Lech-Lecha

October 20, 2017

Torah Thought

(Genesis 12:1–17:27)

Noah was destined to be neither the father of the Jewish people nor the founder of our faith. Though the most righteous in his corrupt generation, he failed to reach out and save human lives besides those of his family. Thus, the rabbis who were aware of Noah’s disturbing limitations in the terse, yet pregnant Biblical text, turned to instructive and illuminating Midrashic fancy. They suggested that while building the ark of survival, Noah did warn the people to take heed and mend their ways—but to no avail. The flood itself was conceived of as an educational process to gradually and urgently awaken human repentance and transformation, with God’s desired goal of averting a colossal disaster.

Abraham was chosen to begin the chain of Jewish living, learning, laughing, and loving, for he proved to possess, unlike Noah, that healthy dose of surging chutzpah and passionate compassion that challenges even, and particularly the Most High, when necessary. This confrontational response for the sake of heaven and earth, has allowed Jews to heroically transcend limiting boundaries, smashing every age’s idols of stifling and dehumanizing convention.

Abraham and Sarah were refugees and immigrants from Mesopotamia, the cradle of Western Civilization—today’s Iraq and Syria. Restive rebels on a journey that would profoundly impact humanity, they left behind an advanced culture, but one that could not satisfy their religious quest and creative aspiration. Imagine Abraham’s moral outrage and righteous indignation at today’s seven-year-old war in Syria with half a million dead citizens including many children, the barbaric bombing of Aleppo, and the plight of millions of Syria’s people and refugees!

The thundering divine call, charge and command to Abraham, echoing still, Lech- Lecha, to venture forth from his familial and familiar environment—physically, spiritually, and psychologically—both pushed and permitted him to depart from the world he had inherited in order to usher in a new one of his own making. In doing so he was indeed rewarded with becoming a blessing for no less than the entire human family. Not an easy transition, with pain as well as promise. Isaac was ultimately spared, along with his progeny, on the altar of the then-practiced pagan custom of child sacrifices, because his father dared embrace—in spite of his background and not without divine intervention—the precious, yet precarious gift of life.

The members of our first family of Abraham, Sarah, Hagar, Isaac, and Ishmael proved to be complex individuals with opposing agendas. Their very touching humanity reflects the revolutionary and courageous approach of our sacred literature to be faithful to reality’s truth. But the flawed humaneness of our heroes, as well as our own, becomes a noble opportunity and a caring invitation to discover the divine potential within them, and us, to grow and change and mature.

God’s fulfilled offer was that all the members of Abraham’s fractured family facing the threat of fratricide would be blessed, each in a distinct and unique way with restored dignity and hope while tragically with lasting and troubling historical consequences. This conflicted foundational legacy remains our covenantal Jewish bond and awesome human challenge to turn violence into vision, hurt into healing, adversity into advantage, trial into triumph, and blemishes into blessings.

—Dr. Israel Zoberman, founding rabbi of Congregation Beth Chaverim

Letter to the Editor