Rabbi Leslie Bergson -- Rosh Hashanah Day -- Congregation Etz Chaim, Ramona
September 9, 2010
“Going Too Far”
When Fran first wrote to her parents from Israel that she was getting interested in her religion again, they were very happy. Fran had been brought up in a Conservative Jewish household and went to religious school, but lost interest during her college years. In her mid-twenties, she went on a Birthright Israel trip for post-college students and became involved with a group she met at the Western Wall. She extended her trip and spent a Shabbat with them, and then another. Her parents’ delight ended when she announced that she was going to stay and live with this community in a Jewish settlement in the West Bank territories. Her group believes in the imminent arrival of Messiah and is planning the building of the third Temple. They believe that the Dome of the Rock should be torn down and all Muslims and Christians expelled from Jerusalem. Fran—now known as Fruma—is married to another member of the group and they have four children. She has broken all ties with friends and family outside of her community. When her parents visited Israel she and her husband did agree to meet them for lunch but they left their children with friends lest they become soiled by their grandparents’ distortion of the absolute truth of Jewish law.
Art Reynolds’ father, driving while drunk, killed a man in another car. While serving a brief prison term, Art’s father became a born-again Christian and began taking his wife and children to a fundamentalist church, where the pastor railed against all sorts of sexual perversity, especially homosexuality. When Art, in his teens, became aware that he was gay he knew he would have to leave home. He went to college in Los Angeles, stayed there, and became a successful businessman. Every year he sends his parents a Christmas card, which they do not answer. I met Art when he asked to see a hospital chaplain to talk over his problem. Art is dying of liver cancer, and only one sister who is still in touch with him knows of his illness. They are trying to decide if there is any point in telling his parents. They are both fairly sure that to do so would just reinforce his father’s belief that God punishes homosexuality with an early death.
“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet”, says the book of Malachi”, and he will turn the hearts of the parents to the children and the hearts of the children to the parents.” This statement typifies what religion should be and should do. However, the family stories I just shared with you are not uncommon. We want to think of religion as something that draws us together, something to share with those we love. The High Holy Days approach, we plan to see our loved ones, to share a holiday meal, to attend Rosh Hashanah services—and there we hear the story of the Akedah. God tells Abraham to offer his beloved son Isaac for a sacrifice and with no word of complaint whatsoever, Abraham prepares for the task. Who is this Abraham? The same Abraham who dared speak back to remind God that he did not yet have an heir to carry out God’s lofty promise that he would be the father of a great nation? Where is his protest now that that he is asked to take the lie of that heir? Is this the same Abraham who cajoled and bargained with God for the lives of ten purportedly righteous souls of Sodom, and who is now not willing to raise his voice to God to save the life of his own beloved son?
The traditional commentaries explain Abraham’s compliance as ultimate faith in the Almighty; the willingness to give up everything on earth, even that which he loved beyond his own life, for God. This is not to say that no one has had problems with this text. The Akedah is probably the most studied, analyzed and discussed section of the Torah. A midrash uses the words of Psalm 38:14 as an explanation, “But I am as a deaf person, I do not hear, and as a mute person who does not open my mouth.” It portrays Abraham confronted with God’s command to sacrifice Isaac. Abraham has a perfect retort, one that will silence even God. God has promised him, “In Isaac, seed will be called to you”, and Isaac is still childless. Out of his great faith, Abraham does not use his retort, but it is so difficult for him that he has to make himself “as if mute and deaf” to accomplish it. According to the midrash, because of this act Abraham merits rewards that no other human deserves. The story of the Akedah is regarded as a symbol of Jewish faithfulness, and the lessons that have been drawn from it throughout the ages are wide-ranging and diverse. But Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son at God’s request could also be seen as a frightening example of devotion to God gone out of control. For, in the name of devotion to God, a person can go so far as to destroy everything else and everyone else in his or her life.
Father Leo Booth, an Episcopalian priest, has written a book, When God Becomes A Drug: Breaking the Chains of Religious Addiction and Abuse. He defines religious addiction as “…using God, a church or a belief system as an escape from reality, in an attempt to find or elevate a sense of self-worth or well-being. It is using God or religion as a fix. It is the ultimate form of co-dependency…this is an unhealthy relationship with God. It is using God, religion or a belief system as a weapon against ourselves or others”. We have seen many tragic results of extremism in religion in recent years. In two days we will commemorate the ninth anniversary of the events of September 11, 2001. We remember how stunned we were, not only at the random viciousness of the death and destruction, but also to learn that there were people in the world who would willingly give their lives to kill thousands that they did not know in the name of God. Most of us in this country knew little of Islam and its many followers and manifestations, which run the gamut from moderate—even progressive—to horrifically extreme. Some of us tried to learn more. Others, driven by fear, hid behind their own religion and developed an ideology almost as frightening as that of the 9/11 terrorists. A church in Gainesville, Florida plans to honor the dead of 9/11 by holding a public burning of copies of the Koran on Saturday. They have decided that Islam is the devil, and that it it Christianity’s mission to wipe it, if not off the face of the earth, at least off the face of America. All over the country, most notably in New York, but as close as Temecula, there have been protests over the building of Islamic centers. Here’s the good news, though. In the story of the Akedah, an angel stayed Abraham’s hand. In our day and age, some of that task is being done by ordinary people. An L.A. Times editorial on August 4th describes a protest held at the proposed site of the Islamic center in Temecula. The protesters were outnumbered four-to-one by those who supported the right of Muslim Americans to build a house of worship. The editorial went on to quote President George W. Bush in the days following the 9/11 attacks. Regarding animosity toward Muslims, he said: "Those who feel like they can intimidate our fellow citizens to take out their anger don't represent the best of America. They represent the worst of humankind. And they should be ashamed of that kind of behavior."
The great Torah commentator Rashi gives what I find to be the best explanation for Abraham. He explains the verse, “Do not lay your hand upon the boy, neither do anything to him” in this way: God says, “Do not lay your hand upon the boy” and Abraham, having already worked himself up to do the deed, is not relieved but disappointed that his great sacrifice will not be allowed. “Then I have come here for nothing”, he says, “at least let me inflict a wound on him and draw some blood”, so God continues, “neither do anything to him.” At this point, Abraham comes to what Father Booth would call a moment of clarity, and finally questions the sequence of events: “First You told me that Isaac would be my seed, and then you said, “Take now your son” and now You say “Do not lay your hand upon the boy?” And God replies, “I did not say to you sh’chateihu, slay him, rather ha’aleihu, bring him up. You brought him up the mountain, now bring him down again”. Ha’aleihu is commonly used to mean “sacrifice”, although its literal meaning is “bring up”. Rashi is pointing out that Abraham interpreted the word in that manner, understanding that his choice was either to take his son’s life or disobey God. Abraham nearly made the tragic mistake of not questioning, and almost lost that in life which was dearest to him. If we sacrifice our values because of an imperfect understanding of what God wants of us, we cannot count on an angel to stay our hands. Let us take the responsibility for interpreting Jewish law with the dual qualities of justice and mercy, using our God-given intelligence and compassion to apply it to our own times and circumstances, and not become so transfixed by the glow of God’s holy light that we cannot turn away from it to see what it is illuminating.
