It is very clear that from the outset of the Parsha that the reason we are called upon to keep the commandments is that it is for our sake.

Good morning. And now for a quick Dvar Torah.

This week’s parsha is Lech Lecha, in which God commands Abraham to leave his homeland and travel to a land that God will show him. Abraham isn’t told exactly where he’s going. He’s simply told to leave, to trust in God, and to follow His instructions.

And quite a lot happens in this parsha.

Abraham arrives in the Land of Israel, but a famine forces him and his wife, Sarai, to travel to Egypt. Abraham fears that because Sarai is so beautiful, the Egyptians will kill him in order to take her. So he asks her to say that she is his sister. Sure enough, Pharaoh takes Sarai into his household, but God afflicts Pharaoh and his household with plagues. Pharaoh realizes that Sarai is Abraham’s wife and returns her.

Later, Abraham and his nephew Lot separate because their shepherds cannot get along. Lot chooses to settle near Sodom, despite the wickedness of its inhabitants. Then comes the war between the four kings and the five kings, in which Abraham takes an active role to rescue Lot.

We also have the Covenant Between the Pieces, in which God promises Abraham that his descendants will become a great nation, although they will first experience exile and slavery. And toward the end of the parsha, Sarai, realizing that she has been unable to have children, gives her handmaid Hagar to Abraham, and Ishmael is born.

But what I want to focus on today is the very beginning of the parsha, the words Lech Lecha.

Literally translated, Lech Lecha means “Go for yourself” or “Go for your own benefit.”

And this teaches us something fundamental about Judaism.

God does not need us. We need God.

Think about that for a moment.

When God commands Abraham to leave his homeland, He isn’t asking Abraham to do Him a favor. God doesn’t need Abraham to move from one place to another. The commandment is for Abraham’s benefit, for his spiritual growth, and for the person he is destined to become.

And the same principle applies to all the mitzvot, all the commandments that God gives us.

We don’t observe the mitzvot because God needs us to observe them. We observe them because we need them.

God created human beings. He understands human nature. He knows that we have both a good inclination and an evil inclination. He knows our strengths and our weaknesses. And He knows that if we are going to build a just and moral society, there have to be rules governing our behavior.

The mitzvot provide those rules.

Some of the commandments are easy to understand. We understand why we shouldn’t steal, why we shouldn’t murder, and why we should treat other people with dignity and respect. These are essential foundations of a civilized society.

But other commandments are more difficult to understand.

Take the laws of kashrut, for example. People have been asking for centuries why we are forbidden to eat certain foods. What difference does it make whether an animal has split hooves or chews its cud? Why can’t we mix meat and milk?

We may offer explanations, but ultimately we don’t necessarily understand all of God’s reasons.

Nevertheless, we observe these commandments because we believe that God, who created us, knows what is best for us. Even when we cannot see the benefit, we trust that following His commandments helps us become better people.

And that’s the message of Lech Lecha.

God tells Abraham to go forward, even though Abraham doesn’t know exactly where he’s going or what awaits him. He has to trust that God’s commandment is ultimately for his own good.

And that is the challenge facing every one of us.

We don’t always understand why God asks certain things of us. We don’t always see the purpose of every mitzvah. But we should always remember that the commandments are not there to benefit God. They are there to improve us, both as individuals and as members of society.

God doesn’t need our mitzvot. We need His guidance.

And perhaps that’s the most important lesson of Lech Lecha: When God tells us to do something, He isn’t asking what we can do for Him. He’s showing us what we can do to become better human beings.

Something to think about.

Shabbat Shalom.

When Abraham and Lot separated Lot chose to live in Sodom due to it being a place of wealth. He thought that the evil people there would not affect him. He was wrong. This is a lesson to all of us that who are neighbors are will affect our moral behavior.

Dvar Torah – Parshat Lech Lecha

Abraham and Lot: The Importance of Choosing Good Neighbors

Good morning. And now for a quick Dvar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, we read about the separation of Abraham and his nephew Lot.

Now, why did they separate?

Both Abraham and Lot were wealthy men. They owned large flocks of sheep and cattle, which were major sources of wealth in those days. But there was a problem. Their shepherds were constantly quarreling.

According to Rashi, the dispute concerned where their animals were allowed to graze.

Lot’s shepherds reasoned that God had promised the land to Abraham. Abraham had no children, so naturally Lot would eventually inherit everything. Therefore, why shouldn’t their sheep graze wherever they wanted? After all, the land would eventually belong to Lot anyway.

Abraham’s shepherds had a very different attitude. The land did not yet belong to Abraham. It belonged to other people, and allowing their sheep to graze on somebody else’s property was stealing.

Abraham understood that this situation could not continue. Rather than allow the disagreement to develop into a major conflict, he suggested that they separate.

He told Lot, in effect, “Look, we’re family. There’s no reason for us to fight. You go in one direction, and I’ll go in the other. There’s enough land for both of us.”

And Abraham generously allowed Lot to choose first.

Now, Lot looked around and saw the fertile plains of the Jordan Valley, near Sodom. The land was well-watered and extremely productive. For a man whose wealth depended on livestock, it was an ideal location.

But there was one major problem.

The people of Sodom were wicked.

The Torah tells us this explicitly. They were evil people who sinned greatly against God.

Lot knew what kind of people lived there, but he made his decision based on economics. He was interested in wealth, in prosperity, in increasing his possessions.

And here we see a fundamental difference between Abraham and Lot.

Lot was willing to sacrifice good neighbors for wealth. Abraham was willing to sacrifice wealth for the sake of doing what was right.

Now, what’s particularly interesting is what happens to Lot afterward.

At first, the Torah tells us that Lot pitched his tents near Sodom. He wasn’t actually living in the city. He was outside it.

Later, we find Lot living in Sodom itself.

And eventually, when the angels arrive to destroy the city, where do they find Lot?

Sitting at the gate of Sodom.

In the ancient world, the city gate was where the leaders and judges conducted public business. Lot had become an important member of the community.

Notice the progression.

First, he lives near Sodom. Then he moves into Sodom. Finally, he becomes part of its leadership.

He had gone there for economic opportunity, but gradually he became involved in the society around him.

And that’s an important lesson.

We are influenced by the people with whom we associate.

We like to think that we’re completely independent, that we make our own decisions, and that the behavior of the people around us doesn’t affect us.

But that’s simply not true.

Our neighbors influence us. Our friends influence us. The society in which we live influences the way we think and behave.

Of course, we can also influence our neighbors. But we have to recognize that influence works in both directions.

This is why, when people look for a place to live, they should consider more than the size of the house, the value of the property, or the economic opportunities.

They should ask: What kind of people live here? What values do they have? Is this a community of honest, decent, hardworking people?

Because the values of the community will eventually affect the values of the individual.

And we see another interesting contrast between Abraham and Lot later in the parsha.

When Lot is captured during the war of the four kings against the five kings, Abraham goes to rescue him.

Abraham could have said, “Lot made his choice. He wanted to live in Sodom. Let him deal with the consequences.”

But Abraham doesn’t do that.

Lot is his nephew. He’s family. And Abraham has a moral responsibility to help him.

So Abraham goes to war, defeats the forces that captured Lot, and rescues him.

And afterward, when the king of Sodom offers Abraham the spoils of war, Abraham refuses.

He says that he will not take even a thread or a shoelace, lest the king of Sodom say, “I made Abraham rich.”

Think about that.

Abraham had risked his life and the lives of his men. In the ancient world, taking the spoils of war was perfectly normal.

But Abraham wasn’t interested in enriching himself.

He had fought because it was the right thing to do. He had fought to save his nephew.

And that was something the society of Sodom, with its emphasis on wealth and possessions, could hardly appreciate.

There’s an interesting observation we can make about our own society.

Consider the difference between the 1930s and the 1960s and 1970s.

During the Great Depression, millions of Americans were desperately poor. Unemployment was widespread. People struggled simply to put food on the table.

Yet in later decades, when American society was considerably wealthier, violent crime rose dramatically.

Now, obviously, crime has many causes, and we shouldn’t romanticize the 1930s, which certainly had serious crime problems of their own.

But the comparison raises an important question.

Does greater wealth necessarily produce a better society?

The answer is no.

A society can become richer without becoming more moral. Economic prosperity does not automatically create honesty, decency, or respect for others.

And that brings us back to Abraham and Lot.

Lot chose his neighborhood because of its wealth. Abraham made his decisions according to moral principles.

Lot became increasingly entangled in the society of Sodom. Abraham maintained his independence and his values.

The lesson for us is very simple.

When we choose where to live, whom to associate with, and what kind of community we want to belong to, we should never look only at material advantages.

We must also look at the character of the people around us.

Because ultimately, the wealth of a community is not measured only by how much money its people possess, but by the values according to which they live.

And that is one of the great lessons of Abraham and Lot.

 
God makes a promise to Abraham that he will be the progenitor of a great nation. But before they can become a nation they will have to suffer 400 years of slavery. This was to teach us what it means to be a stranger in a strange land.

A Quick Dvar Torah: The Covenant Between the Parts — The Power of Hope

Parshat Lech Lecha

Good morning. And now for a quick Dvar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, we come across one of the most important events in Jewish history: the Brit Bein HaBetarim, the Covenant Between the Parts.

In this covenant, God makes some extraordinary promises to Abraham. He promises that Abraham’s descendants will become a great nation and that they will inherit the Land of Israel.

Now, we have to remember something. Abraham and Sarah are already getting older, and they have no children. God is promising them a great future, but they have no idea how that future will unfold. We know the rest of the story because we’ve read the Torah. Abraham and Sarah haven’t.

But there’s something else in this covenant that is very interesting.

God tells Abraham that his descendants will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, that they will be enslaved and oppressed, and that this period will last 400 years.

Now, the obvious question is: Why?

Why did the Jewish people have to experience slavery in Egypt? Why was suffering part of God’s plan for the creation of the Jewish nation?

I think there are two very important lessons here.

The first is the importance of hope.

You know, one of the worst things you can do to a human being is take away his hope. A person can endure extraordinary hardship if he believes that there is something better waiting for him in the future. But when you take away hope, you take away one of the things that keeps him going.

There’s an interesting example of this in our daily prayers.

In the Shemoneh Esrei, the Amidah, we have a blessing that was added concerning those who seek to destroy or betray the Jewish people. It begins with the words Velamalshinim al tehi tikvah — let there be no hope for the informers.

Think about that. Of all the punishments we could wish upon our enemies, we begin by asking that they should have no hope.

Because to live without hope is a terrible punishment.

We saw the importance of hope during the Holocaust. There were people who, even in the most horrific circumstances, held on to the belief that one day the nightmare would end. Of course, survival depended on many factors beyond anyone’s control, and even those who maintained hope often did not survive. But hope could provide people with the strength to endure another day.

And this is something that has sustained the Jewish people throughout our history.

We’ve experienced exile, persecution, destruction, and suffering. But we have never abandoned the belief that there is a better future ahead of us.

God tells Abraham that his descendants will suffer, but He also tells him that their suffering will come to an end. They will leave slavery, and they will emerge as a nation.

In other words, even before the suffering begins, God gives us a reason to hope.

And that brings us to the second lesson of slavery in Egypt.

Why did we have to experience what it means to be slaves?

One of the answers is that we had to learn how to treat other human beings, particularly the stranger who lives among us.

The Torah repeatedly reminds us, Ki gerim heyitem be’eretz Mitzrayim — because you were strangers in the land of Egypt.

You know what it means to be powerless. You know what it means to be oppressed. You know what it means to be treated as an outsider.

Therefore, you have a special responsibility not to inflict that suffering on others.

Now, there’s an important distinction in Jewish law between different categories of non-Jews. The ger toshav, the resident alien, is traditionally understood as a non-Jew who accepts the Seven Noahide Laws, the basic moral principles that Judaism considers binding upon humanity.

These laws include prohibitions against murder, theft, and other fundamental violations of civilized society.

The idea is that a society cannot function unless its members accept certain basic moral responsibilities. People may have different religions, different customs, and different traditions, but there must be a common commitment to the fundamental rules that make peaceful coexistence possible.

And that is an important lesson for every society, including our own.

At the same time, the Torah’s concern for human dignity and its prohibition against mistreating others are not limited to the formal category of the ger toshav. We are commanded to behave justly toward other human beings.

The experience of Egypt was meant to teach us both sides of this responsibility: the importance of maintaining a moral society and the obligation to remember what it feels like to be vulnerable.

And this brings us back to Abraham and the covenant.

God does not promise Abraham that Jewish history will be easy. Quite the contrary. He tells him that there will be suffering, slavery, and exile.

But He also promises that the suffering will not be the end of the story.

And that’s the lesson I think we should take from this week’s parsha.

We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Abraham and Sarah didn’t know what tomorrow would bring either. But they had faith in God’s promise.

Throughout Jewish history, we have faced situations that seemed hopeless. Yet somehow, we have survived, rebuilt, and continued.

Hope is not the belief that life will always be easy. Hope is the belief that hardship does not have to be the final chapter.

And perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons of the Covenant Between the Parts.

No matter how difficult the present may be, we must never lose sight of the possibility of a better future.

Something to think about.

Abraham was called the “Ivri” which means “from the other side” because he stood up in a world of lies and told the truth. Much like today Israel stand up for truth in a world of lies.

A Quick Dvar Torah: Abraham the Ivri — A Man Who Stood Apart

Good morning. And now for a quick Dvar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, Abraham is referred to by a very interesting name: Avram HaIvri — Abram the Hebrew.

What does the word Ivri actually mean?

There are three interpretations, and each one teaches us something important about Abraham and, ultimately, about how we should live our own lives.

The first interpretation is geographical. The word Ivri comes from the Hebrew word ever, meaning “the other side.” Abraham came from Ur Kasdim, in what is today Iraq, in the region of Mesopotamia, between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. He came from the other side of the river, and therefore he was known as HaIvri, the man from the other side.

The second interpretation is genealogical. Abraham was a descendant of Ever, who was a descendant of Shem, the son of Noah. Therefore, the name Ivri identifies Abraham with his ancestor Ever. You might say it was a family name.

But the third interpretation, which comes from the Midrash, is perhaps the most interesting.

Abraham was called HaIvri because the entire world stood on one side, and Abraham stood on the other.

Think about what that means.

The entire world believed in idols. The world was filled with falsehoods, superstition, and beliefs that Abraham knew were wrong. Yet Abraham was willing to stand alone. He was willing to stand up for what he believed was true, even when the rest of the world disagreed with him.

But Abraham did something more than simply believe in the truth. He acted upon it.

And this is what makes Abraham such an extraordinary figure.

Consider what happens in this week’s parsha during the war between the four kings and the five kings.

Abraham’s nephew Lot is captured. What does Abraham do? Does he sit at home and say, “Well, that’s unfortunate, but it’s not my problem”?

No. He gathers his men, goes to war, defeats the forces that captured Lot, and rescues his nephew.

And afterward, the king of Sodom offers Abraham the spoils of war. Abraham could have become an extremely wealthy man from this victory.

But Abraham refuses.

He says that he will not take even a thread or a shoelace, lest the king of Sodom be able to say, “I made Abram rich.”

Now, Abraham was no fool when it came to money. He was a wealthy man. He owned livestock, had servants, and understood business. He knew the value of wealth.

But he also understood something far more important.

Money is a means to an end. It is not the purpose of life.

Abraham didn’t go to war to enrich himself. He went to war because it was the right thing to do. His nephew needed help, and Abraham took responsibility.

This reminds me of a famous story about George Washington.

After the American Revolution, there were people who wanted Washington to become the king of the new United States. Washington, however, had no interest in becoming a monarch. He had fought for independence and for a republic, not to replace one king with another.

According to a famous historical account, when King George III of England heard that Washington intended to give up power and return to private life, he remarked that if Washington did that, he would be the greatest man in the world.

Think about that.

King George understood what Washington was giving up because he himself was a king. He understood the attraction of power, prestige, and authority.

But Washington understood that the purpose of the Revolution was not to make himself powerful. It was to establish something greater than himself.

And this brings us back to Abraham.

Abraham understood that life was not simply about accumulating wealth or power. It was about doing what was right.

When someone was hungry, Abraham fed him. When someone needed hospitality, Abraham opened his home. When his nephew was in danger, Abraham went out to rescue him.

He didn’t simply sit around waiting for God to tell him what to do.

And this is one of the great differences between Abraham and Noah.

As we’ve discussed before, Noah was a righteous man, but his righteousness was largely passive. God told him to build an ark, and he built an ark. God told him to enter the ark, and he entered the ark.

Abraham, on the other hand, was active.

He went out into the world. He confronted injustice. He helped people. He took responsibility. He tried to make the world a better place.

And he did all this while standing apart from the beliefs and values of the society around him.

That is what it means to be an Ivri.

It doesn’t mean being different simply for the sake of being different. It means having the courage to stand up for what is right, even when everyone else is going in the opposite direction.

And there’s a lesson here for all of us.

We don’t have to change the entire world overnight. We don’t have to be wealthy or powerful. We don’t have to be kings or generals.

We can change the world through our own actions.

By being honest in business. By helping someone who needs assistance. By feeding someone who is hungry. By standing up against injustice. By doing what is right, even when doing what is wrong might be more profitable or more popular.

Abraham taught us that the way to make the world a better place is to begin by becoming a better person ourselves.

And perhaps that is the greatest meaning of the name Avraham HaIvri.

He was a man who stood on the other side of the world, not because he wanted to separate himself from humanity, but because he wanted to show humanity a better way to live.

Something to think about.

When God commands Abraham to leave Ur Kasdim He says that Abraham should go for his sake. God does not need us to obey the commandments. We need the commandments.

A Quick D’var Torah – Parshat Lech Lecha

Good morning. And now for a quick D’var Torah.

This week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, begins with God telling Abraham to leave his homeland, his family, and everything familiar to him, and travel to a land that God will show him.

But there is something very interesting about the words God uses. In Hebrew, the phrase is Lech Lecha. It doesn’t simply mean “go.” It can also mean “go for yourself” or “go for your own benefit.”

And this teaches us a very important lesson about Judaism and the purpose of the mitzvot.

God does not need Abraham to leave his homeland. God does not need Abraham to do anything. In fact, God does not need us at all. Let’s be very clear about that. We need God. God does not need us.

So when God tells Abraham, Lech Lecha, He is telling him that this journey is for Abraham’s own benefit. It is an opportunity for Abraham to grow, to develop spiritually, and to become the person he is capable of becoming.

And this brings us to a fundamental concept in Judaism.

Why do we observe the mitzvot? Why do we follow God’s commandments?

Not because God needs us to perform them, but because we need to perform them to become better human beings.

Think about prayer, for example. We are very careful about the words we say, the proper times to pray, and the way we conduct our prayers. But God doesn’t need our prayers. We need them. We need to stop and think about what we’re saying, what the words mean, and how they should influence the way we live our lives.

The same is true of the commandments between man and his fellow man. We are commanded to be honest, to give charity, to respect others, and to treat people fairly. Again, God doesn’t need us to do these things. We need to do them because they make us better people, better Jews, and ultimately create a better society.

And this leads us to another important point.

We often hear that the Jewish people are the Chosen People. But what does that actually mean?

It doesn’t mean that God chose us to receive special privileges or extra benefits. Quite the contrary. We were chosen to accept additional responsibilities.

We were chosen to demonstrate to the world how a nation can live according to God’s commandments. We are supposed to be Or LaGoyim, a light unto the nations.

And notice something else. Judaism doesn’t demand that everyone become Jewish. We don’t go around trying to convert people. According to Jewish tradition, non-Jews are expected to observe the Seven Noahide Laws. Jews, on the other hand, have 613 commandments.

Why the difference? Because our mission is different. We have been given additional obligations, not because we are better than anyone else, but because we have a particular responsibility.

And now let’s return to Abraham.

God tells Abraham to go to the land of Canaan, which will eventually become the Land of Israel.

But why that particular piece of real estate?

After all, God could have sent Abraham and his descendants to Fiji or New Zealand, someplace far away where nobody would bother them and nobody would even know they existed.

But that’s not what God wanted.

The Land of Israel was situated at the crossroads of the ancient world. If you wanted to travel from Mesopotamia to Egypt, you would generally pass through the region. If you were traveling from Egypt toward Syria, Anatolia, or the lands beyond, the area was a major route of communication and commerce.

Remember, there were no airplanes in those days, and traveling by sea was not always a pleasant experience.

In other words, God placed the Jewish people where the world could see them.

And why?

Because if we are supposed to be a light unto the nations, then the nations have to be able to see that light.

We were not meant to live in isolation, hidden away from the rest of humanity. We were meant to demonstrate, through our actions and the way we conduct ourselves, what it means to live according to God’s commandments.

And that brings us right back to the opening words of the parsha: Lech Lecha.

Go for yourself.

God is telling Abraham that the journey is not for God’s benefit. It is for Abraham’s benefit. And the same principle applies to every mitzvah we perform.

We don’t keep Shabbat because God needs us to rest. We keep Shabbat because we need Shabbat.

We don’t give charity because God needs our money. We give charity because we need to learn generosity and responsibility toward others.

And we don’t observe the commandments because God somehow benefits from our obedience. We observe them because they help us become the people God wants us to be.

The purpose of the mitzvot is not to change God. It is to change us.

And perhaps that is the most important message of Lech Lecha: The journey toward God is ultimately a journey toward becoming a better version of ourselves.

Something to think about.

Shabbat Shalom.

The differences between Noah and Abraham are important because this explains why Abraham was chosen to bring ethical monotheism to the world while Noah was not.

A Quick Dvar Torah — Parshat Lech Lecha

Noah and Abraham: The Difference Between Being Righteous and Taking Responsibility

This week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, introduces us to Abraham Avinu. Until now, the Torah has been concerned with the creation of the world and the history of humanity as a whole. But beginning with Abraham, the focus shifts. We are now introduced to the beginnings of the Jewish people. You might say we’re finally getting down to business.

One of the most interesting ways to understand Abraham is to compare him with Noah.

When Noah is introduced to us, the Torah tells us that he was a righteous man in his generation. The commentators debate what those extra words mean. Why does the Torah have to qualify his righteousness? Either he was righteous or he wasn’t.

Some commentators say that Noah was so righteous that even surrounded by wicked people, he remained a good man. Certainly, he would have been righteous in any generation.

Others take a less complimentary view. They argue that Noah was righteous only in comparison with the people around him. After all, in a generation filled with corruption, violence, and theft, simply being an honest person wasn’t setting the bar particularly high. Noah didn’t murder anybody. He didn’t steal. By our standards, that’s what we would consider normal behavior.

But there is another, perhaps more important, difference between Noah and Abraham.

Noah was obedient. Abraham was proactive.

Think about Noah. God tells him to build an ark, and he builds an ark. God gives him the dimensions, tells him which animals to bring aboard, and Noah follows the instructions.

According to the traditional interpretation, Noah spent 120 years preparing for the Flood. Yet we never hear him pleading with God to spare his generation. We never hear him arguing that perhaps the people could repent. Unlike Jonah, who eventually went to Nineveh and warned its inhabitants to change their ways, Noah never emerges in the biblical narrative as someone who actively tries to save his society.

He saves himself, his family, and the animals. But what about everybody else?

Now compare that with Abraham.

When God tells Abraham that He intends to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham doesn’t simply say, “Well, God knows best.”

Quite the opposite.

Abraham challenges God. He asks, “Will You sweep away the righteous along with the wicked?”

He begins negotiating. What if there are fifty righteous people? What about forty-five? Forty? Thirty? Twenty? Ten?

Imagine that! Abraham is arguing with God on behalf of the people of Sodom, a society notorious for its wickedness.

And notice something else. Abraham isn’t arguing on behalf of his own family. He’s arguing for strangers, people whose behavior he certainly doesn’t approve of.

Abraham understands that righteousness carries a responsibility for other people.

We see this same quality in this week’s parsha when the war breaks out between the four kings and the five kings.

Lot, Abraham’s nephew, is taken captive. Abraham could have said, “Well, Lot made his choice. He decided to live in Sodom. Let him deal with the consequences.”

But that’s not Abraham.

He organizes his men, goes to war, defeats the enemy, and rescues Lot. Abraham doesn’t wait for someone else to solve the problem. He takes action.

And that’s the fundamental distinction.

Noah is concerned with preserving righteousness in a wicked world. Abraham is concerned with changing the world.

There’s also an interesting contrast in what happens after the great events in their lives.

After the Flood, Noah plants a vineyard, makes wine, gets drunk, and ends up in a humiliating situation involving his son Ham. The man who saved humanity from destruction ends his story in a rather unfortunate way.

Abraham, on the other hand, continues to build, to teach, to struggle, and to establish a relationship with God that will be passed down to future generations.

Even Ishmael, despite being sent away from Abraham’s household, maintains a connection to his father. In fact, the Torah later tells us that Ishmael joins Isaac in burying Abraham. Whatever their differences, the relationship between father and son is not completely severed.

This helps explain why some commentators suggest that had Noah lived in Abraham’s generation, he would not have been considered particularly remarkable.

Noah was a good man. But Abraham was something more.

And perhaps that’s the lesson for us.

Judaism doesn’t ask us merely to be good people. It asks us to do good.

It’s not enough to say, “I don’t steal, I don’t cheat, I don’t hurt anybody.” Those are certainly important qualities, but they’re only the beginning.

The real question is: What are we doing to make the world around us better?

Are we helping other people? Are we willing to take responsibility when something needs to be done?

Noah survived the world as it was. Abraham set out to create a better world.

And that is why Abraham, rather than Noah, becomes the father of the Jewish people.

Something to think about.

In this week’s portion we have the recreation of the world through the family of Noat. This time God makes a covenant with Noah and we get the seven commandments of the Children of Noah.

A Quick Dvar Torah: Parshat Noach — The Covenant of Civilization

Good morning.

In this week’s parsha, Parshat Noach, we encounter something very interesting: a second creation story.

The first creation story appears at the beginning of the Torah, when God creates the world. The second comes after the Flood, when the world has been destroyed and Noach and his family are given the responsibility of rebuilding civilization.

But there are some very important differences between these two accounts.

In the original creation story, God repeatedly declares that His creation is good, and finally, that it is very good. Man is created in the image of God, b’tzelem Elokim. There is tremendous hope and optimism about humanity and its potential.

But in the second creation story, after the Flood, the emphasis changes.

God again speaks about man being created in His image, but this time in a very different context. The Torah tells us that murder is forbidden because human beings are created in the image of God.

Think about that distinction.

In the first creation story, the emphasis is on the dignity of man himself. In the second, the emphasis is on recognizing that same divine image in someone else.

In other words, it is not enough to recognize that I was created in the image of God. I must recognize that you were created in the image of God as well.

And that means I have responsibilities toward you.

This brings us to another important difference. After the Flood, God establishes a covenant with Noach and his descendants. The explicit covenant is God’s promise never again to destroy the world through a flood. But alongside that covenant, the Torah establishes the foundations of human responsibility, which Jewish tradition identifies with the Seven Noahide Laws, the Sheva Mitzvot Bnei Noach.

These are seven commandments that apply not merely to Jews, but to all humanity. After all, according to the Torah, every human being is a descendant of Noach.

What are these seven laws?

Six are prohibitions.

First, you may not eat a limb taken from a living animal. Even animals must be treated with a certain degree of respect. You cannot simply torture a living creature for your own pleasure or convenience.

Second, you may not blaspheme God.

Third, you may not steal. You must respect other people’s property and their rights. You cannot simply take something because you want it. This prohibition also encompasses kidnapping.

Fourth, you may not murder. Human life is sacred because every human being is created in the image of God.

Fifth, you may not worship idols.

And sixth, you may not engage in forbidden sexual relationships.

Notice something interesting about these six commandments. They are directed primarily at the individual. They tell us what we may not do, and they establish boundaries on individual behavior.

But the seventh commandment is different.

The seventh commandment requires the establishment of courts of justice.

That is a societal obligation.

It is not enough for individuals to behave properly. Society must establish a legal system that protects people, their property, their dignity, and their rights.

And here we come to one of the great political lessons of Parshat Noach.

The Torah presents us with two disastrous models of human society.

The first is the generation of the Flood. This was a society characterized by corruption, violence, theft, and lawlessness. Everyone did whatever he wanted. There was no meaningful respect for the rights of others.

This is anarchy.

But later in the parsha, we encounter the generation of the Tower of Babel.

Here we have the opposite extreme. Everyone speaks the same language and uses the same words. Everyone is united in a single collective project. But individuality and independent thought seem to have disappeared.

This can be understood as a model of totalitarianism.

In the generation of the Flood, the individual recognizes no limits. In the generation of the Tower of Babel, the individual is swallowed up by the collective.

The Torah rejects both extremes.

The Seven Noahide Laws offer a different vision of civilization.

They establish moral limits on individual behavior while requiring society to create institutions of justice. The individual has dignity, but also responsibilities. Government has authority, but that authority must serve justice rather than simply impose uniformity.

This is a fundamental idea underlying what we today call liberal democracy: a society governed by law, in which individuals possess rights, but also obligations toward one another.

And there is another remarkable aspect of these laws.

Judaism does not demand that everyone become Jewish. Jewish tradition recognizes that non-Jews can live righteous lives and fulfill their obligations to God without converting to Judaism.

What is expected of humanity is adherence to these basic principles of morality and justice.

That is not an unreasonable demand.

The lesson of Parshat Noach is that civilization cannot survive on individual freedom alone, nor can it survive when the collective destroys individual freedom.

It needs both moral responsibility and the rule of law.

The generation of the Flood teaches us what happens when there is no respect for law. The generation of the Tower of Babel warns us what can happen when unity becomes more important than the individual.

And the Seven Noahide Laws remind us that a just society must respect both the dignity of the individual and the responsibilities we owe to one another.

Being created in the image of God gives us dignity. Recognizing that same image in others gives us responsibility.

Something to think about.

Shabbat Shalom.

The sin of the Tower of Babel was that is was a totalitarian government. There is no freedom of thought in such a society. God wants us to disagree and debate that way we will arrive at the truth.

A Quick Dvar Torah: The Tower of Babel and the Danger of Totalitarianism

In this week’s parsha, Parshat Noach, we come across two forms of society that the Torah warns us against: anarchy and totalitarianism.

The generation of the Flood represents anarchy. People did whatever they wanted. They robbed, stole, committed acts of violence, and had no respect for private property or the rights of others. There was no effective moral authority. Everybody did as he pleased, and the result was the destruction of civilization.

But at the end of the parsha, we encounter the opposite extreme: the generation of the Tower of Babel.

The entire story of the Tower of Babel occupies only nine verses. That’s it. Yet those nine verses contain a remarkable lesson about the dangers of totalitarianism.

The Torah begins by telling us that the entire world spoke one language and used the same words: Safah achat u’devarim achadim.

Now, think about that for a moment. If everybody spoke the same language, wouldn’t they naturally use the same words? Why does the Torah have to tell us both?

One interpretation is that the Torah is describing something much more sinister than linguistic unity. Everybody spoke the same language, but everybody was also expected to think the same way. There was no freedom of thought, no freedom of expression, and no room for disagreement.

That is the essence of totalitarianism.

The Tower of Babel was a society in which power was centralized. Everybody had to participate in the same project, follow the same leadership, and accept the same ideas.

And that’s what happens in totalitarian societies. You don’t have genuine debates. You don’t have differences of opinion. You don’t question the leadership. You simply do what you’re told.

Now, among Jews, we have a very different tradition. We love to debate. Open a page of the Talmud and what do you find? Arguments! Hillel disagrees with Shammai. Rabbi Akiva disagrees with other sages. We argue back and forth, and that’s perfectly legitimate, provided, of course, that the arguments don’t become personal.

The Jewish tradition recognizes that disagreement can be a source of wisdom.

But in a totalitarian society, disagreement is dangerous.

As they used to joke about the Soviet Union, you had a choice: you could vote for the Communist Party or join the going-away party!

If you didn’t follow the party line, you could find yourself in serious trouble.

Many years ago, I knew a dentist who participated in a professional exchange program with the Soviet Union. He went there to observe how Soviet dentists practiced dentistry.

During one visit, he noticed that a Soviet dentist was treating a patient without Novocaine. Instead, he was using some form of electrical stimulation to control the pain.

The patient was a huge Russian soldier, a big bear of a man. But the treatment was so painful that tears were streaming down his face.

My dentist friend turned to his Soviet counterpart and said, “Excuse me, but that man is obviously in terrible pain. Whatever you’re doing isn’t working.”

And the Soviet dentist replied, “He’s not in pain. They told me he’s not in pain.”

Think about that answer.

The evidence was right in front of him. The man was crying. He was suffering. But none of that mattered because the authorities had declared that the treatment was painless.

In a totalitarian society, truth is not determined by reality. Truth is whatever the authorities tell you it is.

And that brings us back to the Tower of Babel.

The problem wasn’t that people were working together. Cooperation is a wonderful thing. The problem was that unity had become enforced uniformity. Individual judgment and freedom of thought had been sacrificed to the demands of a centralized authority.

The generation of the Flood had too little restraint. The generation of the Tower of Babel had too much control.

One society was destroyed because everybody did whatever he wanted. The other was dispersed because everybody was expected to think and act alike.

The Torah teaches us that neither extreme is acceptable.

A healthy society needs laws, moral standards, and respect for the rights of others. But it also needs freedom of thought, room for disagreement, and limits on the power of those who govern.

The lesson of Parshat Noach is that civilization cannot survive without order, but neither can human freedom survive when order becomes absolute control.

Something to think about.

The reason the Torah gives for the flood was that society was corrupt. They had no respect for private property. When that happens then society will collapse.

A Quick Dvar Torah: Corruption and the Generation of the Flood

Parshat Noach

One of the great sins of the generation of the Flood was corruption. There was immorality, certainly, but what ultimately sealed the fate of that generation was corruption.

The Torah tells us, “Vatímalei ha’aretz chamas” — “The earth was filled with violence” (Genesis 6:11). Our Sages explain that this included gezel, theft.

Now, what was so terrible about the theft taking place in that generation?

The Midrash tells us something fascinating. People would steal amounts worth less than a perutah, the smallest unit of monetary value. They knew exactly what they were doing. They understood that stealing such a small amount would make it difficult for the victim to recover the property through the courts.

Imagine that you own a store. One person comes in and steals something worth less than a perutah. Then another person does the same thing, and another, and another. Eventually, your entire inventory is gone, but no individual theft is large enough to pursue through the normal legal process.

These people weren’t simply stealing. They were deliberately exploiting the law to destroy the property rights of others.

And that’s a very serious matter.

The Torah recognizes the importance of private property. If you own a business, you have a right to that business. You work to support yourself and your family. And for an economy to function, people have to respect one another’s property.

Interestingly, the great economist Adam Smith made a similar observation in The Wealth of Nations, published in 1776.

Smith pointed out that we don’t get our dinner because the butcher, the brewer, or the baker is especially concerned about our welfare. We get it because they’re concerned about their own interests. They want to earn a living and support their families. And in order to do that, they have to provide something that other people want.

In other words, economic cooperation depends on people being able to deal with one another.

Another great economist, Friedrich Hayek, who wrote The Road to Serfdom, emphasized the importance of moral traditions and established rules of conduct in maintaining a functioning society. Hayek himself was an agnostic, but he recognized that institutions such as religion could help sustain the moral traditions on which civilization depends.

And what’s at the heart of all of this?

Trust.

Without honesty, without trust, you cannot have a successful economy.

Think about the diamond business in New York’s Diamond District. Traditionally, transactions involving hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, of dollars have been conducted on a handshake. Why? Because the people involved trust one another. They believe that when someone gives his word, he will honor it.

But imagine a society in which nobody trusts anybody else. Every business transaction becomes a struggle. Everybody assumes that everybody else is trying to cheat him.

Eventually, the entire system collapses.

And that’s exactly what happened in the generation of the Flood.

Now, here’s something very interesting.

Compare the generation of the Flood with the generation of the Tower of Babel.

The generation of the Tower of Babel rebelled against God. They wanted to build a tower reaching into heaven. Yet God did not destroy them. Instead, He confused their languages and scattered them throughout the world.

Why?

Our Sages explain that although they rebelled against God, they had one important quality: they were united. They got along with one another.

The generation of the Flood, on the other hand, was filled with theft, corruption, and mistreatment of others.

And so God destroyed that generation.

There’s a remarkable lesson here.

God seems to be telling us that He can tolerate offenses against Himself more readily than He tolerates people mistreating one another.

It’s almost like something my mother used to tell me when I was growing up. She could tolerate all sorts of misbehavior, but there was one thing she absolutely could not stand: my siblings and me fighting with one another.

She would say, “You’re a family. You have to get along with one another.”

And in a sense, that’s what God is telling humanity.

You’re all one family. You have to respect one another.

This isn’t just a religious principle. It’s also an economic principle.

Look at countries where corruption is widespread. In parts of Africa, South America, and Asia, corruption has been a major obstacle to economic development.

I was recently in Kenya, where poverty remains a serious problem. And one of the major challenges facing that country is corruption. When people cannot trust public officials, when businesses must pay bribes, and when the rules are not applied fairly, economic development becomes much more difficult.

Corruption doesn’t simply hurt the person who is being cheated. It damages the entire society.

And that brings us back to Parshat Noach.

The generation of the Flood was destroyed not simply because people committed individual sins, but because corruption had become the foundation of their society. People no longer respected one another. They no longer respected private property. They no longer trusted one another.

And when that happens, society begins to destroy itself from within.

The message of the Torah is that honesty is not merely a nice personal quality. It is the foundation upon which civilization rests.

We must be honest in business. We must respect other people’s property. We must keep our word. And above all, we must treat one another with dignity and respect.

Because ultimately, God is reminding us of something very simple:

We’re all part of the same human family. And a society that loses its honesty and its trust cannot survive.

Something to think about.

The fact that Noah was either unable or unwilling to get the people of his generation to repent shows a failure on his part.

A Quick Dvar Torah: Parshat Noach

The Responsibility to Speak Up and Care for Others

This week’s parsha, Parshat Noach, begins with a very interesting statement. The Torah tells us that Noah was a righteous man in his generation.

Now, there’s a great debate among the commentators about what those words actually mean. Was Noah so righteous that he managed to remain a good man despite living among wicked people? Or was he considered righteous only because everyone around him was so terrible? In another generation, perhaps he wouldn’t have been anything special.

I think we can find an interesting hint to this question in the dimensions of the ark.

God tells Noah to build an ark 300 amot long, 50 amot wide, and 30 amot high.

Now, if we look at these numbers through gematria, we discover something interesting.

The number 300 corresponds to the Hebrew letter shin. Fifty corresponds to nun, and thirty corresponds to lamed.

Rearrange those letters, and they spell the Hebrew word lashon, meaning tongue or language.

What might this be telling us?

Perhaps God was hinting to Noah that he had a responsibility not merely to build an ark and save himself and his family, but to use his tongue. He had to speak to the people of his generation.

Remember, Noah was living in a terribly wicked society. God had decided to destroy the world because of the corruption and violence that had become widespread.

But perhaps that destruction could have been avoided.

Imagine if Noah had gone out among the people and said, “Look, I’m building this enormous ark because God has warned me that the world is going to be destroyed. But you still have a chance. Change your behavior. Stop stealing. Stop hurting one another. Repent!”

Would they have listened? We don’t know.

But we do know that repentance is always possible.

Think about the story of Jonah, which we read on Yom Kippur. God sends Jonah to Nineveh to warn the people that their city will be destroyed. Jonah delivers the warning, and what happens?

The people repent!

They change their behavior, and God does not destroy the city.

So perhaps the people of Noah’s generation also had an opportunity to repent.

And yet, when the flood came, who entered the ark? Only Noah, his family, and the animals. Not a single other person.

Now, perhaps Noah tried to convince people and they simply refused to listen. Perhaps he spoke, but wasn’t particularly convincing. Or perhaps he didn’t put his heart into the effort.

Whatever the explanation, the result was that Noah saved himself and his family, but he did not save his generation.

And this is where we see an important difference between Noah and Abraham.

When God tells Abraham that He intends to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, what does Abraham do?

He argues with God!

He asks whether there might be fifty righteous people in the city. Then forty-five, forty, thirty, twenty, and finally ten.

Abraham doesn’t simply say, “Well, I’m righteous. My family is righteous. That’s all that matters.”

He worries about everybody else.

That is the difference between being righteous yourself and feeling responsible for the righteousness and welfare of others.

And I think this has an important lesson for us today.

One of our responsibilities as Jews is to demonstrate what Judaism means through the way we behave.

I’m not talking simply about wearing a kippah or displaying other outward signs of Jewish identity. Those things have their place, but they are not enough.

I’m talking about how we treat other human beings.

When we see a poor person, do we help? When we see someone standing outside in the freezing winter without proper clothing, do we offer a pair of gloves?

Here in our shul, we actually have gloves that someone donated specifically for that purpose. Someone recognized that there are people who need help and decided to do something about it.

That is Judaism in action.

We sometimes talk about helping humanity on a global level. That’s wonderful, but we must never forget the individual standing right in front of us.

The person who is hungry. The person who is cold. The person who is lonely. The person who needs someone to care.

And that responsibility extends into our own community as well. We have to look after our poor, our elderly, and those who may be struggling quietly without anyone noticing.

Because ultimately, people should be able to look at the way a Jew behaves and say, “That is how a person who believes in God should act.”

Not because of what we say about ourselves, but because of what we actually do.

And perhaps that was Noah’s shortcoming.

He understood that he had to be righteous. He understood that he had to obey God. He built the ark exactly as he was commanded.

But perhaps he didn’t fully understand that righteousness carries with it a responsibility for other people.

The purpose of the warning about the flood was not necessarily that the world had to be destroyed. It was also an opportunity for humanity to change.

The tragedy is that nobody did.

And while that certainly tells us something about Noah’s generation, perhaps it also tells us something about Noah himself.

The lesson for us is that it’s not enough to be a good person. We have to use our words and our actions to help others become better, and to make their lives better.

That’s what it means to live as a Jew.

Something to think about.