Avraham, the First Revolutionary and Moral Pioneer

 

“All other civilizations rise and fall. The faith of Avraham survives." - Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

“Lech Lecha,” this week’s Parashah depicts Avraham, the first forefather of the Jewish

People, as one of the most revolutionary figures in all of human history. He is unique in

the Torah and in world history because he represents a new kind of human being, one who

has transformed the relationship between G-d and humanity, between faith and ethics,

between individual and the world. Avraham stood against almost every value that his

surrounding cultures accepted as natural.

In order to fully appreciate Avraham’s unique contribution to world civilization, one needs to see him in the context of the world he was reared in, the Ancient Near East.

Avraham was born into a world that was idolatrous and polytheistic. The dominant theology in Mesopotamia, more precisely Ur of Chaldees, the birthplace of Avraham, was paganism. Though the Torah does not discuss the early years of Avraham, Midrash (Beresheet Rabbah 38:13) paints Avraham’s father, Terach, as an idol merchant. Midrash tells us that even as a youth, Avraham challenged this system by breaking the effigies in his father’s shop to demonstrate their powerlessness.

Avraham’s Mesopotamia was highly developed. Cities like Ur and Haran were centers of commerce, astronomy and administration. However, as the Torah’s earlier chapters, especially the one narrating the experience of the Tower of Babel, show, moral decay, violence and injustice were widespread. Humanity was seeking greatness without G-d.

The Ancient Near Eastern society also believed that humans were at the mercy of fate and the will of the gods. Kings and priests claimed divine or semi-divine authority and ordinary people had little spiritual agency. Empires were built on power, conquest and heirarchy. Against this setting, Avraham refused to worship power and introduced a cultural and moral landscape by emphasizing a unique, personal relationship with a one moral and invisible G-d who governs the world. Avraham founded what Rabbi Meir Bier terms as “Ethical Monotheism.”

Some may argue that other righteous and monotheistic people, such as Noach, preceded Avraham. “Noach,”  suggests Rabbi Bier, “isolated himself from the corrupt and immoral surroundings, and when G-d decided to destroy that civilization, he saved only himself and his family. Avraham, on the other hand,” notes Bier, “proactively and positively elevated the spiritual sensitivity and the theology of those around him, spearheading a spiritual revolution of monotheism.”

Lord Rabbi Sacks takes this point one step further. “The story of Avraham,” he asserts, “can only be understood against the backdrop of the story of Noach.” G-d, notes Sacks, told both Noach and Avraham in advance that he was about to bring punishment to the world. In Bresheet 6:13, G-d says to Noach, “I am going to put an end to all people for the earth is filled with violence because of them. I am surely going to destroy both them and the earth.” Similarly, in Bresheet 18:17-21, the Lord says, “Shall I hide from Avraham what I am about to do?....The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous that I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached Me.”

Noach did not protest and did as G-d commanded him. He accepted the verdict. Avraham, as we learn later in the Parashat Veyera, challenges G-d and tries to negotiate the Sodom and Gomorrah's potential salvation.

Avraham’s vision, moral integrity, and rejection of the traditional values of his upbringing undoubtedly earned him the title of a revolutionary. Yet, in my view, none of these achievements would have been possible without the defining qualities that guided his every step, his unwavering courage and faith.

The worldview of the Ancient Near Eastern societies, where Avraham was reared, was rooted in tribe and land. People’s identities were tied to family, tribe and geography. When G-d calls upon Avraham and tells him “Lech lecha- Go forth from your land, your birthplace and your father’s house to the land that I will show you,” (Bresheet 12:1), He does not tell him what his mission is nor his destination. G-d is directing him to break away from that entire worldview, from the comforts of his home, from the wealth he has accumulated, and create a new identity and face the unknown.

Nonetheless, Avraham responds to G-d’s call with complete trust and without any hesitation. He believes before there is proof. Avraham’s faith is not inherited, it is chosen. It is his pure faith, universal vision and moral courage which makes him the prototype of a seeker, the first spiritual pioneer and sets him on his journey from paganism to ethical monotheism, from self-interest to covenantal responsibility, paving the path for the Jewish People and for all humanity.

Covenantal Accountability and Free Will

 

 

              “It is not with you alone that I am making this sworn covenant,   but with whoever is standing here with us today before the Lord our G-d, and with whoever is not here with us today” (Deuteronomy 29:13-14).

              “Life and death I have set before you, blessing and curse. And you shall choose life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)

  

On his final day, Moshe gathers Am Yisrael for the purpose of renewing their Brit (Covenant) with G-d. The name of the parashah, “Nitzavin,” hints at the solemnity of the occasion. “Nitzav” means “standing” in Hebrew. However, as commentators like Rash”i and Sforno suggest, it means more than just “standing.” It carries the sense of standing firmly, uprightly, with presence, and resolve to honour this important milestone in Jewish history

Parashat Nitzavim includes some of the most fundamental principles of the Jewish faith. This essay will focus on two of them.

The first stresses collective accountability, as the words “whoever is not with us today,” in the first quote above (Deuteronomy 29:13-14) alludes to. The Torah, it tells us, applies to every Jew at all times and is binding on every Jew even those not born yet. All members of Am Yisrael are original covenant partners. In other words, Our Covenant with G-d is not just historical but eternal.

“The phrase, ‘whoever is not here,’ explains Lord Rabbi Sacks, “cannot refer to Yisraelites alive at the time who happened to be somewhere else……since the entire nation was assembled there. Moshe can only mean ‘generations not yet born’…..By agreeing to be G-d’s People,” concludes Sacks, “subject to G-d’s laws, our ancestors obligated us all.”

Midrash Tanchuma (Nitzavim 3) and Talmud (Shavuot 39a) interpret the phrase, which has been central in Jewish thought, “all Jewish souls, past, present, and future, were spiritually present.” 

Ramba”n (Nachmanides) goes even further and asserts that this phrase also includes gerim (further converts to Judaism). Even those who would one day join Yisrael were foreseen and included (proving that Torah’s reach is beyond biological descent).

Sforno highlights the  responsibility and solidarity facet of our Jewish faith suggesting that the covenant is binding on every individual because Yisrael functions as a community where all are responsible for one another.

What these verses establish is that Judaism is a timeless, transgenerational commitment.

The second paramount principle of the parashah that this article wishes to address is Free Will. It is reflected in the second verse above (Deuteronomy 30:19).  There, Moshe, in a stirring declaration, calls upon the People to “choose life,” a declaration that is often cited as the clearest statement of human Free Will.

It seems that at the heart of Parashat Nitzavim lies a profound tension between destiny and free will. It stems from the paradox it echoes. On the one hand, how can unborn generations be forced into a covenant that they never chose, if individuals truly have free will? On the other hand, if a nation as a whole is accountable for each member’s conduct, does that diminish the individual’s authority?

This tension did not escape Jewish thinkers and commentators who were trying to reconcile the two conflicting themes.

Ramba”n and Abrabanel teach us that just as any child is born into a family without choosing it, so too, every Jew is born into the Covenant. The Covenant in their view is a national identity contract which defines our Peoplehood. Ramba”m (Hilchot Teshuvah 5) stresses that though the Covenant is permanent, every human being is fully free to choose obedience or disobedience. How one lives in that Covenant is left to each person’s free choice.

Midrash (Shabbat 88a) contends that though the Covenant binds us objectively, every generation must subjectively re-embrace it by choice.

Modern Jewish thinkers also address this tension between the binding covenant and free choice in Nitzavim.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (1903-1993) distinguishes between Covenant of Fate (Brit Goral) which “coerced”  future generations into a Covenant of Fate since they were born into it and Covenant of Destiny (Brit Yi’ud) in which every individual must freely choose to live out the covenant of destiny (Kol Dodi Dofek...The Lonely Man of Faith).

In Covenant and Conversation on Nitzavim, Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that Covenant is not tyranny but rather a partnership. G-d gives people freedom to choose how to respond, including the possibility of failure, exile and redemption. For Sacks, the phrase “choose life” demonstrates that while we inherit the Covenant, its fulfillment depends on moral freedom.

Rav Kook (1865-1935) asserts that the eternal Covenant means that every Jew, even if they reject it consciously, retains a spark of connection. The manner in which that spark of connection is expressed is left to the individual’s free will.

The lesson that Parashat Nitzavim teaches us is that the Covenant is inescapable as collective identity. Every Jew past, present or future is born into it. However, within that, it points out that every person retains absolute Free Will in how to live, respond, or rebel. The Covenant gives the framework, Free Will determines the journey.

Cities of Refuge

“You shall designate cities for yourselves; they shall be Cities of Refuge for you, and a murderer who killed a person unintentionally shall flee there” Bamidbar  (Numbers) 35:11

As Am Yisrael is about to enter the Promised Land, Moshe is instructed to designate six “cities of refuge,” three on each side of the Jordan river, to which anyone who accidentally kills a person can escape.  The purpose of such cities is to provide refuge, where the killer will be safe from being killed by a blood relative of the dead.

 

The vengeance of blood (or blood revenge) was a central concept in justice systems across the Ancient Near East. It refers to the right or duty of a family member to avenge the killing of a relative—usually through killing the murderer. This practice shaped legal codes, tribal customs, and religious thought in many ancient cultures. 

The Code of Hammurabi (18th century BCE), for instance, includes provisions for blood vengeance. In case someone kills another, the victim’s family could put that person to death. Retribution, in this Code, was based on lex talionis, “an eye for an eye.” Blood vengeance was also present in Hittite, Ugarit and Canaanite as well as in the ancient Hebrew laws.

However, as Lord Rabbi Sacks explains, in early societies, where blood vengeance was practiced, “there was a concern that people would take the law into their own hands,” which “would begin a cycle of vengeance and retaliation,” where, “one revenge-killing leading to another and another, until the community had been decimated.” 

In order to prevent unjust violence, it was, therefore, important to distinguish between murder, a deliberate killing and manslaughter, unintentional death. 

Over time, Ancient Near Eastern Societies, such as those mentioned above, moved toward a centralized legal system which distinguished between these two forms of killings. It gradually restricted blood vengeance as well as allowing kings and temples to assume more authority in criminal justice. Additionally, legal codes ( e.g.,Hammurabi, Mosaic law) attempted to channel vengeance through regulated procedures or sanctuary laws and permitted compensation in the form of monetary payment in place of blood revenge. 

While the notion of sanctuary or places of refuge which are one of the themes in this week’s Parasha, Masei, also existed in Mesopotamian societies, these were mostly confined to religious sites. The formalized, legalistic system of the Mosaic Cities of Refuge, though, is a distinct development. They did not have solely religious and legal importance; they also had moral and symbolic significance. 

Firstly, these cities did not only provide protection from vengeance, mostly for the accidental killer from the blood avenger who could seek retribution. They also prevented further bloodshed and more killings. 

Secondly, legally, the Mosaic concept provided due process. Although the main purpose of cities of refuge was to protect the accidental killer, in practice, murderers who killed intentionally went there as well (Talmud, Makkot 9b and 12a). Upon arriving in the City of Refuge, the court sent messengers to escort that person while, also, acting as his bodyguards and bring him in for a hearing. If the judges decreed that the murder was intentional, the verdict would be accordingly. However, if the judges ruled that his act of killing was unintentional, the messengers would accompany him back to the city of refuge for a mandatory stay. So long as the killers remained within the city limits, they were protected by law. They had to remain there until the death of the High Priest.

The mandatory stay in the City of Refuge is aimed at teaching a symbolic and spiritual lesson. The symbolic exile to a City of Refuge suggests a form of penance and moral reflection. It is aimed to tell us that even unintentional death is serious and requires atonement and rehabilitation. According to Ramba”n, it is a means to carry out Divine justice.Taking a life, he suggests, whether intentional or not, upsets the moral balance of the world.

The spirtual lesson relates to the revered status of the High Priest who represented the collective soul of the People. His death, which provided communal atonement and allowed the killer to leave the city, stressed the High Priest’s spiritual role for the nation. 

Midrash takes the importance of the role of the City of Refuge even one step higher. It explicitly compares the City of Refuge to Torah. “Just as the Cities of Refuge save lives, so, too, does Torah.”Midrash Tanhuma Buber (Appendix to Va’Etchanan,4).  In other words, just as someone, who accidentally killed someone, could find safety in a City of Refuge, engaging with Torah provides spiritual refuge, protection and healing.

It is noteworthy to mention that to ensure the clear and open access to justice, Talmud stresses the importance of precise and well marked signage to cities of refuge. “The roads to the Cities of Refuge were to be well-maintained and signposted….” (Makkot, 9b-10a). Likewise, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Rotzeach u’Shmirat Nefesh (law of Murder and Protection of Life) where Ramba”m codifies the laws of the cities of refuge, he writes: “The court must prepare and repair the roads leading to the Cities of Refuge…They must build bridges, remove obstacles, and post signs: ‘Miklat (refuge)! Miklat!’ so that no one errs on the way. (Hilchot Rotzeach 8:5).

The sanctity of life is of utmost importance in the Torah and Jewish tradition. The Cities of Refuge reflect this value. They highlight the Torah’s underlying view of justice, combining accountability, compassion and restorative principles. They offer a deeply humane approach to dealing with bloodshed, tragedy, moral responsibility, spiritual growth and societal healing.

The Blast of the Trumpets

 

“When you go into battle in your own land against an aggressor who is attacking you, sound the blast of the trumpets” - Bamidbar (Numbers) 10:9

 

Last week’s Parashah, “Be’haalotcha,” dwells on preparing Am Yisrael for their journey through the desert on their way to Eretz Yisrael. It also focuses on topics surrounding the Mishkan (Tabernacle), the rituals affiliated with it, preparing the Levites for their tasks in it and the rites linked to the golden Menorah.

As part of it, Moshe is directed by G-d to create two silver trumpets which are intended for his use only. “Make yourself two trumpets of solid silver” Bamidbar (Numbers) 10:2. The aim of this essay is to address this decree and some of its functions.

This commandment has engaged our Jewish scholars over the ages. One of the questions raised by the Rabbis in Midrash Bamidbar Raba,16, is, what is the purpose of the superfluous “yourself?” The answer that Midrash provides is that these, unlike horns, which were commonly used for the same purposes, trumpets were used to welcome kings. The silver trumpets were a symbol of authority. Moshe, as implied here, is to be treated as “a king” since he is unique in the sense that he is the direct messenger of G-d and the unique prophet. These trumpets were archived during Moshe’s lifetime.

Later, as Scriptures tell us, during the times of Beit Hamikdash, trumpets were used, however, only the Priests were in charge blowing them.

Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson suggests that a “beautiful trumpet, even in the midst of producing music, does not draw attention to itself. It is the music it produces, not the horn, which people focus on.” Rabbi Artson further quotes the sages who assert that by sounding the trumpets, we focus attention on G-d in whose service we delight. Our music, according to them, is the sacred deeds we perform while still living.

Another question that preoccupied the Rabbis was the specific directive regarding the use of silver, as opposed to gold or brass, two other metals used in the construction of the Mishkan and its vessels.

 Midrash (Bresheet Raba, 12, 5^th century C.E.) tackles the issue. It suggests that when G-d created the world, He debated with Himself, “If I create the world with the Measure of Mercy alone,” He contended, “its sins will be many and, thus, may not withstand the Measure of Justice which, hopefully, it will.” He, therefore, resolved to create the world with both Measures – Justice and Mercy. Moshe is instructed to make the trumpets from a single block of silver. According to Kabbalah, silver is a metal that symbolizes Mercy, the quality of giving and of loving kindness. Ultimately, it will be the Measure of Mercy that will overcome the Measure of Justice.

The Hebrew word for trumpets is hatzotzrot חצוצרות) . In his commentary on “Be’haalotcha,” the Mezeritcher Maggid (1710-1772), explains that the word can also be interpreted as ‘half forms’(חצאי צורות) . According to him, this interpretation teaches us that Man and G-d are only two half-forms. Man without G-d, his Creator, is only half a form. G-d, he claims, is also lacking when He does not have the connection with the People of Yisrael. Neither, by themselves, is whole. Jointly, though, they are a complete unit (Ohr Ha’Torah 134).

The hatzotzrot, as G-d’s commands Moshe, should be used on several occasions. One is for the purpose of declaring war, “When You go to battle…against an enemy who is oppressing you sound a blast of the trumpets. Then,” resumes G-d, “you will be remembered by the Lord your G-d and rescued from your enemies” Bamidbar 10:9. The blast of the trumpets is aimed to signify that G-d would remember His Covenant with Am Yisrael and grant them victory.

Another occasion, on which the hatzotzrot are to be used, is on special events, festivities and solemn assemblies, “at your times of rejoicing…..” Bamidbar 10:10. At that time, the use of the trumpets is intended to create an atmosphere of sacred joy, divine remembrance and expressing gratitude.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, ZT”L (1902-1994), derives an important lesson for life, from these verses. He asserts that we should blow the trumpets to plead with the Creator with a broken heart so that He has pity on us and brings us to a victorious war. However, when our joyous day arrives, following the achievements on the battlefield, Am Yisrael may, G-d forbid, forget to be thankful to our Creator and, therefore, requires of us to blow the hatzotzrot, again, to remind us by whose virtue our victory was achieved. (Likutei Sichot, part 13, p.28).

Last Friday, in the early hours of the morning, Yisrael blasted the trumpets and launched a pre-emptive strike against the Iranian regime and its nuclear enrichment project. Am Yisrael and its supporters the world over, have since been praying to G-d pleading with Him for a swift triumph against their enemies. It is not an easy time for the People of the Covenant. May we, soon, reach the day when we blast the hatzotzrot, declare, B’ezrat Hashem, our sweeping victory over our enemies, the release of our hostages and the safe return of our soldiers from the combat zone.

Am Yisrael Chai

The Art of Being Patient

 

                       “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” – Leo Tolstoy

 

 One of the most important lessons of this week’s Parasha, Ki Tisa concerns the virtue of patience.

The Parasha recounts the chain of events that follow the compelling and awe-inspiring episode of the giving of the Torah. Thirty-nine days after the ascent of Moshe to Mount Sinai to receive it, the Children of Yisrael, subsequent to time miscalculation, which lead them to believe that he is due to return on that day, become impatient and restless. They turn to Aharon, his brother and demand, “come make us a god who will go before us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened.” (Exodus 32:1)

Naturally, they are bewildered, anxious and frightened that they will have no one to guide them to the land G-d promised Abraham. Though at Mount Sinai, the Children of Yisrael, became a nation, in this respect they still act like little children.  And, as we know, waiting, especially for children, is difficult. The Yisraelites get impatient and impetuously seek to replace G-d and Moshe.

Patience, according to the Torah, is one of the thirteen attributes of Yisrael’s infinite G-d who, thus, can afford to have infinite patience. Can we, however, expect the same of recently freed slaves who are dumbfounded, lost and are unable to take control over their lives?

This is not the first time, it turns out, that the Yisraelites display hastiness and impulsiveness.

The Midrash also addresses the heedless behaviour of our People. According to it, when G-d offered the Torah to other nations first, each of them inquired about its content. When there was no accord between it and their laws, they rejected it. Surprisingly enough, the People of Yisrael immediately responded to G-d's offer by saying, “we shall do, and we shall listen.” There was no use of judgment nor prudence in their acknowledgement, as was the case with the other nations.

As a result of this, the Talmud grants Am Yisrael the title “Ama Pziza” – a hasty Nation (Aramaic).

The Parasha goes on to explain that when Moshe comes down, he is aware of the adulation of the calf. However, only after he approaches the camp and witnesses the celebrations, does he smash the tablets. Was he perhaps hoping that though most of them worship the calf, there is still a small minority, a handful of people who are worthy of receiving the tablets?

Unfortunately, as we see, Am Yisrael’s impatience leads to a sin with calamitous results for generations to come.

Soon after this sordid affair, the Torah tells us that the People are mourning and feel remorse over the matter of the golden calf.  Here, as merely moments earlier, we witness traces of instability which on the one hand allows Am Yisrael to rise to the highest spiritual levels yet at the same time bring it to the brinks of the abyss, Both the results of acting impetuously and without reason or much thought.

Several thousands of years have passed since this catastrophic incident in the history of our Jewish People. We have, since then, matured, advanced, and contributed vastly to the world around us.

But have we become more patient as a Nation?

Not according to rabbi Berel Weil. In an essay entitles “Patience,” he states, “Since we are bidden to emulate the ways of our Creator, it would follow that patience and the ability to wait out a situation of problem should be Jewish virtues of our national character. Alas, they are not. The hasty part of our nature is dominant in all events in the Jewish world. We make snap decisions off-the-cuff agreements and commitments, and often speak when our good sense and brains are not fully in gear. Jewish history,” he concludes, “past and present is witness to the high price that we pay for such hastiness.”

May we learn the lessons of history, take the time to master the art of being patient and tolerant, teach ourselves to weigh our choices wisely and carefully in order to improve ourselves, our Jewish People and the world as a whole.

Shavua tov fellow Jews and a great week to all.