The Arameans are still trying to destroy us!
As the Five Books of Moses come to an end, Moses sets the scene for the grand entrance and settling of the Jewish people into the Promised Land: “When you come to the land that The Lord your G-d is giving you as an inheritance, you shall acquire it and settle it.” (Deuteronomy 26:1).
Rabbi Dr David Nossel
Moses then informs the people of a most dramatic ceremony to celebrate their arrival, and the arrival of the first fruit. A person is to bring a basket containing the fruits to the Temple, and present it to the priest. Then, at the height of the proceedings, he is to make a declaration of thanks to G-d.
The Torah provides the divine text of that declaration. It starts off as follows: “And you shall respond and say before the Lord your G-d: ‘An Aramean seeks to destroy my father’…” (Deuteronomy 26:4-5).
What a let-down! One would expect the opening words of the proclamation to be impactful and stirring. Instead they are cryptic and confusing – a note about a vengeful Aramean! If the purpose of the introductory words of the proclamation was to recall the historical background to the arrival of the Jewish people in Israel, it could have said it directly, “Lavan [the Aramean] tried to destroy Jacob, but thankfully he failed…”
Instead, the proclamation makes mention of “an Aramean” instead of Lavan, it uses the word “seeks” in the present tense instead of the past, and it uses the term “my father” instead of Jacob. Why?
Rashi’s commentary says that Lavan was trying to destroy Jacob by undermining that which Jacob stood for and that which we, his descendants, are all about: the kindness of the Omnipresent.
There are two possible approaches to how the world should be run. The first is the approach of justice. This approach seeks to uphold the law, ensure fairness and integrity, and safeguard the sustainability and maintenance of the world. Lavan represented this approach. But as high as the Arameans, their Aramaic language, and their approach to the maintenance of the world are, they fall short of the approach of the Jewish people.
There is a second approach to how the world should run. It is one of kindness. It is higher than the first earthly, man-made approach, for it comes from Heaven. It seeks to give to the world, to improve it, and ultimately perfect it.
The Aramean mindset of basing our world on justice instead of on kindness seeks to remove us from our mission in the world, not just in the time of Lavan. It seeks to destroy us up to this very day.
Therefore, the Torah tells us what we need to do when we eventually return to our land, farm it, and gather its first fruits. We need to come before G-d, and declare that we have not forgotten our mission. We must declare our recognition of the kindness of the Omnipresent, to dedicate ourselves to emulating His kindness, and to give those first fruits to others.
Our sages teach of the obligation of every Jew to ask, “When will my actions reach those of our illustrious patriarchs and matriarchs?” We see the prototype of kindness at the beginning of this week’s Torah reading, when Abraham and Sarah display remarkable hospitality towards three strangers travelling through the desert. Abraham bows down to each of them, and presents a more elaborate banquet than Bill Gates served this week at his daughter’s wedding – each guest received his own tongue. Why was this necessary? One tongue would have been sufficient. Why does Abraham go to such lengths to make each of the guests feel like a king? What motivated Abraham’s behaviour?
The Midrash describes Abraham’s meeting with Sheim, the son of Noach. Abraham asks Sheim, “What did you and your family do for the year you were in the Ark?” Sheim answers, “We were all involved with the kindness of feeding the animals 24/7”. Abraham realised that the foundation of the new world G-d was starting was kindness – olam chesed yibaneh (the world is built on kindness). Hashem’s training for the people who would build this new world was constant acts of kindness.
Abraham reasoned that if Hashem valued the kindness done to animals in the Ark, how much more so would he value it when the kindness was done to human beings who are created betzelem elokim (with a spark of the divine). Avraham clearly saw the fingerprints of the creator in the world. He saw the spark of Hashem in himself, and he was then able to see the spark of Hashem in others. Only those who recognise their own G-dly soul will recognise it in the human beings around them. Avraham and Sarah’s kindness wasn’t simply to help those less fortunate than themselves, they saw the divine spark in every human being, and they treated their guests like royalty, impressing upon them their own self-worth and uniqueness. Their kindness was designed to uplift people, to raise them up to recognise their inner greatness.
This is different to how most of us see others. We usually have zero tolerance for those who are slightly different to us in any way. We need to follow the example of our patriarchs and matriarchs in doing true acts of kindness by seeing G-d’s presence in the world, identifying the divine spark in ourselves, and recognising it in others.
In the brave steps of Abraham
In this week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha, we read about the first Jew, Avraham, who resisted the tide of paganism, idolatry, and immorality. Society had moved away from monotheism and Avraham’s beliefs were ridiculed. However, Avraham stayed the course and in spite of great personal risk and at the cost of ostracism from his family, he spread the belief in one G-d.
The portion opens with G-d giving Avraham a direct command to travel out of his homeland and away from his family in order to spread his newfound message. G-d’s command to Avraham in this verse can additionally be seen as a command to us to leave the comfort of our insular lives and venture out to the world at large to transform it into a G-dly place.
While we may be satisfied by staying within the safe confines of the Judaism that we have grown up with, it’s no recipe for growth. G-d therefore tells us that if we enter the real world, our full inner potential will be realised, and our true, best selves will come to the fore.
Fighting the prevailing attitudes of the day has never been easy, but as Jews, we can be reassured that our forefathers have travelled this path before us. The Midrash teaches that “the actions of the fathers are a signpost for the children”. Another translation of the word siman or “signpost” is “empowerment”, and the Midrash teaches us that by risking their lives to spread the belief in one G-d, our forefathers made it easier for us to follow their example.
At this time of year, when we have hopefully been inspired by a month of festivals and are thinking about moving forward in our Judaism, we can be confident that we are following the advice of tried and tested authorities all the way back to Avraham.
My kind of hero
The world loves a hero. Every season, Hollywood invents new superheroes to fill the box-office coffers. Today, we even have a Jewish girl as the latest superhero. Now, superheroes are fantastic, but you’ve got to admit, they’re over the top, rather otherworldly and, realistically speaking, out of touch and out of reach. We can fantasise about flying through the skies in our capes, climbing skyscrapers with our webs, saving the world, or rescuing damsels in distress, but at the end of the day, it’s nothing more than wistful daydreaming. What bearing does it have on me and my life, me and my problems? Not much.
That’s why Noah always appealed to me. He comes across as a real-life hero, real in the sense of being human rather than superhuman and therefore realistically possible to emulate.
Rashi describes Noah as a man of small faith who had doubts whether the flood would really happen. He didn’t enter the Ark until the rains started and the floodwaters pushed him in. That explains why some people look down on Noah, especially when they compare him to other Biblical giants, like Abraham or Moses.
Personally, this is what makes Noah my kind of hero. He’s real. He’s human. He has doubts, just like you and me. Noah is a regular guy, plagued by doubts, and struggles with his faith. Which is precisely what makes him a hero. Because the fact is that, at the end of the day, his personal uncertainties notwithstanding, Noah does the job. He has faults and foibles, but he builds the Ark, shleps in all the animals, saves civilisation, and goes on to rebuild a shattered world. Doubts, shmouts, he did what had to be done!
Noah could easily be the guy next door. He is one of us. His greatness is, therefore, achievable. It’s not “pie in the sky”. His heroism can be emulated. If Abraham and Moses seem the superhero types too far-fetched for us ordinary mortals to see as practical role models, then Noah resonates with realism. After all, he had his doubts too, just like you and me.
There is an old Yiddish proverb that nobody died from an unanswered question. We can live with unanswered questions. It’s not the end of the world. The main thing isn’t to allow ourselves to become paralysed by our doubts. We can still do what must be done, in spite of our doubts.
Noah, the reluctant hero, reminds us that you don’t have to be fearless to get involved. You don’t have to be a tzaddik to do a mitzvah. You don’t have to be holy to keep kosher, nor do you have to be a professor to come to a shiur.
His faith may have been shaky. Perhaps he was a bit wobbly in the knees. But the bottom line is, he got the job done. My hero.
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