Parashat Vayera 2024
Mayor Ed Koch’s famously said: “If you agree with me on 9 out of 12 issues, vote for me. If you agree with me on 12 out of 12 issues, see a psychiatrist.”
We had a powerful Shabbat with Rabbi Leor Sinai. You know it’s a good scholar in residence when there are people who absolutely loved his message and some who had deep reservations. Mayor Koch would have been proud.
Some of the more critical feedback came from his presentation. It was passionate but also very particularistic.
I thought about how the same group of people saw him completely differently, and I realized that where we live and our experiences shapes how we see the world, and react to it.
Trauma changes us. Rabbi Sinai was supposed to join us in April, but his seventeen-year-old son was drafted three months early into the military. It’s one thing to make aliyah; it’s another thing to send your firstborn son to the military during the war when he could lose his life and, if he survives, he will have battle scars that will last a lifetime. Rabbi Sinai said, “Israel’s existence today falls on the shoulders of 18 - 21 year olds.”
An entire country hands off their children to strangers, knowing that he could die on the altar of the state of Israel.
Much like the passionate debates we had here last Shabbat, the Torah offers us a story of difficult sacrifice and complex relationships — one that challenges us to listen more deeply.
This week’s parashah, Vayera, and the Akeidah story we read today is akin to Rabbi Sinai’s experience. God says to Abraham:
“וַיֹּאמֶר קַח־נָא אֶת־בִּנְךָ אֶת־יְחִידְךָ אֲשֶׁר־אָהַבְתָּ אֶת־יִצְחָק וְלֶךְ־לְךָ אֶל־אֶרֶץ הַמֹּרִיָּה וְהַעֲלֵהוּ שָׁם לְעֹלָה עַל אַחַד הֶהָרִים אֲשֶׁר אֹמַר אֵלֶיךָ׃
“Take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that I will point out to you.”
Genesis 22:2
Rashi answers the question of why God says take your son, your favored son, Isaac, whom you love, when God could have just said Isaac. Abraham said to God, “I have two sons”. “He answered him, “Your only son”. Abraham said, “This one is the only son of his mother and the other is the only son of his mother”. God then said, “the one whom you love”. Abraham replied, “I love both of them”. Whereupon God said “even Isaac”.
God reminds Abraham, you sent your other son away, now I want you to give up the only son you have left. Imagine what was going on in Abraham’s mind?!? We are going to learn more about this during our lunch and learn, but Rashi goes on to say that God used this language of your only son in order to keep him focused on the task at hand. This was a test for Abraham, and yet, I imagine he was deeply conflicted.
This experience is something most Israeli parents go through. Shira Pasternak Be’eir, a Jerusalem based writer and editor, was born and raised in New York, but made aliyah in 1982. She wrote a piece called Take Now My Son.
This boy. This precious, long-awaited boy.
When his future arrival was still a secret, a careless driver collided with my car door. My hand instinctively flew to protect my belly, rather than to the dashboard to protect myself. Such is a mother's love.
This boy. This wondrous and magical boy.
When he was one, and I found myself in danger, fearing for my life, the thought of this golden-haired, blue-eyed boy carried me through, as I imagined his sparkling smile.
This boy. This even-tempered, rational boy.
When he was five, we saw him get angry for the very first time. A rumbling "moose call" welled up and burst out from inside him, and all we could do was laugh.
This boy. This generous and caring boy.
When he was 10, he stepped aside to make room for a foster brother a year his senior, graciously sharing all that was his, including the hardest thing of all: his parents.
This boy. This innovative, creative boy.
When he was 13, his tutorial for making paper rocket launchers was featured by a Lithuanian website, inspiring thousands of English-speaking teens.
This boy. This compassionate and peaceful boy.
When he was 16, his conscience clashed with his love of meat, and he became vegetarian 24/6, as part of a deal he made with the cows.
This boy. This modest and unassuming boy.
When he was 17, he designed a productivity app that has been downloaded more than 100,000 times. But he never let it go to his head.
This boy. This guitar-strumming, wood-working boy.
At 18, this sandy-haired, grey-eyed boy has broad shoulders, weathered hands, and long arms that are perfect for high-fives or a warm embrace.
And in the years in between, this boy filled our lives with wonder and adventure. He shared with us his loose teeth and scraped knees and Kleenex, contraptions and domino rallies, drum solos and cheek concertos. His life was full of bike rides and back flips, dog walking and doodling, roller coasters and wave boards, photography and art projects, culinary experiments and krav maga, judo and junk food. And, as he grew, his paper airplanes gave way to hackathons and stellar grades, and we learned to rely on his expertise in audio equipment and mobile phones.
But the IDF said: "Take now your son, your youngest son, the son you love, whose name means "joy' and 'friendship, and go to the place that I will show you and offer him to the service of his country.”
And this boy, this gentle, caring boy, is being trained for combat.”
This is Abraham’s perspective, but what about Isaac’s perspective? The Kli Yakar, an 18th century biblical commentator, comments on Isaac using the word ‘father’ in the story.
“And he said, "Father," etc.: But Yitzchak had not yet said anything to him, but rather just called him, "Father," and was quiet. This was because Yitzchak felt that it was his father's will to sacrifice him as a burnt-offering. So he thought, "If so, he does not have mercy upon me like the mercy of a father upon his children, and has become cruel towards me." As he did not yet know that it was the will of his Creator. Hence he called him, "Father," to test him; [to see] whether he would answer him, since it was still affixed in his heart that he was his son…”
Isaac did not understand what was happening at this point, he isn’t in his father’s head; he cannot read his thoughts. All he sees is his father trying to slaughter him without any explanation. In that moment, Isaac feels betrayed, not knowing God's plan. His father, who should protect him, has become the one who threatens his life. Isaac’s silence, though tragic, is something we can all relate to. How often do we feel abandoned or betrayed because we don’t understand the choices of those we love or those whom we call our neighbors?
This brings me to my final point, something that can help us understand Israeli Jews, and people who voted differently than we did during this last election. We have to begin to understand each other, to be curious about why we make the decisions that affect our neighbors in this world.
We need to ask questions, and have the humility to answer with an open ear. It doesn’t mean that what the person is saying is correct, it could be very wrong and offensive. But instead of storming off when we hear these words, what if we asked, tell me, why do you feel this way? What experience led you to this place?
We must embrace intellectual curiosity; because without it, the conversation ends. After the Akeidah, Abraham, and Isaac never speak again. Perhaps it is a lesson; traumatic events are going to happen, and we will hurt each other, either knowingly or unknowingly. We may put other values and beliefs over our friends and family, which leads to broken relationships. Nevertheless, our tradition teaches us there’s time to heal, recover, and return to each other if we choose it. Later on in the Torah, Abraham remarries. The rabbis say it wasn’t a new wife but his former wife, Hagar. I imagine that it was difficult to hear her perspective, how Abraham hurt her when he abandoned her and their son, even though he felt he had to do it for the sake of his family’s future.
Just as we will turn the page on the Akeidah until we read it again next year, I am confident that we will also move on from today's struggles. Gam Zeh Ya’avor - for good or bad, this too shall pass. But during this time, let us remember the lesson of the power of perspective. Just like Abraham and Isaac, we are all shaped by our experiences, by the worlds we live in, and by the choices we make. There are moments in life that will challenge us to see beyond ourselves, to understand the pain and fears of others, and to ask: How can I better listen?
Whether it's the trauma of war, the agony of sacrifice, or the difficult decisions that come with responsibility, our tradition teaches us that we are not alone. Yes, we will hurt each other. Yes, there will be times when we cannot understand the other’s pain or their decisions. But, the key to healing and reconciliation lies in our willingness to seek out the perspective of others — to approach each conversation with an open ear and an open heart.
The Akeidah, the binding of Isaac, teaches us that even in the most incomprehensible moments, there is room for understanding and even for reconciliation. Abraham and Isaac’s relationship changed forever, but the Torah teaches us that some relationships can always be healed, no matter how broken. Even when we think there is no way forward, there is always the possibility for renewal, for a return to one another, if we are willing to listen.
And so, in our own lives, let us strive to ask the hard questions. To listen with compassion. To seek understanding, not only for ourselves but for those who see the world differently. Just as Abraham needed to hear Isaac’s voice, so too do we need to hear the voices of those around us.
You don’t have to agree with what you hear, but you must understand the person who said it.
And, those whom we listen to must listen to our voices as well. We must begin a conversation, a challenging one, but one that will bring us all to a better place.
As we reflect on these teachings, let us pray for the courage to truly listen — to our families, to our communities, to our neighbors, and to each other. May we find the strength to heal, grow, and come back together.
Comments