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Thursday, October 25, 2018

Parashat Vayera 5779 A Time for Silence

Echoes of Eden
Rabbi Ari Kahn
A Time for Silence

Sitting at the door of his tent in the heat of the day, Avraham has an epiphany: 

God appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day. (Bereishit 18:1)

This verse is followed by what seems to be an "interruption:"

He lifted up his eyes and looked, and saw that three men appeared before him. When he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed to the ground. (Bereishit 18:2)

This description is problematic in several ways. First, introductory verses should contain at least some mention of the subject, and these verses do not: To whom did God appear? Who had this epiphany? Who ran to greet the three unexpected guests? The reader must assume that it is Avraham, but other than context, there is no clue. The second problem is far more vexing: What was the content of this revelation? Whenever the Torah reports communication between God and man, the text includes the content of that communication.

The introductory verse, “God appeared to him,”forces the reader to consider the coming verses as a continuation of the previous section (the concluding verses of the previous parashah) in order to identify the protagonist:

Abraham was ninety-nine years old, when he was circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin. …All the men of his house, those born in the house, and those bought with money of a foreigner, were circumcised along with him.(Bereishit 17:24,27)

God appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day. (Bereishit 18:1)

From the context, we know that the subject of these verses, the recipient of this Divine communication, is Avraham; nonetheless, the formulation is awkward – unless its intention is to create a close connection between the two sections: The scene in which Avraham sits in his tent is a continuation of the previous section, in which he and his entire household are circumcised. This idea underlies the well-known rabbinic approach that God appears to Avraham specifically at this point in order to visit him in his hour of infirmity. For this same reason, this revelation has no verbal content: God does not appear to him to transmit a message, as is normally the case; now, He comes to visit the sick.

This non-verbal message is important, particularly to the modern reader. In a world bombarded with so much noise, with an over-abundance of messages and endless chatter, we might not have imagined that this silent visit could be of value. But God visits Avraham simply to be with him, and this may be the most profound message of all: After fulfilling the Mitzvah of brit milah, Avraham has a very immediate sense of God's closeness. He feels that the Divine Presence is with him, and senses it within him. As is often the case between two people who share an intimate relationship, no words are needed.

The halachahsets out guidelines for fulfilling the very important mitzvah of bikur holim - visiting someone who is unwell: Not only is it important to be there – to distract the sufferer or to hear their complaints, to empathize or entertain, but also to attend to any needs the patient may have. In fact, this halachah is extrapolated from God's behavior toward Avraham. Avraham had a need that was unfulfilled, and it apparently was causing him distress: He needed to perform acts of kindness, to help others; he needed guests. And so, God, who visited Avraham and comforted him with His very presence and closeness, attends to Avraham's needs by sending guests for Avraham and Sarah to welcome and care for. 

This episode may be the key to understanding the challenging narrative that follows. Toward the end of the parashah, God makes an impossible request of Avraham:

It happened after these things, that God tested Abraham, and said to him, “Avraham!” He said, “Here I am.”He said, “Now take your son, your only son, whom you love, Yitzchak, and go to the land of Moriah. Offer him there for an olah offering on one of the mountains which I will tell you of.”(Bereishit 22:1-2)

Avraham proceeds to climb the mountain with his son, without uttering a word - no protest, no negotiation, not a word. This stands in sharp contrast with Avraham's relentless bargaining on behalf of the inhabitants of Sodom, and with his prayer for the wellbeing of Sarah's would-be rapist, Avimelech; surely, Yitzchak deserved at least as strong a defense. 

Perhaps what we have seen in the opening verses of this parashah explains Avraham's silence: The Avraham who is commanded to sacrifice his son is a changed man; now, Avraham has an intimate relationship with God – the intimacy evident in God's silent visit. Avraham senses God's closeness, His constant companionship, and feels no need to disrupt the intimate silence. When he was commanded years earlier to take a knife to his eight-day old son, Avraham did not imagine that the britmilahwas a mere prelude to the Akeidah– but the intimacy of his relationship with God that was achieved as a result of the brit milahis reflected in the serenity of Avraham's reaction to this latest command: Avraham senses that God is with him; as God was silent after his circumcision, Avraham now chooses silence as the deepest expression of their intimate relationship.

Speech is one of the defining characteristics of humanity, but God taught Avraham that sometimes silence is not only golden, it is God-like.

As he moved resolutely toward the appointed place for the Akeidah, Avraham was able to be silent because he was aware, with every fiber of his being, that he was walking with God. Avraham understood that just as God had tended to his needs after his circumcision, He would look after him and his son now. And just as Avraham was transformed by the fulfillment of God's commandment of brit milah,so, too, Yitzchak was transformed by the experience of the Akeidah.Like his father before him, Yitzchak shared an intimacy with God that was expressed in profound yet powerful silence.


Shiur in memory of Pinchas Meyer Ben Hershel Avraham ha Levi

Friday, October 19, 2018

Avraham's apple

One of the most brilliant people who ever lived was Avraham. He had the ability to see something which had eluded the entire world. However, even genius needs inspiration. The famous story is told of Sir Isaac Newton – who was inspired by an apple.
While the apocryphal version of the story has Newton struck in the head – when Sir Isaac told the story to his biographer – there was in fact, an apple in the story:

“After dinner, the weather being warm, we went into the garden and drank thea, under the shade of some apple trees…he told me, he was just in the same situation, as when formerly, the notion of gravitation came into his mind. It was occasion’d by the fall of an apple, as he sat in contemplative mood. Why should that apple always descend perpendicularly to the ground, thought he to himself…”


So my question is – what was the Avraham’s apple? For the answer – 


(Audio) - Avraham’s Apple






Lectures and Essays Parashat Lech Lecha

Parashat Lech Lecha

7 minute Dvar Torah –



Video-
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Audio:


Essays:

Parashat Lech Lecha - Avraham’s Apple

Thursday, October 11, 2018

Audio and Essays Parashat Noah


Video

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YouTube –

 A Hard Rain


Audio:
New!

The Dissenting Voice at the Tower












Essays:
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Parashat Noah 5779 The First Echo Chamber - Essay

Echoes of Eden
Rabbi Ari Kahn
The First Echo Chamber

The sin of Adam and Eve had brought about the exile from Eden, and their sin was soon followed by a heinous crime, perpetrated outside the Garden; from there, things deteriorated even more. 

As hard as it is to imagine a sin worse than murder,one could argue that the taking of Hevel’s life was unintentional: Perhaps Kayin did not know that his blows would lead to his brother's death. Kayin's act was a crime of passion, a singular act perpetrated by one individual. 

The generation of the flood was different: Sin became the norm. The entire generation was steeped in violence; people simply took by force whatever they wanted - possessions and people alike. In a culture dominated by power, might made right. Powerful men took whichever women they fancied. In those days there were no protests, no indignant op-eds, no Me Toohashtags; there wereonly victims. 

The world had become corrupt, and only one family was saved. Noah’s personal decency shielded his family, like an umbrella that protected his innermost circle from the rain and the flood that washed away everything and everyone that had been a part of that sinful, corrupt society.

After the story of Noah and his family winds down, the Torah chronicles a subsequent generation - the generation of the dispersion. 

The entire earth had one language with uniform words. When [the people] migrated from the east, they found a valley in the land of Shinar, and they settled there. They said to one another, 'Come, let us mold bricks and burn them.' They then had bricks to use as stone, and asphalt for mortar. They said, 'Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower whose top shall reach the sky. Let us make ourselves a name, so that we will not be scattered all over the face of the earth.'(Bereishit 11:1-4)

This generation was marked by unity, by a shared purpose and a common, agreed-upon goal. This seems to be a very positive, even admirable trait; indeed, the tone of the verses sounds encouraging, hopeful. The people of this generation want to remain unified, to live in peace and harmony.  Why did God find it necessary to intervene, to micro-manage, to disperse them? While the Torah doesn’t use the word “sin” to describe their project (a lacuna filled by rabbinic tradition), their fate makes it very clear: They were punished with exile and dispersion, scattered far and wide. And since no other crime is mentioned in the text, we must assume that their unity was the problem.

According to rabbinic tradition (Seder Olam Rabbah) many illustrious people were present when the tower was being built. Noah, now an elderly patriarch, was still alive; his children and their descendants were also in attendance. Also present was a relatively young man who would one day become famous; his name was Avraham.

The legends of Avraham the iconoclast who was thrown into the fiery furnace for espousing his belief in a singular, omnipotent God of Mercy, is closely intertwined with the episode of the tower. There, in the Valley of Shinar, a furnace was used to make bricks. The people involved in the project were unified in their quest, as well as in their desire to kill Avraham. Their particular brand of unity left no room for dissent.

The mindset of the generation of dispersion may be seen as a reaction to the experience of the previous generation: The "every man for himself" mentality had brought the flood; this new generation broke down all personal boundaries for the sake of unity, creating an atmosphere of enforced conformity. This generation lived in a self-imposed echo chamber, in which everyone was forced to espouse the same beliefs and aspire to the same goal. This generation did not seek salvation on a boat, but in a tower, a monolithic structure that represented their singular resolve and uniformity. This unity was preserved by expunging all dissonance -by eliminating all dissidents.

Avraham refused to fit in. He spoke about a kind, benevolent God, a God whom people in the post flood/holocaust generation could not accept. They rejected the notion that God is merciful; they refused to consider mercy a value. Some rabbinic sources suggest that this generation rejected the notion of God altogether. 

Avraham, the young, idealistic, ethical monotheist, expressed ideas which they found abhorrent, and with one unified voice they called for the murder of the man who would bring so much light to the world. 

Unity such as this, emboldened by sheer numbers and whipped into a murderous frenzy by anger and hatred, must be dismantled. The people who espoused it were not washed away or cast into their own furnace; they were separated, dispersed, their unity cast to the wind, waiting to be restored under a banner of peace through understanding, of harmony born of different voices - and of kindness.