Sarah demands that Abraham send Ishmael and Hagar away because she sees in Ishmael a danger to the family. He is doing things that are against everything that Abraham and Sarah stand for. God tells Abraham to listen to her.

Dvar Torah – Parshat Vayeira

Loving-Kindness Must Be Balanced with Justice

Good morning.

In this week’s parsha, Vayeira, we come across a very interesting and troubling episode: the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael from Abraham’s household.

Sarah tells Abraham that Hagar and Ishmael must be sent away. Abraham, understandably, is very upset. After all, Ishmael is his son, his firstborn son. How could he possibly send him away?

But Sarah sees something that Abraham does not.

The Torah tells us that Sarah saw Ishmael metzachek, a Hebrew word that can mean laughing, mocking, or playing around.

Now, what’s so terrible about that? Children play around all the time. Why should that be a reason to expel Ishmael?

But our sages explain that there was much more going on.

According to the Midrash, Ishmael was involved in idolatry and other serious wrongdoing. There is even a Midrash that describes Ishmael shooting arrows in Isaac’s direction and then claiming that he was only joking.

In other words, this was not innocent childhood mischief. Sarah recognized that Ishmael’s behavior represented a genuine danger to Isaac and to the future of Abraham’s household.

There was also the question of inheritance. Ishmael was Abraham’s firstborn son, and Sarah understood that there could eventually be a struggle over who would inherit Abraham’s spiritual legacy.

Abraham, however, did not want to send Ishmael away.

And this brings us to a very important distinction between Abraham and Sarah.

Abraham represents chesed, loving-kindness. Throughout the Torah, we see his extraordinary concern for others. He welcomes strangers into his home. He prays for the wicked people of Sodom. He goes out of his way to help people, even those who may not deserve his kindness.

But loving-kindness, when taken too far, can become a weakness.

Abraham was so committed to seeing the good in people that he had difficulty recognizing the danger that certain people could represent. And when it came to his own son, that difficulty was even greater.

Sarah also possessed loving-kindness, but hers was balanced by a very practical understanding of human nature.

She understood that there are times when kindness requires us to establish boundaries. There are times when protecting innocent people must take precedence over showing compassion to someone whose behavior threatens them.

And what does God tell Abraham?

“Whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her voice.” (Genesis 21:12)

God tells Abraham that Sarah is correct.

Now, this teaches us something very important, not only about Abraham and Sarah, but about how we should conduct ourselves.

We need loving-kindness. Without it, society becomes cruel and heartless. But loving-kindness must be balanced with justice and a realistic understanding of human behavior.

And this applies just as much today as it did in Abraham’s time.

We hear people making excuses for criminals. We are told that someone had a difficult childhood, that he came from a troubled background, that he suffered injustices, and therefore we should understand why he committed a crime.

There is a popular expression: “Hurt people hurt people.”

Now, there may be truth in that statement. People who have suffered sometimes go on to hurt others. Understanding someone’s background may help explain his behavior.

But explaining a crime is not the same as excusing it.

And this is where the Torah’s approach to justice becomes so important.

In Parshat Mishpatim, the Torah tells us that a judge must not favor a poor person in a legal dispute simply because he is poor. And elsewhere, the Torah makes clear that we must not favor the wealthy or powerful either.

Justice must be based on the facts and the law, not on sympathy for one party or prejudice against another.

The question is not whether the accused person had a difficult life. The question is whether he committed the offense, what the law requires, and how justice should be administered.

That does not mean that circumstances can never matter when determining an appropriate punishment. But compassion cannot replace accountability.

If we become so concerned about the person who commits a crime that we forget about the victim, we have turned justice upside down.

And if we consistently excuse wrongdoing in the name of kindness, we may actually encourage more wrongdoing.

That is not loving-kindness. That is a failure to recognize reality.

This is precisely what Sarah understood and what Abraham, in this particular situation, had difficulty accepting.

And there is another important lesson here.

Abraham and Sarah were both great people. Both were committed to serving God. But they had different strengths.

Abraham’s extraordinary loving-kindness needed to be balanced by Sarah’s judgment and practical understanding.

This is one of the reasons that a husband and wife can complement one another. One may see something that the other misses. One may emphasize compassion, while the other recognizes the need for limits.

Neither quality should be dismissed. We need both.

The Torah does not tell us to abandon compassion. Quite the opposite. Compassion is fundamental to Judaism.

But compassion without judgment can lead to injustice, just as justice without compassion can lead to cruelty.

The challenge is finding the proper balance.

And that, I believe, is one of the great lessons of the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Ishmael.

Be kind. Be compassionate. Help people whenever you can. But don’t confuse kindness with allowing people to do whatever they want without consequences.

Sometimes the most important act of kindness is knowing when to say no.

Something to think about.

Shabbat Shalom.

The most important thing that we learn from this week’s Parsha is that God hates evil. He destroys Sodom and Gomorrah because of the evil they do. But Lot is blinded by his wealth and refuses to leave. He is forced out. And then has a sad end,

Dvar Torah – Parshat Vayeira

The Danger of Choosing Prosperity Over Morality

Good morning.

I’ve recorded the last couple of Divrei Torah a little differently because I’ve been very busy here in Israel. But enough about me. Let’s get to the parsha.

This week’s parsha is Vayeira, and there are many important lessons we can learn from it.

We begin with the three angels who visit Abraham. One of them informs Abraham and Sarah that, despite their advanced age, they will have a son.

According to the Midrash, an angel can perform only one mission. One angel comes to announce the birth of Isaac, another is sent to destroy Sodom, and a third is sent to rescue Lot.

Now, we know that Abraham prayed to God to spare the people of Sodom. Why? Because Abraham was a man of chesed, of loving-kindness. He cared about other people, even people whose values were completely opposed to his own.

And the people of Sodom were the exact opposite of Abraham.

When they discovered that strangers were staying in Lot’s home, they surrounded the house and demanded that Lot bring the strangers outside. They wanted to sexually assault and brutalize them.

Remember, they had no idea these strangers were angels.

Lot tried desperately to protect his guests. He even offered his own daughters to the mob, a deeply troubling offer. But the people of Sodom were interested only in abusing the strangers.

This tells us something about the society in which Lot had chosen to live.

Why did Lot move to Sodom in the first place?

Because it was prosperous!

The land was fertile, the grazing was excellent, and the region was economically successful. Lot saw an opportunity to become wealthy, and he took it.

But there was one major problem.

Sodom had economic prosperity without morality.

And that is a very dangerous combination.

The twentieth-century economist Friedrich Hayek, who was himself an agnostic, recognized the importance of moral traditions and institutions in sustaining a free society. Economic freedom cannot survive indefinitely without a moral framework.

And that brings us back to Lot.

The angels warn Lot that God is about to destroy Sodom. They tell him to leave immediately.

But Lot hesitates.

He doesn’t want to leave.

Think about that for a moment. He knows the city is going to be destroyed, and yet he cannot bring himself to abandon it.

Finally, the angels have to take him and his family by the hand and lead them out.

They are given one very specific instruction: Do not look back.

But Lot’s wife looks back, and she becomes a pillar of salt.

Why did she look back?

Perhaps because she missed the life she had in Sodom. She missed her home, her possessions, her social position, and the prosperity she had enjoyed.

She could not let go of a society that was destroying itself.

And this is a lesson that has repeated itself throughout history.

Think about the Jews of Germany before World War II.

Many German Jews were deeply integrated into German society. They considered themselves Germans. Germany was a country of great culture, philosophy, science, and music.

Many could not believe that such a civilized country could descend into barbarism.

Even as the Nazis came to power and antisemitic persecution intensified, some continued to believe that things would eventually improve.

Of course, we must remember that many Jews desperately wanted to escape but were unable to find countries willing to accept them.

Nevertheless, the tragedy reminds us how difficult it can be to recognize that the world we have known is disappearing.

And we see another warning in our own time.

For years, there were people who believed that Hamas could be moderated, that economic incentives and political arrangements would prevent it from committing atrocities.

Then came October 7.

There is a particularly disturbing contrast between the Nazis and Hamas. The Nazis attempted to conceal much of their systematic murder of the Jews. Hamas terrorists, on the other hand, openly filmed and publicized atrocities committed during their attack.

The lesson is that we must take evil seriously. We cannot simply assume that people who openly express murderous intentions will never act upon them.

And that brings us back to Lot.

Lot should have understood long before the destruction that he was living in the wrong place.

He had chosen his neighbors because of their wealth rather than their character.

And those neighbors influenced him and his family.

Now look at how Lot’s story ends.

After escaping Sodom, he finds himself living in a cave with his two daughters.

His daughters, apparently believing that there are no other men available to continue the human race, get their father drunk and have relations with him. Both become pregnant.

Think about the tragedy of Lot.

He began as a wealthy man, living in one of the most prosperous regions of the world.

He chose Sodom because he wanted economic success.

But what did he end up with?

He lost his home. He lost his wealth. He lost his wife. And his family was left morally devastated.

Lot chose prosperity over morality, and in the end, he lost both.

That is the great lesson of this week’s parsha.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be successful. There is nothing wrong with making money. Judaism certainly does not condemn wealth.

But wealth cannot be the sole consideration in deciding where we live, whom we associate with, or what kind of society we want to build.

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

And when we see a society descending into evil, we must have the courage to recognize what is happening rather than pretending that everything will somehow work out.

Abraham understood that morality comes first.

Lot learned that lesson far too late.

And that is something for all of us to think about.

One of the most important lessons from this week’s Parsha is that in order to improve the world we must first improve ourselves.

A Quick Dvar Torah – Parshat Vayera

Changing the World Begins with Changing Ourselves

Good morning. And now for a quick Dvar Torah.

This week’s parsha, Vayera, begins with a fascinating story about Abraham.

Abraham is sitting outside his tent. According to our Sages, it is the third day after his bris milah, his circumcision, traditionally considered the most painful day. Abraham is 99 years old, and God has made the weather extremely hot so that nobody will be traveling. God wants Abraham to rest and recover.

But Abraham is distressed. Why? Because he has no guests!

Hospitality was so important to Abraham that even while recovering from surgery, he was upset that he had nobody to welcome into his home.

So God sends three angels, appearing as ordinary travelers.

Now, here’s where the story becomes particularly interesting.

God Himself is visiting Abraham. In fact, our Sages teach that God came to perform the mitzvah of bikur cholim, visiting the sick.

But then Abraham sees three strangers approaching his tent. And what does he do?

He essentially tells God, “Excuse me. I have some guests to take care of. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Think about that for a moment!

You’re having a conversation with God Himself, and you put God on hold because three strangers are walking by and you want to offer them something to eat!

What an extraordinary lesson.

The Talmud, in Shabbat 127a, teaches that welcoming guests is even greater than receiving the Divine Presence.

And there are two important messages here.

First, we learn how important visiting the sick is. After all, if God Himself visits Abraham while he’s recovering, shouldn’t we follow His example?

Second, we learn that helping another human being can take precedence even over speaking directly with God.

But there’s another lesson here that I think is equally important.

Abraham was an extraordinarily holy man. He had a direct relationship with God. Yet he never withdrew from society.

He didn’t say, “I’m a holy person. I have no time for ordinary people and their problems.”

Quite the opposite!

He was actively involved in the world around him.

And that is a fundamental Jewish concept.

In some religious traditions, people seeking holiness withdraw from society. They become monks, retreat to mountaintops, meditate, and separate themselves from everyday life.

But that is not the Jewish ideal.

Judaism teaches us to live in the world, participate in society, raise families, work, help others, and make the world a better place.

And that brings us to another important idea: Tikkun Olam, repairing the world.

We hear that expression all the time today.

People talk about changing society, demonstrating for causes, and correcting all the problems they see around them.

Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with being concerned about society’s problems. We should care about the environment. We shouldn’t pollute. We should care about other people.

But there’s something that often gets overlooked.

Before you can change the world, you have to begin by changing yourself.

There’s a well-known story, often attributed to the Chofetz Chaim, that illustrates this beautifully.

When he was a young man, he wanted to change the entire world.

As he grew older, he realized that perhaps changing the world was too ambitious. So he decided he would change his community.

Later, he thought, perhaps I should concentrate on changing my family.

And finally, when he was an old man, he came to a realization.

The person he really needed to change was himself.

And that is an extraordinarily important lesson.

We spend so much time worrying about what everybody else is doing wrong. We worry about society, politics, the environment, and all the problems of the world.

But how often do we stop and ask ourselves a very simple question?

Am I a better person today than I was yesterday?

Am I more honest? Am I more considerate? Am I more patient? Do I speak more respectfully to other people?

And here’s something else.

When you improve yourself, you influence the people around you.

Let me give you a simple example.

Suppose you’re in a group of people who regularly use obscene language. But you make it a point never to use that kind of language yourself.

You don’t lecture anybody. You don’t demonstrate. You don’t tell everybody else how they should behave.

You simply set an example.

And you know what happens?

People begin to notice. Some may even become uncomfortable using that language around you. Without saying a word, you’ve influenced their behavior.

You’ve made your little corner of the world a better place.

And that brings us back to Abraham.

Abraham didn’t become holy by separating himself from humanity. He became holy by bringing holiness into everyday life.

He welcomed strangers. He fed the hungry. He cared about other people. And through his own behavior, he taught others how to live.

That is the Jewish way.

We don’t improve the world simply by telling everybody else what they should do.

We improve the world by becoming better people ourselves and setting an example for others.

So perhaps the lesson of this week’s parsha is very simple.

Before you ask, “How can I change the world?” ask yourself, “How can I change myself?”

Because when you become a better person, the world around you becomes a little better too.

And that’s where Tikkun Olam really begins.

Something to think about.

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.