Following Abraham’s Lead – Lech Lecha 5785

Have you ever watched the TV show “30 Rock”? There’s a scene from that show that comes to mind when I think about this past week. Tina Fey turns to Alec Baldwin, her boss, and with an exasperated look says: “What a week!” Baldwin, not missing a beat, turns to her and says with a straight face: “It’s Wednesday”.

I don’t want to make light of the gravity of our national situation, but that certainly sums up my own feelings of the last few days. As individuals we are feeling a range of emotions, encompassing all different shades of happy or sad. Some may be feeling a sense of relief and satisfaction, while others feel that their very liberties are at stake. 

Our national elections this week certainly remain at the center of our collective societal discourse, and I imagine may be there for quite some time. Please know that I am available to talk and process feelings together, should you wish to do so, no matter your political leanings. That said, I want to acknowledge two other events that made this week stand out that much more to me personally.

One of my best friends, whom I’ve known since I’m 4 years old, received a long-awaited lung transplant this week. He was born with a condition that significantly weakens his immune system, and last year he suffered a lung infection after years of poor respiratory health. He has had routine medical treatment all his life, including many hospital visits, and this week he received a new set of lungs from doctors at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. His surgery went well and he is breathing on his own, and he and I have been texting back and forth along with other friends over the last few days. For his continued health and friendship, I am grateful and relieved.

The second event was a much more routine one. On Wednesday, as rabbis tend to do from time to time, I attended a brit milah– a bris. The parents are dear friends of mine, and this is their first child. It was a beautiful ceremony, with many of my friends in attendance, incorporating elements of both the mother’s Ashkenazi background and the father’s Mizrachi and Iraqi heritage. 

It’s incumbent upon a Jewish father, as we know, to circumcise his son. These days, a mohel or mohelet is usually the father’s designated agent, who is publicly declared to be so as part of the ceremony. Along with becoming a rabbi, the two other professions which require certification in the Jewish world are that of a ritual circumciser, and a butcher. (Historically, in some communities, one person fulfilled all three of these roles!)

At this particular bris there was a rabbi officiating as well as a mohel present, but the father, with the mohel’s guidance, chose to do the work himself of circumcising his son himself- just as Abraham does in our parsha with Ishmael, his firstborn son from Hagar.

Abraham is the first person in our tradition to enact the rite of circumcision, a physical sign of the covenant between him and G-d. Abraham is widely considered to be, quite literally, the first Jew- the first person to have a unique, covenantal relationship with G-d in a familial line that eventually sees his descendants standing at Mount Sinai. Through this action of circumcision, and other actions as well, I believe that Abraham offers us some guidance for what we can do for ourselves in this moment of uncertainty:

The first: Keep being proudly, outwardly, actively Jewish. From the moment that G-d exhorts Noah to seek out a new land and promises him innumerable descendants, Abraham keeps faith with that promise, despite asking G-d for reassurance. The circumcision that he himself undergoes, along with all the other males in his household, is a permanent physical sign of identity. It’s a sign of his devotion to his faith that never wavers, even at those moments when he questions whether G-d can really fulfill the divine promises of our parsha. This, too, is a legacy of Abraham that we should fulfill ourselves- the process of inquiry and interrogation and debate that is so central to our tradition, by engaging with it from a place of love.

This is all the more important to do in today’s climate of increasing antisemitism. Some of us may have heard the news of yesterday’s incident in Amsterdam between Dutch and Israeli soccer fans. It doesn’t feel like a bridge too far to call it a pogrom. Anti-Semites hate nothing more than Jews being outwardly, proudly Jewish, exercising the same rights that freedom of religion affords others. Even in the face of adversity, we learn from Abraham not to cower.

The second action that we can do, with Abraham as an example, is one that should be second nature to all of us: do mitzvot and acts of charity to help others. When the shepherds of Abraham and those of his nephew Lot quarrel over resources, Abraham is the one to be generous with Lot. In allowing him to take the more fertile and irrigated land, Abraham averts further strife. It must be noted, crucially, that Abraham’s allowing Lot to enjoy the better land is in no way to his own detriment. Allowing someone else to enjoy what they need, or desire in some cases, does not always mean self-sacrifice or self-diminishment.

Despite Abraham’s derekh eretz– model behavior- in these two instances, the world can remain an uncertain and scary place. In fact the Midrash, in its discussion of our parsha, imagines the “Lech Lecha” moment of Abraham being a moment of bewilderment for him, despite his immediate action in the text. The midrash in Bereishit Rabbah expounds on the first verse of our parsha: 

“The Lord said to Abraham, “Go forth from your land” (Gen. 12:1):  [The midrash teaches that] Rabbi Yitzḥak said: This is analogous to one who was passing from place to place, and saw a palace in flames. He said: ‘Is it possible that this building has no one in charge of it?’ The owner of the building looked out at him and said: ‘I am the owner of the building.’ Similarly, because Abraham our patriarch was saying: ‘Is it possible that this world is without someone in charge?’ The Blessed Holy One looked at him and said to him: ‘I am the owner of the world.’ 

Abraham realizes, in an instant, that the world is an imperfect place, and feels a sense of bewilderment (and perhaps, too, sadness) that motivates him to be an example to others. In commenting on this midrash, my teacher Rabbi Shai Held writes in his book Judaism Is About Love: 

“Abraham refuses to look away…but not only does Abraham refuse to turn away, he cares: ‘Is it possible that this world has no one who looks after it?!’ Whatever faith Abraham finds, it will not be easy. It will be the faith of a man who has considered the very real possibility that chaos and bloodshed are simply all there is. That possibility shakes Abraham to the very core of his being. According to this story, the founding father of the Jewish people is someone who will not hide from the reality of human suffering.”

There is, sadly, a lot of human suffering in this all-too-imperfect world. What are we to do in moments of pain and discord? My friend Rabbi Danny Stein, in answering this question, brings a teaching from the Ba’al Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism. His answer, in this moment, mirrors my own. If I may paraphrase his words, Rabbi Stein writes: 

“The Ba’al Shem Tov teaches that the key to overcoming our interpersonal pain is to pull each other closer through love. Now is the eit ratzon, the unique time, in which we need to bring more chesed (compassion) into the world. We can pull each other closer through love. I encourage [us] to give tzedakah (charity) or kind words to somebody else and double-down on chesed. Because [our country] and our world needs so much more of this, more than we can possibly give at this moment. May the Holy Blessed One who creates peace on High speedily bring peace down for each and every one of us.” Amen- may it be so.