious of the mission that he had set into motion, and he strode
confidently to the beat of a legacy that would live on long after death.
* * * *
Last week we explained that the danger of
cities and human progress, as depicted by Sefer Bereshit, lies in
their tendency to lead man to focus on his own “name,” instead of that of God.
They pose the threat of becoming absorbed in our own accomplishments, and
losing sight of our relationship with God. Since cities possess no inherent
danger, and their evils lie only in active engagement, Avraham’s burial of
Sarah therein posed no problem. But why would he specifically seek a “city
plot,” in the ways of the “city folk,” instead of burying Sarah in a place and
fashion befitting a nomad?
Avraham was perhaps teaching his children and
future descendants an important lesson regarding life and death. Life must be
lived “as a nomad” – constantly deflecting the focus from oneself to that of a
larger mission, stripped of all ego. Death, in turn, represents the “next step”
on that mission, through the everlasting legacy imparted to future generations.
Burying Sarah on a random countryside ran the risk of confusing his descendants’
understanding of death. It could cause death to be seen as a loss of all
identity, an entrance into a looming abyss of anonymity and inexistence. Burial
in the city, by contrast, drew attention to the acceptance of death, and
symbolized man’s permanent life in this world.
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] See Vayikra 25:23, “But
the land must not be sold beyond reclaim, for the land is Mine; you are but
strangers residents with Me,” and Nahum M. Sarna’s Understanding Genesis
(New York, 1966), pg. 166-7.
[2] R. Elhanan Samet, Iyunim
be-Parashot ha-Shavua II, vol. I (Tel Aviv, IS 2009 ), pg. 90.
[3] See last week’s devar Torah, “Cities and Human Progress.”
[5] Kass, 564-5.
[6] Bava Metzia 87a.
[7] Gabriel Rockhill, “Why We Never Die,” The New York Times, Aug. 26, 2016.
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