Sermons 5787
ROSH HASHANAH EVENING 5787
THE WORLD WAS CREATED FOR THE SAKE OF ADAM? OR ISRAEL? Who are you going to vote for?
Rachel[i] came into the synagogue library out of the autumn cold.
“Hi Daniel! Sorry I am late. I got held up. It was another one of those phone calls, asking if I will vote for their candidate, let me tell you about their policies, and you know…. Blah, blah blah…as if I had all the time in the world. As if didn’t have other things to think about in life.”
Daniel[ii] smiled.
“Yeah, It’s hard to avoid politics with the election season in the air. The mailings. The texts. The solicitations. The phone calls. The pundits on television. All telling you how you should vote.”
Rachel removed her coat, hat and gloves, and eased herself into a seat at the table.
Before them was a large book. They knew it was old-fashioned of them. Most people now, study Talmud using texts online. Sefaria is a great resource, and you could look up commentaries, easily – with just a click-of-the-mouse. But the two of them loved the old-fashioned tomes of Shas, with the black letters embossed on cream paper – the script articulating the dialogue between the sages of multi-generations, the commentaries across the centuries. They loved becoming part of the historical back-and-forth.
Rachel and Daniel sat side-by-side, with the text between them. Their years of chevruta, studying Talmud together, gifted them an ease when struggling with the text and when grappling with life.
Often, seemingly randomly, the text had something to say or reflect on their modern lives. It came out of nowhere — always a surprise!
They were gazing at a passage in Babylonian Talmud Sanhedrin.
Daniel read aloud the words in front of them:
“When a person stamps a coin, with a seal, they are like each other. But, when the Holy One stamped all people, with the seal of the first Adam, not one of their likenesses was like each other. While the whole of humankind descends from this one person, Adam – the world is created for each human, individually.”[iii]
“So, this world is created for the sake of each one of us!” exclaimed Rachel. “For Jew and Christian. For Moslem and Sikh. For black skin, white skin and coffee skin. We are all one, a replica of Adam. The world was created for all of us – for society – for the sake of humanity!”
“Whoa! …Hold the rant!” Daniel’s thoughtful eyes looked at her.
He began: “Rachel, didn’t we learn at last week’s lecture on Tractate Gerim, that the world was created for the sake of Israel? The example given was that after a potential convert immerses in the mikveh, we are supposed to say to the new Jew: “Mazal Tov! You have chosen the Holy One who created this world – and this world was created for the sake of Israel. Israel are the children of God. Israel is the beloved of God. By being Jewish, you are now chosen.”[iv]
Rachel retorted: “Jewish self-centeredness! It’s about me! me! me! Jews come first! Others are second-best! Daniel, I believe in welcoming the convert. But to say to someone who is newly Jewish, that only now they are “chosen,” well, it’s so … so insular, so chutzpadik!
“And if we don’t put the Jews first in this world – who will?” countered Daniel.
The Talmud before them began to shimmer and glimmer.
The two of them blinked.
Two bearded men emerged. Their clothing – strange and ancient.
Were they seeing things? They looked at each other with astonishment. If this was not real, then it was some sort of shared hallucination.
One of the men began: “So, Akiva, you think that: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ is the greatest principal of the Torah. Yet I think there is a greater principle found in Genesis. In the Torah it is written: ‘This is the book of the generations of Adam. When God created humankind, the Holy One made everybody in the likeness of God.’”[v]
Akiva looked puzzled: “And why is this a greater principle, Ben Azzai?”
“Think about it. When it says “Love your neighbor” – it is not clear what the word neighbor means. Perhaps it means everybody. Or just the people next door. Perhaps it means only to love your Jewish neighbor. It is not specific or clear.
On the other hand, we know that Adam – well Adam is everybody’s parent – Israelite, stranger, foreigner. Each person is created in the Divine image. It is clear it means every person.
Akiva, my friend: Imagine we were voting in the Greek elections as they did centuries ago. If we advocated and voted just for Jewish interests, and not for the greater society, isn’t that a disgrace to the Holy One whose likeness every human being resembles?”
“Are we seeing things” mumbled Daniel?[vi] “Is that really Rabbi Akiva and Ben Azzai jumping off, off… the pages of… our Talmud?”
“Ssh!” hushed Rachel. “Let’s listen and learn… those old rabbis, they’re having our exact conversation.”
Rabbi Akiva looked around. Something seemed to have distracted him for a brief minute. But seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he returned to his discussion with Ben Azzai.
“Ben Azzai, you speak of human dignity. But doesn’t our Torah say: ’You [Jews] shall be holy, for I, Adonai your God, am holy.’”[vii] God gave us the commandments specifically to make the Jewish people holy. Our ways are worth preserving and guarding. By guarding, I mean: Jewish interests should always come first.”
Ben Azzai gave him a dubious look.
“I disagree. Akiva, read a few verses further down in the Torah there it says the exact opposite: “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love that stranger as yourself.”[viii]
“Yes, yes,” Akiva nods. “Granted. We are to have empathy for the stranger: ‘For we too were strangers in the land of Egypt…. But surely compassion is a duty to protect the vulnerable, not to prioritize them.”
Ben Azzai looked chagrined.
“Am I understanding you correctly, Akiva? Jews first. Empathy for other people second? When we care for others, we should do it only if it aligns with our Jewish priorities?”
“You’ve got it right” said Rabbi Akiva. “The Torah teaches us: “You are a holy people, for God has chosen you.”[ix] A covenant has boundaries, practices, obligations. If we only look at the world through a humane stance, then what becomes of the distinct mission of Israel?”
Ben Azzai countered: “This is not sitting well with me – Jews are part of this greater humanity with real human concerns. The Torah says, that Abraham was chosen so that all the families of the earth would be blessed through him, not just the Jews.[x] Surely, being Jewish should not wall us off from other people? God created the world for Adam, and we must continue creating our world for Adam’s sake.”
Akiva counterargued. “Yet let not our love of humanity, override our Jewish identity. Granted, we, as Jews, are commanded to advocate for the poor, the hungry, the immigrant, and the vulnerable. But our love of all people, should not best our care of Jews.
Ben Azzai rubbed his beard and looked thoughtful.
“I think my friend Akiva, we differ less than it first appears. We both believe that the world is created for the sake of humanity. We both believe that the world was created for the sake of Israel. That is Torah. However, our approaches are different. You begin with the Jewish covenant and its concrete possibilities.”
Akiva butted in, and finished Ben Azzai’s sentence. “… and you begin with humanity’s common origin and divine likeness.”
At that moment in the conversation, the door swung open. Rachel and Daniel turned to look at the entrance when they felt the chilly air brush their backs. Their faces turned white as a ghost… were they now seeing a second apparition? Wasn’t he… dead? How could he be standing there?
Rachel exclaimed: “He looks just like the picture of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks on his book cover! He must have a doppelganger in the world of the living!”
Daniel laughed. “Why are you surprised that Rabbi Sacks is here? Weren’t we just discussing whether we should prioritize Jewish concerns or societies needs? Why wouldn’t a scholar who focused on this very idea, show up in our library right now?”
“Children,” said the very twentieth century-looking orthodox rabbi in a clipped British accent, as he removed his own book from the shelf.
“Didn’t I write in my book right here that: ‘Judaism is both particularist and universalist. Abraham lived apart from his neighbours, but he fought for them, prayed for them, and engaged with them. Moses and the prophets saw Judaism as unique, and, as having a message for all humankind. The split between particularism and universalism, the dissociation of sensibilities in the mind of the modern Jew, is nothing less than a breakdown of traditional identity at the very time that the Jewish future, and the world, need Jews to be both.’”[xi]
“In other words,” said Daniel, “This is true, and that is true. I think what Rabbi Sacks is arguing, is that it is essentially Jewish to care about Jewish interests AND the interests of society at large. We should hold both values as equally important in our thinking.”
“Hmm. Let not our Jewish selves get in the way of the good of common humanity,” — Rachel thought-out-loud.
“And let not our common humanity negate our Jewish identities,” responded Daniel.
Daniel closed the Talmud shut.
When they looked up from their studies, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks was gone. Rabbi Akiva and Ben Azzai had dissipated from where they once stood in the shul library.
“Good study” Daniel said to Rachel. “By the way, Rachel, what issues are on your mind this election?”
“Jewish issues. Society Issues.”
“Me too.” said Daniel.
“Who are you going to vote for this election?”
Sarah smiled.
“That’s between me and my God.”
Daniel grinned.
They put on their hats, coats and gloves and moved towards the door.
Then they said as always – “Next week, same time, same place, more Talmud…”
****
Chevruta [4 minutes]
Share our own personal answers with a person besides you:
When you vote, do you think of yourself as a Jew first, an American first—or both at once?
What does that mean for the way you decide how to vote?
[i] Rachel in the bible embraced other gods, pilfering Laban’s idols. This might suggest she had a belief in the efficacy of these gods (perhaps for fetility and blessing since we know she struggled with these issues) – making her a matriarch with universalistic tendencies. See Genesis 31:19.
[ii] The biblical Daniel was among the biblical exiles captured in Jerusalem and taken to Babylonia. Daniel is placed into a universalist context, trained to be courtiers and given a Babylonian name (Daniel – Belteshazzar). However, Daniel stubbornly sticks to his Israelite identity, refusing non-Kosher food (Daniel 1:8-10), continues to pray to God despite a ban on doing so (Daniel 6) and being loyal to God over the King. Through his actions he displays particularistic tendencies.
[iii] Baraita in Sanhedrin 38a, JT Sanhedrin, Chapter 4:9
[iv] Tractate Gerim 1:5. Sefaria writes: “Tractate Gerim (“Converts”) is one of seven small tractates that addresses topics for which there is no specific tractate in the Jerusalem or Babylonian Talmuds. These tractates are written in the terse style of the Mishnah and are likely from the time period of the Mishnah or early Talmud, but their dating and places of composition are subject to debate. The first two chapters of Gerim discuss the process of conversion to Judaism, and the status of the convert. The third chapter addresses the treatment of a resident convert, a gentile who accepts some of Judaism’s tenets. The last chapter consists of praise for converts. Composed: Talmudic Israel/Babylon (c.100 BCE – c.900 CE)
[v] Leviticus 19:18, Genesis 5:1 as quoted in Sifra 2:16:11
[vi] Daniel was an interpreter of visions.
[vii] Leviticus 19:2
[viii] Leviticus 19:34
[ix] Deuteronomy 7:6
[x] Genesis 12:13
[xi] Jonathan Sacks Future Tense, NY: Schocken Books, 2009, p. 118
SHACHARIT ROSH HASHANAH 5787
THE WORLD WAS CREATED FOR THE SAKE OF FAITH: Keeping the Faith
Nachman of Bratslav taught many times, “Creation was mainly for the sake of faith.”[i]
I imagine Jacob standing before his children at the end of his life, there in Egypt, far from the land of Canaan.
He had lived a long life. He had known love and loss, blessing and exile, moments of divine presence and moments when God seemed painfully distant.
Death was approaching.[ii]
And so, Jacob called his sons and his daughter Dinato gather close.
The Torah tells us that Jacob said: “Gather yourselves together that I may tell you what is to befall you in days to come.”[iii]
But perhaps before he could tell them what would happen to them, Jacob needed to tell them who they were.
He looked at his children and wondered:
Will you remember?
Will you remember the God of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, and Rebecca?
Will you remember the covenant?
Will you remember the faith that carried our family from one generation to the next?
Will you remember the faith that sustains the world we live in?
And perhaps Jacob wondered something else:
What kind of example did I set for you?
Jacob thought: “My faith did not always come easily. I was named Yisrael—the one who wrestles with God—after struggling through the night on the banks of the Jabbok.[iv] I have grappled with the Holy One. I have struggled to understand, struggled to trust, struggled even to sense God’s presence. There were moments God seemed unmistakably near: angels ascending and descending a ladder between heaven and earth.[v] And there were other moments when God seemed hidden, beyond reach. But perhaps that, too, is part of faith.”
And so, Jacob began not with prophecy, but with memory.
“Before I tell you what will befall you in days to come[vi], let me remind you of where we began. Let me remind you of faith.”
***
“For your great-grandfather Abraham, faith was not simply something he possessed. Faith was something he lived, something tested repeatedly. It was this faith that shielded him from succumbing to his trials.[vii]
Ten times, Abraham was tested. [viii]
His faith was tested when he smashed the idols sold at his father Terach’s shop. After which his father brought him before King Nimrod, who demanded that Abraham abandon his belief in the One God. Abraham refused. And Nimrod cast him into a fiery furnace, yet Abraham emerged unharmed.[ix]
His faith was tested when God called: Lech lecha—Go forth. [x] Leave your land. Leave your birthplace. Leave your father’s house. Go to the place that I will show you. Faith meant walking before knowing where the road would lead.
Then came famine in the very land God had promised him, forcing Abraham to descend to Egypt.[xi]
There, his faith in God’s protection was tested again, when Sarah was taken into Pharaoh’s household to become Pharaoh’s wife.[xii]
His faith was tested when Lot, his nephew, was taken captive, and Abraham went to war against kings to rescue him.[xiii]
His faith was tested by the agonizing contradiction between God’s promise of countless descendants, and his own childlessness; and by the seemingly impossible revelation, that those descendants would themselves experience exile, in Egypt, the very place where we now live.[xiv]
His faith was tested when God commanded him to circumcise himself and his household as a sign of the covenant.[xv]
His faith was tested yet again when Avimelech took Sarah into his household with the intention of marrying her.[xvi]
And his faith as a father was tested when God told him to listen to Sarah and send Hagar and Ishmael away.[xvii]
And then came the test that towers above all the others. God said to Abraham: “Take your son, your only son, the one whom you love, Isaac…”[xviii] And Abraham walked towards Moriah. Towards the altar. Towards the unimaginable.
Through each, and every test, Abraham remained steadfast to the One God. That was Abraham’s faith. Not a faith untouched by suffering. Not a faith free from questions. But a faith that kept walking.”
***
And then Jacob paused.
“You must also remember Sarah[xix], your great-grandmother. Her faith was tested no less than Abraham.
She knew the pain of being barren and without a child.
She left her birthplace and her father’s home for an unknown land.
She was asked to protect Abraham by concealing the truth about their relationship in Egypt, and, again in Gerar, where she was taken into the homes of foreign kings.
She watched her Egyptian maidservant Hagar bear Abraham a child.
She endured Hagar’s contempt and Abraham’s painful words, ‘Do with her as you see fit’[xx] so she would be the cause of Hagar and Ishmael’s exile.
She heard the astonishing, laughable news that she would bear a child in her old age.
She waited through the long years when Abraham traveled and fought.
And finally, she faced the unthinkable: her son Isaac was taken from her and brought towards an altar.[xxi]
She too had ten trials. Ten moments when faith might have shattered.
Yet Sarah’s faith was different from Abraham’s. She understood that each of these things were for greater good. Sarah’s spirituality was a spirituality of seeing. She possessed prophetic insight that surpassed even Abraham’s.
When Sarah saw what needed to be seen, God told Abraham: “Whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her.”[xxii]
Listen to her.
Those words are extraordinary. The covenant would continue not simply because Abraham believed firmly, but… because Sarah saw.
Sometimes faith means seeing what others cannot yet see.
Sometimes faith means speaking what others are afraid to say.
And sometimes faith means trusting the wisdom that God has placed within us.”
***
Jacob continued:
“Some of you remember my father, Isaac. My father inherited the faith of his parents Abraham and Sarah, but he carried it differently.
Abraham had steady faith and yet argued with God.
Sarah had faith that was deeply spiritual and insightful.
But Isaac’s faith was quieter. His was the faith of letting go and letting God.
He possessed a deep inner certainty that somehow, even when he could not understand the path, he knew that God’s purposes were ultimately for good.
That is why on that climatic day, my father Isaac walked willingly with his father towards Moriah. He knew what was about to occur. Our Torah says: And the two of them walked on together.’[xxiii]
Twice the Torah says it.
Father and son.
Abraham and Isaac.
Walking together.
Isaac knew that he was the one being brought toward the altar, and still he walked. His faith was a radical trust with his very life. His belief in God ran as deep as the wells he re-dug—the same wells his father had dug before him.[xxiv] Again, and again, Isaac uncovered what had been buried. He did not have to create something entirely new. He dug deeply enough to uncover what was already there.
That, trust, that too, is faith.”
***
“And my mother Rebecca?
After Sarah died, Rebecca became Isaac’s wife, she became a source of comfort to him.[xxv]
Rebecca had Sarah’s insight but she, lived a faith of action.
When Eliezer came seeking a wife for Isaac, Rebecca had to decide. She would leave the home she knew and travel toward a man she had never met, trusting that the journey before her was part of God’s unfolding plan.[xxvi]
Rebecca saw what needed to be seen. She understood what was at stake.
And when the time came for the covenant to continue through to the next generation, she acted with wisdom and courage to ensure that I, not Esau, would receive Isaac’s blessing.[xxvii]
My mother taught us that faith is not always passive.
Sometimes faith means leaving.
Sometimes it means acting.
Sometimes it means trusting the voice within us that tells us — this is the path I must take.”
***
Jacob looked at his children.
Perhaps he looked beyond them,—to the grandchildren yet unborn, to the generations who would one day carry their names, into places they could not imagine.
On his deathbed, Jacob finally understood an essential truth.
Their family was not united by one kind of faith.
Abraham had the faith to walk.
Sarah had the faith to see.
Isaac had the faith to trust.
Rebecca had the faith to act.
And Jacob?
Jacob had the faith to wrestle.
To question. To struggle. To encounter God sometimes clearly and sometimes through the darkness.
And each of their faiths – impacted the way each of them interacted in this world.
***
The point of Jacob’s story is our story. Because Jewish faith has never required that we all believe the same way.
There is faith that walks. Faith that sees. Faith that trusts. Faith that acts.Faith that wrestles.Faith that asks questions and faith that waits for answers.Faith that feels God’s presence—and faith that keeps searching when God feels absent.
Generation after generation, we continue with our own unique expressions of faith, and we are motivated to sustain this world we live in, by the impetus of our own brand of faith.
***
Jacob looked at his children, with love, and proclaimed:[xxviii]:“The Holy One created this world for the sake of faith, and you my children are conduits – to that legacy of faith. Grasp our tradition, figure out what it means to you.
Know and understand that your precious faith is your motivation for how you will partner with the Holy One. Your faith should be your inspiration to impact this fragile, unfinished, beautiful world.”
***
Chevruta [4 minutes]
Share our own personal answers with a person besides you:
What is your faith?
How does your faith impact this world?
[i] Sichot HaRan 222: “The Rebbe said many times that Creation was mainly for the sake of faith.”
[ii] Genesis 48:21
[iii] Genesis 49:1.
[iv] Genesis 32:25–29.
[v] Genesis 28:12–15.
[vi] Genesis 49:1.
[vii] “Magen Avraham” in the Avot v’Imahot of the Amidah.
[viii] Bartenura on Pirkei Avot 5:3. See also the collection of sources at Sefaria Voices.
[ix] Bereshit Rabbah 38:13.
[x] Genesis 12:1.
[xi] Genesis 12:10.
[xii] Genesis 12:15.
[xiii] Genesis 14:1–2.
[xiv] Genesis 15:3; see also Genesis 15:13–14.
[xv] Genesis 17:11.
[xvi] Genesis 20:2.
[xvii] Genesis 21:10.
[xviii] Genesis 22:2
[xix] “Paked Sarah” in the Avot V’Imahot of the Amidah
[xx] Genesis 21:12
[xxi] The sequence of Sarah’s ten trials is drawn from Naamah Eldar, “Sarah’s Trials,” in Dirshuni: Contemporary Women’s Midrash, ed. Tamar Biala (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2022), 29–31.
[xxii] Genesis 21:12
[xxiii] Genesis 22:6, 8
[xxiv] Genesis 26:18
[xxv] Genesis 24:67
[xxvi] Genesis 24
[xxvii] Genesis 27
YOM KIPPUR EVENING 5787
THE WORLD WAS CREATED FOR THE SAKE OF OUR ANCESTORS: What is Said at Mah Jongg, Stays at Mah Jongg OR – Ain’t Nobody Perfect!
Four thousand years in heaven!
But that does not mean they had been stuck in their time. After all, in four thousand years, you need a few different activities to keep the afterlife fresh. And so, on a quiet afternoon in heaven, four women sit around a Mah Jongg table.
Sarah. Rebecca. Rachel and Leah.
The tiles are spread before them.
Sarah is carefully arranging her rack.
Click. Click.
Rebecca is already trying to peek at everyone else’s tiles.
Rachel is distracted.
Leah is studying the card.
Finally, Sarah looks up.
“Ladies, remember our rule: What is said at Mah Jongg, stays at Mah Jongg!”
They nod solemnly.
Because everybody else remembers their husbands as righteous men.
Abraham. Isaac. Jacob.
Patriarchs. Heroes. Exemplars.
But these four women?
They knew these men intimately.
And Mah Jongg was private conversation time.
Sarah looks around the table.
“So,” she says, “whose turn?”
Rebecca nods toward Rachel.
“I know,” Rachel snaps.
“You always say that,” Leah says.
“Because I’m thinking.”
“You’re not thinking. You’re staring at your tiles.”
Sarah intervenes.
“Let her stare. We’ve all spent enough of our lives waiting for men to make decisions.”
Rachel draws.
“Oh! I need this one.”
Leah murmurs:
“Of course you do. So, fitting that you should get exactly what you want. Especially after all those years with Jacob.”
Rachel frowns.
Sarah jumps in.
“Enough! sisters. I thought we were here to play Mah Jongg— and… to talk about our husbands.”
Rebecca smiles.
“Then let’s get into it.”
Sarah usually sets the tone. After all, she is the first of the matriarchs.
“My Abraham was a remarkable man.”
“Hmph,” Leah mutters. “That’s a diplomatic way to begin.”
Sarah gives her a look.
“He was. He had faith. Real faith. He left everything familiar because he believed God was calling him somewhere.”[i]
Rachel nods. “That must have been frightening.”
“It was. But it was also exhilarating. Abraham believed that life could become something more than it was.”
She looks at the tile in her hand. “Hmmm. Not what I wanted.”
She sets it aside.
Click.
Then she continues.“But Abraham’s faith had a downside. He could see the big picture so clearly that sometimes he couldn’t see the people standing right in front of him. He didn’t always see me. Or Hagar. Or Ishmael….”
Rebecca whispers:
“Or Isaac.”
Silence.
Sarah sighs.
“The Akedah. I remember it like it was ten days ago.”[ii]
They all know what she means.
The binding of Isaac.
Leah looks gently at Sarah.
“We praise Abraham for being willing to sacrifice his son. But imagine being you.”
Rebecca adds quietly:
“And imagine being my Isaac.”
Sarah looks down at the tiles.
“I’ve wondered about my baby—and what that moment did to him—for my entire life. And beyond.”
Leah says: “That’s what I don’t understand. Abraham could argue with God about Sodom. Fifty righteous people? Forty-five? Thirty? Ten?” [iii]
Sarah nods. “Yes. He could argue passionately for strangers. But not for his son. His beloved son.”
She slowly discards another tile.
Click.
“Sometimes I think that was Abraham’s greatest weakness. He could love humanity in the abstract. But the individual human being standing in front of him could disappear beneath the mission. Faith was his strength. And it was also his weakness. He was not a perfect man.”
Rebecca gathers her tiles. “My turn to kvetch. My Isaac was gentle and caring.”[iv]
Rachel looks up.
“You don’t hear the word gentle very often when we talk about leaders.”
Rebecca smiles.
“Isaac was quieter than his father and he endured.”
Sarah adds softly:
“My boy was a survivor.”
Rebecca nods. “I think we ask the wrong question about Isaac. We ask: ‘Why didn’t he become more like Abraham?’ But look at what he had to live through. He was the son placed on the altar. The son who watched his father raise the knife. The son who came down the mountain.”
No one speaks.
Rebecca looks down at the tiles.
“It was too much responsibility. People expected him to become a great patriarch. He was simply trying to live his life. To survive.”
Rachel says: “He could be frustrating.”
“Yes,” Rebecca agrees. “When I was unable to have children, he went out into the fields to pray.”[v]
Rebecca looks at Rachel.
Rachel brightens. “But that’s so spiritual.”
Rebecca stares at her. “Except I needed him beside me.”
Sarah nods. “Not praying, instead of being with you.”
“Exactly.”
Rebecca shuffles her tiles.
“I know Isaac was religious. But sometimes his faith became a way to withdraw from life.”
Leah remembers. “He dug deep spiritual wells like his father.”[vi]
Rebecca nods.
“Yes. He preserved Abraham’s legacy. But he didn’t always create his own. My Isaac was a good man. But he was a far-from-perfect man.”
She draws a tile. “Ahhh! Finally!”
Sarah laughs.“Don’t get too excited. You still have to win.”
Rebecca smiles. “I will.”
Leah whispers: “You, strong lady, always do.”
Rebecca looks at her.
Perhaps that comment is about more than Mah Jongg.
She considers her life.
“Perhaps that’s why I married Isaac. I needed someone who would let me make the decisions.” [vii]
They all laugh.
Click. Click.
Rachel looks at her tiles.
“My turn. In the game. But also… to talk about Jacob.”
Leah groans: “This should be interesting.”
Rachel smiles. “I loved Jacob.”
“We know,” Leah says.
“No, I mean — I really loved him.”
Sarah shushes Leah.
“Let her talk.”
Rachel remembers.
“When Jacob first saw me, he was overwhelmed. He moved the stone from the well. He cried when he realized I was family. He worked for seven years for me. And those years seemed like only a few days because he loved me.”
“And then our father switched us,” Leah reminds her.
There is still a little resentment in her voice.
Even after four thousand years.
Everyone talks about Jacob being deceived,” Leah says. “…but somehow no one asks what it was like to be Leah.”[viii]
Sarah looks from Leah to Rachel.
“You were the wife he didn’t choose.
And you… were the wife he thought he had chosen.
Hard on you both.”
Leah looks down at her tiles.
“Jacob had a problem.”
Rebecca rolls her eyes.
“Only one?”
They giggle.
Leah continues. “Jacob couldn’t always see the person in front of him.”
“Like Abraham?” Sarah asks.
“Sort of. Abraham was so focused on the future that sometimes he missed the present.
Jacob was so focused on whom he loved… Like Rachel. And later, Joseph….that he couldn’t always see anyone else.”[ix]
Rachel absorbs this.
“That’s fair.”
Leah looks at her. “He loved you so intensely that I sometimes wondered whether there was room in him for me.”
Rachel’s expression softens.
“It’s sad that you felt you weren’t enough. Even after blessing him with so many children. He didn’t stop loving me intensely. And that wasn’t fair to you.”[x]
Rebecca adds:
“And then both of you became mothers.”
Leah and Rachel look at her. Did she really have to bring that up?
Leah snaps: “Our rivalry continued because there was only one Jacob.”
Rachel says: “And because children became the measure of our worth.”
Sarah closes her eyes for a moment..
“Another thing our husbands didn’t understand.”
Leah turns towards Rachel.
“Jacob certainly didn’t understand what infertility was doing to you.”
Rachel’s eyes fill with tears. “I was desperate.”
“I remember,” Leah says. “You asked him to intervene with God for children.”
Rachel nods. “And he became angry. He thought I was asking him to be God.” [xi]
“But you weren’t,” Leah says.
“No. I was asking him to understand my pain.” [xii]
The four women sit quietly.
Leah and Rachel look at each other.
For a moment, there is no teasing.
No laughter.
Just recognition.
And together, in the unison that comes with sisterhood— even sisterhood with a little tension—they say:“He was not a perfect man.”
Click.
Rebecca draws a tile.
“Not the tile I need.”
Sarah laughs.
“Story of our lives. Not what we need. It’s a recurring pattern.”
Leah adds:
“Of course. We married into the same family. There are patterns everywhere.”
The women continue playing.
The tiles click against the table.
Sarah looks at the other three.
“You know… I think history has done something strange to our husbands.”
Leah asks, “What?”
“History has made them exemplars.”
Leah smiles. “History likes heroes.”
Rebecca shakes her head. “But Torah doesn’t.”
Rachel looks up from her tiles. “That’s right. Torah remembers everything.”
The women sit quietly.
Because they know she is right.
Torah remembers Abraham’s faith — and his failures.
Isaac’s gentleness —and his withdrawal.
Jacob’s capacity for love — and his inability to love everyone fairly.
The Torah doesn’t erase their flaws to make them righteous. It tells the whole story.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe righteousness was never supposed to mean perfection.
Maybe being righteous means continuing to struggle toward what is good — even when we don’t get it right.
Rachel suddenly looks at her tiles.
“Wait!”
Rebecca looks up.
“What?”
“I think I have Mah Jongg.”
Leah squeals.
“You have what?”
“Mah Jongg.”
Rebecca reaches across the table.
“Let me see those tiles.”
“No!”
“Rachel!”
Rachel pulls the tiles toward herself.
“I finally have something that belongs to me.”
They collapse into laughter.
Sarah looks at Rachel.
Then Leah.
Then Rebecca.
And smiles.
“Perhaps that’s the real lesson.”
Rebecca asks:“What?”
“After all these generations of being defined by our ‘righteous husbands’—
and not always getting to have our say— we finally get our own hand.”
They laugh.
And this time, the laughter doesn’t stop quickly.
It rolls around the table.
Four women.
Four matriarchs.
Four voices that history sometimes pushed to the side.
Hearing each other.
Talking to each other.
Laughing together.
Gradually, the laughter subsides.
Sarah reaches for a tile.
Click.
Rebecca draws.
Click.
Leah discards.
Click.
Rachel rearranges her winning hand.
Click. Click.
They look at one another.
And begin laughing again.
The tiles continue to click against the table.
Click.
Click.
Click
***
Meditation [4 Minutes]
“There is no righteous person on earth who does only good and never sins.” – Ecclesiastes 7:20
Take a few moments to answer these questions for yourself, beginning with the first thoughts that come to your mind:
1. What is one imperfection you would like to work on? How does this imperfection show up in your life? How does it affect your relationships with others?
2. How does it affect your own growth? If you were able to change this part of yourself, how might your life—or your relationships—be different?
3. Imagine a moment when this imperfection begins to emerge. Take a minute: Create a short mantra, phrase, sentence or word that you can use to re-center when you this imperfection shows up.
This imagined conversation draws on the biblical narratives of Genesis and on the modern midrash of Ellen Frankel’s The Five Books of Miriam. The voices and dialogue are newly imagined; the footnotes identify the biblical passages and modern midrashim that provide their inspiration.
[i] Genesis 12:1. Lech lecha—God’s call to Abram to leave his land, birthplace, and father’s house.
[ii] Genesis 22:1–19. The Akedah, the binding of Isaac.
[iii] Genesis 18:16–33. Abraham argues with God over the destruction of Sodom, asking whether the righteous should be destroyed along with the wicked.
[iv] Genesis 25:21. Isaac prays on behalf of Rebecca, caring about her infertility.
[v] Genesis 24:63. Isaac goes out into the field to meditate/pray.
[vi] Genesis 26:18–22; 26:32–33. Isaac reopens the wells dug by Abraham.
[vii] Ellen Frankel, The Five Books of Miriam, New York: Grosset/Putnam, 1996, pp. 40–48.
[viii] Genesis 29:30.
[ix] Genesis 37:3. Jacob’s special love for Joseph, reflected in the gift of the distinctive garment.
[x] Genesis 29:32–35; 30:23–24.
[xi] Genesis 30:1–2.
[xii] Ellen Frankel, The Five Books of Miriam, New York: Grosset/Putnam, 1996, pp. 51–56, for inspiration on Leah’s perspective on her role in the biblical story.
YOM KIPPUR MORNING 5787
THE WORLD WAS CREATED FOR THE SAKE OF TORAH: Second Chances
The world was created for the sake of Torah.
Before there was a world… Before there was a human being…. Before there was even a place for a human being to live… For 974 generations before the world existed the Torah existed[i]. Sitting on a shelf in God’s office, not gathering dust per se, for in the heavens surely God keeps a clean house!
Once 974 generations pass, there comes the moment — when God sits down at a cosmic drafting table. God places the Torah carefully upon the surface and opens the scroll up. God then examines the Torah with the eyes of an architect, who looks at their detailed plans before constructing a palace.[ii]
The Torah stares up at God and then speaks. “So… what exactly is my job?”
God replies: “You are the blueprint.”
“I’m… the blueprint.”
“Yes,” says God. “I need you to create a world.”
“A world,” repeats the Torah.
The Torah looks inside herself.
“Hm, mountains?”
“Yes,” says God.
“Oceans?”
“Yes,” says God.
“People?”
“Certainly.”
“Children?”
“Yes.”
Teenagers?”
God pauses at the last suggestion. “…. even teenagers.”
“This is going to be complicated,” thought the Torah.
However, she is up for the challenge. So, the Torah gets to work.
God examines every dot and dash in the Torah — God says words — and together they create the world.[iii]
The Torah is delighted. “Wow! Look! It’s working. I’m good at this.”
“You are,” said God. “This job is ideal for you.”
The Torah smiles at these words. Because there is nothing quite like the feeling of having a purpose.
***
The world is created in six days. On the seventh day God, and the Torah, rest.[iv]
As the first Shabbat ends the Torah looks at God with sadness. She is realizing that the first workday of the week is coming. And, well, she has nothing to do.
The Torah says: “What am I going to do now? I am without a job. My career is over.”
God says: “Torah: get off the drafting table. It is time for you to become something new.”
(Now, for us human beings it would have felt like years, but time works differently in the heavens.)
***
The Torah gets off the table and climbs down onto a high mountain called Sinai. There she meets a man called Moses, who copies her down, each dot and dash, with black fire and white fire. Moses then carries her down to a people called Israel.
The Torah finds a new purpose. She has entered human history. She becomes a covenant. She becomes a story. She becomes law. She becomes memory.
The Torah revels in this second career. It feels good to have purpose again.
Eventually the Torah becomes architecture. She partners with Betzalel to build the Tabernacle which wanders through the wilderness.[v]
Later, she partners with King Solomon on a larger architectural endeavor. They build the Temple.
Then, later, she rebuilds the Temple in partnership with an exiled people returning to their homeland, to Zion.
What an amazing second career! The Torah is thrilled.She shows God proudly around all that she has built.
“See the stone!”
“Sturdy” says God.
“The gold!”
“Shiny” says God.
“The cedar! The altars!”
“Beautiful” says God.
“The incense! The priests! The sacrifices.”
“Very impressive” says God.
“I think I will make this my home on earth.” says God.
The Torah is unbelievably proud of what she had created. “God”, she says, “I have become a building! I think I have finally worked out what I was meant to do.”
***
God looks at Torah. God knows better. But God doesn’t tell her. Not yet. Because sometimes you must live out your career before you can understand, that it is just a steppingstone to what will come next.
***
For centuries, Torah’s second career is glorious. She is consulted and studied. Recited and carried. She is interpreted.
In Jerusalem, she is embodied in a magnificent physical structure. The Temple is the center of Jewish life. The Torah’s instructions govern the sanctuary, its priesthood, sacrifices, vessels, and rituals.[vi]
And Torah thinks: “This is it.”
She has gone from blueprint… to building. She has become visible. She has purpose. She spent years reimagining and creating this beautiful life
Then… the Temple is destroyed. The Romans come. Jerusalem burns. The Temple falls. The gold is melted. Her altars are razed to dust. Her stones lie scattered across the mountain. The Torah finds herself standing in the ruins of something that once defined her.
Stunned, she calls out to God. “Are you there, God?”
“Yes,” says God.
The Torah in her grief reminisces and rambles and yes, there are tears. “I have spent centuries becoming this! I was the blueprint. Then I became the instructions. Then I became the Temple. I had a purpose! Now what am I?”
God is silent.
The Torah becomes angry. “Am I obsolete?” she cries. “Was I only useful as long as the building stood?”
“Not so”, says God.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” she wails.
God smiles.
“Finally, you ask the right question. Not: What did I do? But: What can I become?”
The Torah starts.
God says: “You think you have finished becoming.”
The Torah rolls her eyes. “Please don’t lecture me about personal growth,” she says.
God says: “I wasn’t going to. I was going to suggest to you a third career.”
Torah stops.
“Really? At my age?” she says.
“Torah, you existed before the universe. I don’t think age is your problem.”
The Torah laughs.
For the first time since Jerusalem fell… she laughed.
***
“So what’s my new job?” she asks curiously.
“You are going to go cellular,” says God.
“Cellular?” questions the Torah.
“You are going inside people. The Temple is gone. So, the human being will become the sanctuary. The altar is gone. So, the human mouth will become the place of offering. The sacrifices are gone. So, prayer will become its replacement. The priests are gone.So, every Jew will learn that they can approach Me. You are going to move from stone… to flesh. From architecture… to relationship. From one building in Jerusalem… to Jewish homes all over the world.”
“Whoa” thought the Torah. A little doubtful about this change in direction.
“And people will carry me?” she asked.
“Yes,” said God. “They will carry you in their hearts, in their memories and, let me warn you a little, they will carry you especially in their arguments.”
Thus begins the Torah’s next career. The Torah partners with the rabbis to reinvent Jewish life. The morning sacrifice becomes morning prayer. The evening sacrifice becomes evening prayer.[vii]
She helps develop a new way of doing things. Holiness does not live only in Jerusalem. It can live anywhere. At the kitchen table. At the Shabbat dinner. In the classroom. At the bedside of someone who is dying. In the hands of someone lighting candles. In the mouth of someone saying Kaddish. In the heart of someone forgiving another person.
Torah is cellular. She becomes entwined in the Jewish DNA.
And Torah discovers something. This career is much harder than the ones before. She calls on God. After all, God was her earliest career mentor.
Torah says: “I have a challenge to share. I’d love Your take. How would You handle it? …I’ve learned in this new career, that people are complicated. They interpret me differently.”
“Yes,” says God.
“They argue about me” continues the Torah. “They disagree with each other… and… and… can I share something difficult?
“Yes,” says God.
“Sometimes they disagree with You.”
“Frequently.” God acknowledges. God knows.
“And they make mistakes.”
God looks endearingly at the Torah. God says: “That is part of the arrangement.”
“The Temple was easier,” sighs the Torah.
“Yep. Stone doesn’t argue. But, my dear little Torah, stones don’t love.”
The Torah becomes quiet.
God continues speaking: “You wanted a next career. This is it. You are no longer simply telling people how to build a sanctuary. You are teaching them how to become one.”
***
Centuries pass. The Torah watches people age. That is the way of the human world.
And one day, she hears a person reciting a prayer written in the book of Psalms: “Do not cast me away in old age; when my strength fails, do not forsake me.”[viii]
Torah hears the words. She is bothered by them. So, she seeks out, who else? God.
“God, are people really afraid that You will abandon them?”
God thinks about the Torah’s question. “Not always,” God replies: “At heart, I hope they always know I am here for them. But I think,” continues God, “That sometimes humans are afraid that other people will abandon them.”
“Because they are getting older?”
“Yes.” Says God.
“Because they aren’t as strong?”
“Yes.” Says God.
“Because they aren’t working anymore?”
“Yes.” Says God.
“Because nobody needs them like they used to do?”
“Exactly,” says God.
Torah looks thoughtful. Then she says: “That’s funny.”
God casts a quizzical eye her way.
The Torah goes on. “I know exactly how they feel.”
God smiles. “I thought you might.”
“Some of them think they are finished. Some think their best years are behind them. Some think retirement means irrelevance.”
“Yes,” nods God.
“But it ain’t necessarily so.”[ix]
God says: “You should tell them they’re wrong. Tell them about your many careers.”
The Torah nods and thinks about these older folk. “Some think that because they are no longer producing… that they are no longer valuable.”
God holds the Torah close.
“Hold such people close. Tell them: Production was never the measure of a soul.”
Torah looks up to God. “Then what is? How are our souls measured?”
God answers: “Our souls are measured by what you do with what you have learned. There is a holiness in building a career, in experiencing different jobs, and remembering that joy. And fun in basking in those memories. But,” God continues, “There is also a holiness in the questions you are fortunate to have lived long enough, to ask, later in life. You get to ask, not: what am I building? But what am I giving? You get to ask, not, what have I accomplished? But: What wisdom have I gathered? You get to ask, not: How much can I produce? But: How much love and learning can I transmit?… Tell the people to share their stories, their memories, their mistakes, their resilience. That they should share their compassion, their knowledge, their laughter, their presence. Life experience is not meant to be stored away it is meant to be passed on.”
The Torah looks long at God.
She says thoughtfully: “I think I finally understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Creating the world was not my soul purpose. Creating the Temple wasn’t my soul purpose. They were my early careers. And I am proud of them.”
“So you should be,” says God.
“And when they ended… I wasn’t finished. I was being asked to become something new. And I did. And I was proud of being in the heart of Jewish people everywhere. But that was not the end nor my soul purpose.”
“Exactly,” says God.
The Torah smiled. “You could have told me that right at the beginning.”
God laughed. “You wouldn’t have believed Me.”
The Torah turns to God one last time. “So, I will tell these people that I continue to flourish, I am not done with life.”
“And,” added God: “Tell then what you have learned. That you are not finished… and neither are they.”
“Even now?” the Torah asks.
“Especially now. As each moment edges closer to the final gates.”[x]
Now comes the moments for your soul that you couldn’t have had before.”
***
Chevruta [4 minutes]
Some of us have had one career, some of us several.
Some have retired, some of us are drawing closer to our retirements.
Wherever we are on this journey, we have not finished.
Share with the person next to you:
- What was your profession/s or career/s?
- What did you learn? What have you got to give? Are you doing so?
- What are moments that you could not have done before, that lie ahead of you in your days, months, years to come?
[i] Shabbat 88b
[ii] Bereshit Rabbah 1:1
[iii] Genesis 1:1 compared Proverbs 8. Rashi reads Reishit as meaning Torah. Hence with world is created by God in partnership with Torah. B’reishit.
[iv] Genesis 1, 2
[v] Exodus 31:1-5
[vi] Exodus 25–31; 35–40; Leviticus 1–7; I Kings 5–8.
[vii] Berakhot 26b
[viii] Psalm 71:9
[ix] “It Ain’t Necessarily So” is a popular song by George and Ira Gershwin in their opera Porgy and Bess. The words are sung bya drug dealer, who expresses his doubt about several statements in the Bible.
[x] Neilah – the locking of the gates. Also, final gates of one’s life.
