Jake Sullivan Rosh Hashanah Drash 5770
October 5, 2009
Shannah Tovah everyone.
Before I begin my commentary on Vayiera, I wanted to let you know that today is an important day for my family. Today is my Grandma Florine Gelfer’s Yortsite. She died three years ago, erev Rosh Hashanah, in Portland. She was an incredible, dignified, passionate, and dedicated person who has been a great role model for me throughout my life; thinking about her as I prepared this speech got me thinking about role models and what they mean to me.
Secondly, before I begin my speech I would like to offer a disclaimer. Embarrassing as it is to admit it, I will admit that I hadn’t read Genesis fully, or read the parashah that I will be talking about for this speech–called Vayiera–fully, before I was invited to do this. I know that many of you in this audience are very learned and know this text very well, and I ask you to please indulge my naiveté as I recount to you the experience that I had as I read these stories through fully for the first time.
I came into this High Holiday season looking for inspiration. I’ve finally reached senior year of high school, a position that is traditionally looked up to and admired by younger students. Despite the fact that I assumed seniors didn’t need role models when I was a freshman myself, still looking for people to look up to.
Every year on Rosh Hashanah we read from a parashah called Vayiera, which–as I understand it–means “to have foresight”, or “to have a vision”. When I was asked to write this speech, I felt as if I were on a quest to find inspiration and direction for the new year–and what better place to look first, I thought, than directly at the story that I knew would be read when I presented. Now, the section of Vayiera that was actually read today, as I’m sure most of you are aware, is near the end of the parashah —it’s chapter 21, which chronologically is soon after the birth of Isaac. I knew that the story I was about to read centered on Abraham and Isaac, and, while I knew the story of the Akaidah, or binding of Isaac, I was hoping that I might find some behavior of Abraham’s or Isaac earlier on later in Isaac’s life, that I could admire and hold up as an example.
So I flipped open to chapter 21, but far from finding an example of good parenting– stellar diaper changing skills or nuanced disciple, I instead found myself faced with a grim story about Abraham’s concubine Hagar and her son, Ishmael. As the story goes, soon after Isaac is born, Sarah sees his half brother Ishmael taunting and mocking the baby. (In the Hebrew the word is Mitsachek, which means to play but also has darker connotations and is, as I understand it, also used to indicate cardinal sins in other contexts.) In any case, Sarah doesn’t like what she sees, both in Ishmael’s behavior and/or in the realization that Ishmael is going to inherit some of Abraham’s possessions when he dies, along with Isaac. Incensed, she demands that Ishmael and Hagar be thrown out in the desert, and Abraham, though concerned, promptly complies. I was horrified. I had not expected this kind of family infighting at all. Ishmael and Hagar almost starve to death in the desert and are saved at the last possible moment, when Gd happens to take note of them and a magical well appears.
Needless to say I was unsettled, but I thought: Ok, maybe Sarah and Abraham woke on the wrong side of the bed the day they decided to throw the rest of the family into the desert—I’ll just read the next bit and surely they’ll have shaped up by that point. So I turn to chapter 22 and what do I find? The story about Abraham almost killing his other son– let me tell you, as a son, and an only and eldest one at that, I was paying very keen attention to these stories.
By this point, I was very concerned about Abraham’s behavior. So I went back and read all of Vayiera. There were some redeeming moments for Abraham, such as the time when he negotiates with G-d on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah, two supposedly sinful cities that Gd has scheduled for destruction. But the number of hopeful and happy events are far outweighed by a series of unsettling and concerning passages, such as when Abraham and Sarah are in Egypt, and Abraham tells Sarah to lie, saying that she is his sister, rather than his wife, so that he will avoid harm when pharaoh notices her good looks. Abraham says “please say that you are my sister, so that it will go well with me.” Sarah is luckily saved from abuse by another divine intervention in the nick of time, while Abraham makes lame excuses to Pharaoh.
And then I come back to the binding of Isaac, the act of faith that defines Abraham’s role as a Patriarch. As a result of Abraham’s actions, Gd renews his covenant with the Jews, promising to protect them and ensure their success into the future. And this moment isn’t important only to Jews. Christians also hold us Abraham as a patriarch, and for Muslims, The Hajj–the pilgrimage to Mecca that every Muslim in the world endeavors to make–is capped by a reenactment of Abraham’s would-be-sacrifice. For us as Jews the “binding of Isaac”–or Akaidah in Hebrew–is, as I said, the act that cements our covenant with Gd. The importance of the Akaidah is reflected in various prayers. It is referred to in the Shemonah Esrei, which is said daily, as well as in the ones we are saying today. According to traditional commentary, one of the reasons that we blow a rams horn during the high holidays is to remind ourselves of the Akaidah and the ram that took Isaac’s place at the last minute.
So what am I missing here? Abraham is not looking too good as a role model for me right now. How can the Akaidah–this potentially cruel act of faith, and one that– according to Midrashic calculations–actually causes Sarah’s death soon after because it practically gives her a heart attack–define Abraham’s position as our patriarch? What can I say?—I’m disillusioned with my patriarchs…and I’m a teenager! Who am I supposed to look to for advice now, my parents?!
To try to make sense of this confusing situation, I decided to try three tests, or experiments–if you will–that I hoped would make the stories and their meaning clearer.
First, I decided to imagine the comments of a modern Jewish intellectual. I needed some perspective, and I knew just the person to ask. “Hey Woody, what can you tell me about Vayiera?” When I called, this is what he had to say:
(Woody Allen accent)
Life, for Abraham, is a series of crises. Like me, only worse. At seventy-some years old, he starts hearing a disembodied voice. The voice tells him it’s Gd. I never believe them when they say that. But Abraham does. Next, this voice tells him that he should be homeless–so he leaves home. Sounds crazy, right? But you got to take the guy in context. He goes through a lot of hardships–wanders around in the desert, no money, no health insurance, whole tribes are obliterated around him, and what does he do? Run away screaming? no! he sacrifices another ram or two–or a turtledove or whatever it was that they were sacrificing, and he trusts that things are going to be alright. He wanders in the desert, has run ins with two Egyptian pharaohs and comes out alive—I think that’s, the equivalent of having some serious ‘street cred’ in the desert–he goes through a lot of things. His nephew’s wife is turned into a pillar of salt.
Actually, on that topic I must say that I and Gd have some creative differences. I mean, why not a pillar of soap? I think that they were all filthy, at that time; you know they didn’t take showers, they didn’t have Purel–imagine!
The final test that Abraham faces is this binding of his son, which I think was a very interesting artistic choice on Gd’s part. (pause.) And it makes for a very good opportunity for Abraham actually, because if you think about it Isaac was thirty-seven by the time this happened. And I don’t mean to be negative or anything here–cause you know me, I’m a very chipper person, but–if your son was still living with you at thirty seven and you got the divine go-ahead to you know–remove his mouth from your table so to speak, you might be more open to that offer than you think now. But I mean I’m not blaming Isaac for not leaving the nest. I mean, the guy’s opportunities in life are pretty depressing when you really look at them. I mean, whet were his career options?–he could have been an archer, a sheep herder, a tribal chieftain, or what?!—a barbarian. Not very good options….
Ok, that’s all I got. Goodbye Jake.
Ok, so maybe Woody’s not the best person to ask about family relations, but he makes an important point: Abraham lived in a different time, and had a very different lifestyle from mine. I can’t judge Abraham by 21st century standards, just as he wouldn’t know what to make of me if I dropped into his tent in the middle of chapter 20.
The second test I did to help make sense of Abraham’s story was to imagine how the story would have played out if it had taken place in a modern day setting. In other words, if it were you or me that Gd had decided to single out, rather than Abraham and it happened tomorrow, what might that look like? This is what I came up with…
One day–a calm, fragrant fall afternoon, just as you’re leaving work (or school if you’re a student) and beginning to walk home, your cell phone rings. So you take it out, and see that you have one new text message. You flip open the phone, expecting a dinner invitation from a friend or an automated weather report text, but instead you see that the message is from a sender that has never texted you before. Squinting to get a closer look at the screen, you see that in the space where the sender’s number should be displayed, there are only the letters G-d. And there, in pixilated but nevertheless clear letters, is the message:
Wasap, this is Gd.
You laugh (suddenly serious), and then squint and read the message again. You pause for a moment, wondering how best to respond, and then type back, Who r u really? In less than a second you get a response back.
Really, it’s G-d. I would have called but I was worried about your minutes.
(squint suspiciously at phone)
…God?
…Yup.
…Yeah right.
You decide to forget about loser, so you hold the phone’s power button down to turn off the device completely. A moment later your phone beeps again. Startled, you take it out of your pocket and flip it open to look at the screen.
…See?
The sky, which a moment before had been clear and blue, is suddenly sagging with swirling black clouds. You speed up, pulling the hood of your raincoat up over your head as thick drops begin to fall from the sky, small rivers forming in the street within seconds. Your phone beeps again and you flip the screen open and wipe the water away to read the message: Run.
You don’t know why, but you immediately speed up to a trot. A second later, a bolt of lightning sizzles out of the sky and blows the piece of sidewalk right behind you–and a passing hummer–to smithereens.
…Your hands are shaking as you type back a reply: thanks. You decide that you’ll trust
this God character, that maybe you like him–or her..
…So you go home, and add God as a friend on Facebook.
Ridiculous as this scenario may sound; it is the contemporary equivalent of what Abraham went through when he heard God’s commandments. Imagining the story this way reminds me why Abraham acts the way he does. Abraham experiences not only the miracle of his wife conceiving at over 90 years old, but also the destruction of two cities, the survival of Hagar and Ishmael, and the appearance of multiple angels. That is why when Gd says “jump”–or, in this case–”sacrifice your son”– he obeys. That makes sense.
For my third experiment, I looked at contemporary role models that most of us will recognize: Our politicians, Barack Obama, and Bill and Hillary Clinton; extraordinary athletes like Lance Armstrong and Michael Phelps; and our performers—let’s take Michael Jackson. Each of these people has at some point set an example for others around him or her, showing perseverance and dedication. I admire all of these people, each in a different way.
Now, as I look at these role models one by one, it is clear to me that none of them is perfect. They are incredible people, and we want them to be perfect, but then they are caught having an affair or smoking pot–they are caught being human.
But here’s the kicker: when I thought about the flaws in these well known role models, I said to myself, “Yeah, so what? They are still amazing people”, and they are. Each of them has done incredible things and changed the world forever, and they each have a different lesson to teach me. I can admire Bill Clinton’s masterful foreign policy dealings and economic agility, Lance Armstrong’s grit and determination in pushing on and fighting through the tour de France even after cancer, Michael Jackson’s ability to get songs stuck in my head for a week, and of course, Barack Obama’s moonwalk.
Now these role models have all been helpful to me in a contemporary context. But this is Rosh Hashannah. Let’s come back to the story that we study and retell every year on the New Year. Today, Abraham is the figure that we look to as an example. Now, having examined the idea of role models, I can come back to look at Abraham and ask myself: why? Every year we hear this same story about this same patriarch. I have been alive for seventeen years and I have heard this story seventeen times. So why? Why is Abraham the role model that we look to every New Year? Why is Abraham the patriarch held up by three major world religions?
What I see looking back at Abraham and the trials he experiences, is his enduring faith. Abraham is incredibly faithful. Through thick and thin, through wandering and destruction, he stays faithful. Through his friends getting turned into pillars of salt!—he stays faithful. Through almost having to kill his own son, he remains faithful. That is amazing; it is truly incredible.
Now, I have been taught my whole life, by many different teachers, that I shouldn’t have blind faith, and that I should seek answers for myself. But what I can take away—every New Year–from Abraham’s behavior is that he commits completely to his passion. That’s the lesson that I think we can all take, regardless of the particulars of our faith, by looking to Abraham. For each of us, the passion that we can commit to will be different. It might be a commitment to slow global warming, or a dream to run a marathon. One might commit to getting all A’s or spending more time with his or her kids. Or one might commit to life a life of faith, like Abraham. Whatever our passions, we should take Abraham’s example, and commit to them fully.
There is a Howard Thurman quote that I love, that I think embodies the spirit of Abraham. It goes: “Don’t ask what the world needs. (pause like Obama.) Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
I wish you all a happy, healthy, prosperous new year, and may we all, sometime this year, come truly alive.
Shannah Tovah everyone.
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