This is my sermon more or less as I delivered it at Temple B'nai Hayim/Congregation Beth Meier on Wednesday, September 8, 2021. See my afterword, added after Rosh Hashanah.
RH
2 – 5782
Shanah Tovah! B’rukhim Haba’im – Blessed are
those who have come to join us in person and on Zoom. I’m glad you can be with
us today! I think all of us wish a yasher koach to everyone who has helped in
conducting services, leyning torah and haftarah, and generally keeping
everything organized and moving along – especially our office staff and ushers
here and on-line. I offer a special yasher koach to Rabbi Van Leeuwen, our Reb
Jason, for his davening and his teaching and his leadership. And thank you,
Rabbi, for encouraging me to share these words with our community today.
We read yesterday and today about 40% of
Parashat Vayera, starting with God fulfilling the promise of a child for
Abraham and Sarah, and ending with the Akedah and a little bit of a
genealogy in which we learn of the birth of Rebecca, who will later become
Isaac’s wife. I actually want to discuss with you today what happened before,
and especially after, the Rosh Hashanah readings.
The germ for this sermon came from a recent
article titled “Too Much Salt” published by a colleague, Rabbi Danya
Ruttenberg, who is the scholar-in-residence at the National Council for Jewish
Women. She discusses the well-known and somewhat controversial teaching in the
Talmud at Berakhot 5a-b concerning “yisurin shel ahavah” – afflictions
of love brought by God against people who have sinned – or not – perhaps as a
test, perhaps to reduce their punishment in the next world. The idea is that
God, like a loving parent, chastises and punishes God’s children in order to
assure their future righteous behavior. The rabbis discuss the problem, telling
sick people to examine their deeds, their sins, in order to determine why they
are suffering – i.e., why they are being punished. It must be because of their
sins! This theological idea is expressed in our liturgy in the Yom Tov Musaf – mip’nei
chata’einu – because of our sins the Temple was destroyed and the Jewish
people were exiled. It’s in the small print – for reasons that should become
obvious.
Interestingly, as these teachers themselves
become ill and bedridden, when their students ask them if they welcome their
suffering, which after all means that God loves them (!) – Right? If God didn’t
love them, God wouldn’t chastise them! They each answer – “I don’t welcome the
suffering, and I don’t welcome the reward for the suffering.” Let’s be honest – nearly all of us agree and
believe that a loving God does NOT punish people in this way! And we see that
even the great rabbis ultimately reach that idea. Some go further. And so shall
we.
Rabbi Ruttenberg then brings in the work of Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the
Piaseczner Rebbe, better known as the rabbi of the Warsaw Ghetto, and his
seminal posthumously published sermons titled “Aish Kodesh – Sacred Fire”. Rebbe
Shapira is thus also known as the Aish Kodesh. I got so caught up in Rebbe
Shapira’s thoughts on our Rosh Hashanah readings that I read a 200 page
doctoral thesis on the book – and reread a chunk of the book itself.
So, let’s have a quick review of what preceded
our readings. The three angels appeared, they visited with Abraham, they told
him Sarah would bear him a son, and then they told him that Sodom and Gomorrah
were to be destroyed. Abraham argues on behalf of the people in the cities, to
no avail. What he doesn’t do is celebrate his impending fatherhood with Sarah –
he doesn’t even acknowledge it at all! In fact, earlier in the Torah, in
Parashat Lekh L’kha, when he was first told that Sarah would bear a child,
instead of celebrating, he cried out that God should protect Ishmael! His son
via a concubine – Hagar, who happens to be Sarah’s servant! Then we have
yesterday and today’s readings, in which Abraham exiles his elder son Ishmael
and nearly slaughters his younger son Isaac. Meanwhile, Sarah had punished
Hagar for becoming pregnant, even though it had been Sarah’s idea, and then
demanded the exile of Ishmael and Hagar. Throughout all of this, Ishmael - who
goes unnamed in our readings as Reb Jason pointed out yesterday – Ishmael is
silent, and so is Isaac silent. Maybe both are suffering in silence (?), except
when Isaac innocently asks where the lamb for the sacrifice is.
What a family. But wait! There’s more! After
today’s reading, in Parashat Chayei Sarah, Sarah dies. The Torah says that
Abraham came from wherever he was to mourn and weep for Sarah – it seems clear from
the Torah that they were no longer living together. You know who doesn’t come
to mourn Sarah? Her son – Isaac! His comfort for the loss of his mother finally
comes when he marries Rebecca. We don’t know why Isaac wasn’t there for Sarah’s
burial. Maybe Abraham didn’t tell him that his mother was dead!
Rashi teaches from the Midrash that
Sarah’s soul fled her when she heard of the binding and near killing of Isaac –
that is, she died of shock. But the Aish Kodesh sees more. He cites the
Rimanover Rebbe on the yisurin shel ahavah passages, who quotes from the
Gemara: “Just as salt purges meat of impurities; so does suffering purify a
person.” But, the Rimanover then says: “Just
as too much salt can ruin meat; unbearable suffering can destroy a person.”
In the Torah and in Halakhah, the reason meat
is salted is to remove the blood, which is called in the Torah HaChaim –
the life of the animal. Now think of the tears of a suffering person. Too much
salt, too many tears, too much suffering can destroy a person, says the
Rimanover Rebbe. He continues: “For a person to be properly seasoned by
suffering, the suffering must be offset by mercy and the ability of the person
to cope.” Here, the Rimanover suggests that God sometimes is too harsh – too
much salt.
But the Aish Kodesh goes further – he
suggests that Sarah didn’t die from shock – she gave up, perhaps even chose (!)
to die rather than continue suffering – out of shock, anger, fear, guilt,
loneliness. He implies that Sarah was, in some sense, the real victim of the Akedah
– perhaps sacrificing herself, according to the Aish Kodesh. Too much suffering, too much anguish, too
much salt, caused her to surrender her chayim, her life, rather than
continue. Aish Kodesh then says, “She died to show God that no one should be
expected to suffer unlimited levels of anguish. If this was how Sarah, who was
holy and pure, suffered and died, what about the rest of us?” What about us, he
asks. Understand, the Aish Kodesh is teaching this in the Warsaw Ghetto, under
the Nazis, not here, not today. But the before and after story of the Akedah,
Sarah’s death, and Shapira’s response to it, echo for us today – in a different
but important way.
Why did this happen? Why did this family
tragedy occur? I would like to suggest first that Abraham is so single minded in
his submission to God, or to his idea of God, that he forgets about his divine
obligation to care for others, for people created in the divine image of God,
particularly for the members of his own family – his wife, his lover, his sons –
he abandons them all without ever questioning God. God tells him, directly or
through God’s silence – leave your home and your family, go here, go there, lie
about your wife to Abimelech and Pharaoh, send away your lover and son, kill
your other son – and Abraham never challenges this. And he never discusses any
of this with Sarah or anyone else! In the immortal words of one of my favorite
movies, Cool Hand Luke, “What we have here is – failure to communicate!” The
failure of communication is breathtaking! And it is heartrending.
Does Abraham suffer? We don’t know. As I
noted, the Midrash says that Sarah’s soul fled when she heard of the Akedah.
But I’ll be honest with you, in the context of these Rosh Hashanah readings, and
the other events I mentioned - I sometimes wonder whether Abraham had a soul at
all. Or perhaps, giving him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he is simply
unable to express himself in a meaningful way. We all know people like that.
Sometimes it’s hard to talk about one’s burdens, and sometimes it’s hard to
hear about other people’s burdens. Let’s think about that.
One thing I learn from these Torah readings is
that communication - open and honest communication between people - is the key
to maintaining any relationship. The relationships in this story, between
Abraham and Sarah, between Sarah and Hagar, between the adults and the children
– how much better might they have been, how much less alienation and despair
might there have been, if these people had actually talked with each other!?
What if they had said what was on their minds, expressed their feelings, and
listened to each other?! We can’t really know – but we can guess pretty well.
Another thing I learn is that related to the
need to communicate is HOW we communicate. The Aish Kodesh, discusses (on Parashat Vayishlach) how
we might convince God to ease up on us, and suggests: teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah
– repentance, prayer and charity – that sounds familiar! Note this: Teshuvah is
initially inward, tefillah is directed to God and tzedakah is directed to
another human being. Covers all the bases, right? But the Aish Kodesh adds
something else – a fourth way to deal with God - he adds chesed –
lovingkindness. Unlike tzedakah, money and the like which we GIVE to people,
chesed is the manner in which we TREAT people in our relationships. And
sometimes, chesed is nothing more than listening and empathizing and allowing
another person to express their sorrow and despair – to unload their burdens. Had
Abraham and Sarah done that together, maybe her soul would not have fled –
maybe the Akedah would have been unnecessary.
One of the problems NOT discussed in
the Gemara on yisurin shel ahavah, those so-called afflictions of love,
is that God doesn’t explain why people are being punished. People are left to
guess – to examine their deeds. The Aish Kodesh notes that when Moses, in the
Midrash, asks why Rabbi Akiva is being tortured by the Romans, God brushes him
off, essentially telling him to mind his own business. God tells Moses, “Be
silent, for such is My decree.” God here refuses to entertain Moses’ muted
challenge.
Is that really how it works? Is that the
response we want from God? Silence? Or “Because I say so”? So often with us,
when we or our loved ones or our friends are suffering, the question comes up:
“Why is this happening to me? Is God punishing me?” This is the question of the
Gemara, about so-called yisurin shel ahavah, afflictions of love. This
is the Aish Kodesh’s question as well. And that’s why the Rabbis of the Gemara
said, “No thank you, God! We don’t want your sufferings and we don’t want the
rewards that come with the suffering!” In her doctoral thesis, GOD IN THE YEARS
OF FURY: THEODICY AND ANTI-THEODICY IN THE HOLOCAUST WRITINGS OF RABBI
KALONYMUS KALMAN SHAPIRA, the one I mentioned earlier, Erin Dana Leib writes: “Yisurim
(sic) shel ahavah is a paradigm that immediately falls apart when it
confronts reality.” Yep – abstraction is great, but reality bites!
I think we know the real answer – the answer
that was given by Rabbi Harold Kushner some years ago, the answer implicit in
the responses of the suffering rabbis in the Gemara. Bad things, disasters,
diseases, happen to good people for no reason. It’s just how Nature is
sometimes. But that’s not the end of the discussion – it’s the beginning. This
is where the chesed of simply listening and empathizing and not challenging the
feelings of another human being belongs.
Remember, I told you that perhaps Abraham has
a difficulty in communicating with other people – with his family in
particular. He doesn’t speak with them, he doesn’t hear them, and he doesn’t
really pay attention to them. If he were around today, perhaps he would be a
distracted listener – like those of you who are checking your phones or your
mail or drinking coffee or feeding the dog while this service is going on. And,
I have a confession to make – I have been that Abraham, far too often in my
life, and I am challenging myself to end the practice.
What I learn from the readings and from the
Gemara and from the Aish Kodesh is that the way to improve myself this year is
to practice chesed, lovingkindness, by really paying attention to the people
around me. In particular, I have to acknowledge and respect that people bear
burdens that I cannot see, that I cannot understand, but that are nevertheless
quite real. When they ask me why something terrible is happening to them, they
don’t really want an answer – they want to relieve themselves of some of the
burden of their suffering and despair, and they want me to pick some of it up
and bear it with them. Why?
The Rimanover Rebbe concluded his discussion
of too much salt with this - “For a person to be properly seasoned by
suffering, the suffering must be offset by mercy and the ability of the person
to cope.” He’s talking about God. But we learned just a few weeks ago that we
are “lalekhet b’khol d’rakhav” in – to walk in all God’s ways. And if it
is not within our power to show mercy when someone is suffering, it is at least
our obligation to engage in chesed. Listen to them. Comfort them. Hold their
hand. Acknowledge their experience, and pick up at least a small portion of
their burden.
Two quick stories: 1. A mother is worried
because her young daughter is late coming home from school. When she finally
arrives, her mother asks why she’s late. The girl replies that a friend wrecked
his bicycle and she stopped to help him. “What do you know about helping to fix
a bicycle?” the mother asks. The girl says, “I couldn’t help him fix the
bicycle. I helped him cry.” 2. Compare Abraham as I have described him today
with Elkanah, the husband of Hannah about whom we read yesterday. Abraham
offered no comfort to Sarah when she was childless. But Elkanah, who like
Abraham could obviously father children, as he did with his other wife Peninah,
tells Hannah, “I will be like ten sons to you.” I cannot necessarily give you
children, but I can offer you the comfort of ten sons. That is chesed, that is
helping someone cry.
The Aish Kodesh concluded his lesson on the
life and death of Sarah by saying, “Even though a person with the mercy of God
should survive their ordeal, their mind and their spirit may be forever broken,
and as a result, lost to them.” This, he says, is like death. The sages taught:
tzedakah saves from death, because the tzedakah they receive can be used to
maintain their lives. So, my friends, does the chesed of listening, and
speaking with those who suffer and are in despair, by holding their hands and
giving what comfort we can. Chesed can save from spiritual death when
people are losing hope.
May we all be written and sealed for a good
year, a year of peace, a year of health and well-being, and a year of better
living through chesed by hearing the cries of others. Shanah Tovah!
An afterword: Some additional thoughts on teshuvah and chesed, i.e., on
repentance and lovingkindness.
I was reviewing Hilkhot Teshuvah (The Laws of Repentance) by
Rambam (Maimonides) in preparation for classes I’m teaching next Tuesday and
Thursday (Yom Kippur afternoon). And it occurred to me that I missed a really
important point in my Rosh Hashanah sermon on chesed.
Rambam says, very directly, “At this time, when the Temple
does not exist and there is no altar of atonement, there remains nothing else
but Teshuvah.” When the Temple stood, the High Priest would confess all the
Israelites’ sins on the (scape)goat and then send the goat into the wilderness.
That was the Atonement. Now, we must confess our sins directly to God and take
the other steps necessary for teshuvah, to repent.
But in Pirkei D‘Rebbi Natan 4:5, Rebbe Yochanan Ben Zakkai
has an alternative form of Atonement:
“Once, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, left Jerusalem, and Rabbi
Yehoshua followed after him. And he saw the Holy Temple destroyed. Rabbi
Yehoshua said: ‘Woe to us, for this is destroyed – the place where all of
Israel’s sins are forgiven!’ (I.e., via the bringing of sacrifices) Rabbi
Yochanan said to him: ‘My son, do not be distressed, for we have a form of
atonement just like it. And what is it? Acts of kindness, as it says (Hosea 6:6),
“For I desire kindness, not a sacrifice.”’”
I am not suggesting that acts of kindness alone are
sufficient to constitute teshuvah as envisioned by Rambam. But, I now have an
insight into why, perhaps, the Aish Kodesh, in his comments on Parashat
Vayishlach, says that God is moved not only by teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah –
the three acts that reduce the severity of a harsh decree – but also by chesed.
© 2021 Richard Flom
