D'var Torah * The Binding of IsaacRosh Hashanah 2008
The Torah portion we study today is one of the most famous in the Bible. It is known as the Binding of Isaac. Our tale begins at Genesis 22, when Avraham is told by God to bring his son Isaac to a mountaintop to sacrifice him. Obediently, Avraham travels for three days, and once at the mountain’s peak, binds him down. Only after his knife is raised does an angel of God intervene and provide a ram in Isaac’s place. The angel says: “Now I know that you are God-fearing, and you did not withhold your son, your only one, from me.” (Bereishit, 22:12).
In virtually any contemporary discussion about the Akeidah, the feeling that often becomes central is our feelings of horror. What father would even consider sacrificing his child? And what kind of God would even ask such a thing?
These are troubling questions to us as modern Jews, and as American Jews the story upsets us on yet another level. How is it that our religion can glorify such an act of blind obedience? Blind faith is a repugnant notion to an audience like ours, steeped in Democratic values.
Acknowledging these feelings is important to do, but to dwell on them is, I believe, to miss the point. Of course notions like human sacrifice and blind obedience are troublesome to contemporary ears, but this story did not evolve in our contemporary world.
I would like to challenge you to image this story as if you were in the audience for whom it was originally intended. Imagine it is 2,500 years ago, and you are living in exile in Babylonia. The Temple, which now lies in ruins, was the focal point of your entire religious life – and you are now struggling to preserve your Jewish identity in a foreign land.
Animal sacrifice, of course, is no longer possible. Prayer services and Passover seders have not yet been created. But what you can do is listen to the stories of your people.
Biblical scholars believe that it was during our 50 years in Babylonian exile that many of the oral traditions that make up the five books of the Torah were finally committed to parchment. Writing them down was a way of ensuring our survival and preventing assimilation. To these people in exile, the story of the Akeidah gave three very important messages:
First, the depiction of Abraham as a man of unfailing obedience made him the perfect mythical ancestor. The patriarch of the Jewish people – the story proudly says – has so much strength and faith that he would actually kill his own son at God’s request. In a society where values like free thought had not evolved, and where men of military might and faith were ideolized, Abraham must have been a comforting hero to have.
Second, the use of a ram as a sacrifice would have been familiar to an audience who could no longer sacrifice rams at the Temple. It would have given them hope to think that just as they had sacrificed animals to God for ages – going way back to the days of Abraham – they will one day sacrifice them again. The exile will end, the Temple will be rebuilt, and life will return as it was.
Finally, even the notion of God’s request for human sacrifice would not have been so strange to the Jews in Babylonia. Up until this time, Jews had lived for hundreds of years surrounded by various pagan peoples, some of whom reputedly sacrificed children. Judaism, of course, rejected this, and what the Akeidah did was bring this difference to the forefront. In this way, the story became a statement of Jewish moral superiority and a strong incentive for Jews to stick to their own.
The challenge today, of course, is realizing that such a stark moral paradigm no longer exists between our religion and the religion of our neighbors. The Akeidah no longer survives as a rallying cry to embrace our faith and our people. The challenge then, becomes not What do we do with the Akeidah? But rather, What stories, what words do we need to tell our communities to inspire this kind of devotion?
It’s a challenge that faces each of us in this room – regardless of whether we are raising children or working in leadership in Jewish communities. By committing ourselves in the coming year to reaching out to each other, and creating spaces and moments that make our time together special, we are engaging in this holy work of strengthening our community.
Shana tova, u’metukah. May you have a healthy new year of prosperity, joy and friendship.
In virtually any contemporary discussion about the Akeidah, the feeling that often becomes central is our feelings of horror. What father would even consider sacrificing his child? And what kind of God would even ask such a thing?
These are troubling questions to us as modern Jews, and as American Jews the story upsets us on yet another level. How is it that our religion can glorify such an act of blind obedience? Blind faith is a repugnant notion to an audience like ours, steeped in Democratic values.
Acknowledging these feelings is important to do, but to dwell on them is, I believe, to miss the point. Of course notions like human sacrifice and blind obedience are troublesome to contemporary ears, but this story did not evolve in our contemporary world.
I would like to challenge you to image this story as if you were in the audience for whom it was originally intended. Imagine it is 2,500 years ago, and you are living in exile in Babylonia. The Temple, which now lies in ruins, was the focal point of your entire religious life – and you are now struggling to preserve your Jewish identity in a foreign land.
Animal sacrifice, of course, is no longer possible. Prayer services and Passover seders have not yet been created. But what you can do is listen to the stories of your people.
Biblical scholars believe that it was during our 50 years in Babylonian exile that many of the oral traditions that make up the five books of the Torah were finally committed to parchment. Writing them down was a way of ensuring our survival and preventing assimilation. To these people in exile, the story of the Akeidah gave three very important messages:
First, the depiction of Abraham as a man of unfailing obedience made him the perfect mythical ancestor. The patriarch of the Jewish people – the story proudly says – has so much strength and faith that he would actually kill his own son at God’s request. In a society where values like free thought had not evolved, and where men of military might and faith were ideolized, Abraham must have been a comforting hero to have.
Second, the use of a ram as a sacrifice would have been familiar to an audience who could no longer sacrifice rams at the Temple. It would have given them hope to think that just as they had sacrificed animals to God for ages – going way back to the days of Abraham – they will one day sacrifice them again. The exile will end, the Temple will be rebuilt, and life will return as it was.
Finally, even the notion of God’s request for human sacrifice would not have been so strange to the Jews in Babylonia. Up until this time, Jews had lived for hundreds of years surrounded by various pagan peoples, some of whom reputedly sacrificed children. Judaism, of course, rejected this, and what the Akeidah did was bring this difference to the forefront. In this way, the story became a statement of Jewish moral superiority and a strong incentive for Jews to stick to their own.
The challenge today, of course, is realizing that such a stark moral paradigm no longer exists between our religion and the religion of our neighbors. The Akeidah no longer survives as a rallying cry to embrace our faith and our people. The challenge then, becomes not What do we do with the Akeidah? But rather, What stories, what words do we need to tell our communities to inspire this kind of devotion?
It’s a challenge that faces each of us in this room – regardless of whether we are raising children or working in leadership in Jewish communities. By committing ourselves in the coming year to reaching out to each other, and creating spaces and moments that make our time together special, we are engaging in this holy work of strengthening our community.
Shana tova, u’metukah. May you have a healthy new year of prosperity, joy and friendship.
Artwork: http://www.nuchi.com/
