Parashat Ve'Yetze: Gen. 28:10 - 32:3

Seven is a significant number – in Judaism in general and in Genesis in particular. And the seventh portion proves to be both unique and holly, as its number suggests.

Jabob’s Ladder

The portion opens with a brief, though dramatic return of God - that same figure that was at the center, or was the center, of the first several portions and then withered away – through the wonderful story of Jacob's Ladder. This magical dream, where a ladder stands on the ground "and its head reaches the heavens, and there the Angels of God climb up and down on it" (Gen. 28:12), is one of the most multi-faceted apparition in a book where dreams play major role. Indeed, generations of interpreters found hidden meanings in that story and the Kaballah adopted its text as one of its earliest tenets.

To me, however, the seventh portion is unique in that it demonstrates, in astonishing detail, the next twenty years in the life of Jacob – the Third Father of our nation who gave birth to the twelve sons (and one daughter) who later became the twelve tribes of Israel.

Jabob’s Journey

A quick reminder: After being blessed (erroneously) by his father, Jaboc hears word that his brother Esau is somewhat dissatisfied. Or, as the text puts it – and I paraphrase – “as soon as the mourning days will pass on my father, I will kill my brother.” (Gen. 27:41). This murder plan is astonishing, in particular since Isaac (the father) is not even dead yet. But Esau can’t be bothered with niceties: He is so furious about the act of stealing his Birthright that he already plans ahead, beyond his father’s death. (A brownie point here to readers who identify themes from the first murder of a younger brother by his elder, several portions back.) Hearing of his plan, Rivkah, the wise mother who always supported Jacob over his brother, comes up with an ingenious solutions: Jacob would go to her brother, Laban (whom we met earlier, in the story of Isaac’s slave who came to select her as a wife), who lives far enough to escape Esau’s ire. Yet, like every smart woman, she wants to present the plan to Isaac in a way that he, Isaac, would think that it was his idea. So we find the following amusing and over-dramatized dialogue: (Gen. 27:46-28:2)

“And Rebecca said to Isaac: I have no more use of my life, all due to the daughters of Chat – if Jacob were to take a wife from the daughters of Chat, like the other daughters of this country, what point does my life have anymore? And Isaac called Jacob and blessed him and ordered him and said: You shall not take a wife from the daughters of Knaan; get up and go …. [away] and take a wife from the daughters of Laban, your mother’s brother.”

And so we finally come to the beginning of our portion, where Jacob begins his journey in the opposite direction of his grandfather’s – who came all the way from Aram (roughly Iraq) to Israel – in order to find a wife. Recall that Abraham, said grandfather, did not send his son there to find a wife, but used a slave to “import” Rivkah. Jacob is not that lucky, however, and he’s going there by foot, all by himself, and without any property.

Think for a moment of this “tent-dweller,” an ancient-world chef who focused until now on cooking and talking with the women in the tent. Not much navigation skills. Not many hours hiking and hunting for food. Yet he’s now bound to walk all the way through the early Middle-East to find the right woman (and escape his brother revenge).

The text tells us nothing about the journey, other than the dream about the Ladder; the next time we encounter Jacob is when he meets his future wife, Rachel. And what a meeting that is. [Thanks to Meir Shalev for introducing this idea.] Imagine that: A bunch of three lazy goat-herders are awaiting in the sun by the big well in the field. They don’t water their herds – they can’t, as the stone covering the well is too large; only when all the goat herders assemble they can move away the stone together. [An economic analysis of this arrangement led to new thinking about collective bargaining and the “tragedy of the commons”; but that’s for another time.] Jacob, gathering information, finds out that Rachel, the son of Laban (his mother’s brother), is about to appear any moment – she’s also a goat herder, and she’s coming to water her sheep. Jacob is puzzled: why are all of you sitting here doing nothing? The day is far from over, and you can go and herd your sheep. [Perhaps he wants the place for himself, to be alone with Rachel.] But the lazy herders respond: No, we’re not going anywhere; we have to wait until all the herders come along before we can water the sheep. (Gen. 29: 1-8)

The Arrival of Rachel

After setting the scene, “while he’s still talking to them” [Job, anyone?] Rachel arrives. And what an entrance it that. Recall that the biblical text loves to praise the beauty of our mothers – Sarah was so beautiful that of all the women in Egypt the King wanted her to himself; Rivkah was so beautiful that Isaac, just like his father, preferred to lie about her than to be killed by another king who wanted her (Avimelech). But Rachel is in another league: She was so beautiful, that the text gushes: “And Rachel was both beautiful (Yefat Toar) and a feast to the eyes (Yefat Mareh).” (Gen. 29:17)

So Rachel, and her sheep, moves slowly into the field. Instead of introducing himself, Jacob then performs a series of four amazing deeds, each intends to impress his future wife in a different way: (1) First, on his own, this “tent-dweller” who just finished a very difficult single traverse of the ancient Middle-East, lifts the huge stone over the well – without any help from the other herders; he then (2) waters only the herd of Rachel, lest there be doubt as for whom did he perform this Herculean task; he then (3) kisses Rachel, no doubt to her great amazement – he still didn’t utter a word, while she is still shocked by the single-handed feat she just witnessed (I doubt if anyone has ever even tried that before; the stone probably looked like no one should try to lift it on his own); and then, yet another twist: (4) Jacob begins crying and sobbing (yes; he just broke the world-record of Strong-Man, and now he’s weeping like a baby). Only then, finally, Jacob tells Rachel: I’m actually your relative, your uncle – or, more accurately, your cousin, the son of Rivkah, your father’s sister. (Gen. 29: 9-13) Can she not fall in love with this man-for-all-women?

She does, and he falls in love too. He then works seven years for her, during which he is not allowed to touch her. [All you “first-date action fans” out there, think about that for a moment: Not for a month, not for a year, not even for five years – Seven whole years and they never materialized their love.] Yet Jacobs utters one of the most romantic statements of all times when he summarizes this period: And those days were “as several days passed by as he loved her so.” (Gen. 29:20)

Laban, the sneaky Uncle, does everything is his powers to deny Jacob of his prized love. Even after the seven years are up he cheats Jabob into marrying Leah, Rachel’s elder sister. (“This shall not be done in our place,” he explains to his shocked nephew, “taking the younger sister prior to her elder.” (Gen. 29:26)). And he makes Jacob work seven more years for Rachel, and six more for some sheep. But love concurs all, and Jacob leaves Laban pretty much the opposite of how he came to him: not alone – but married to two women and having many children; not penniless – but rich and famous. Not a young man – but a grown person in his full powers.

Jabob’s Monologue

Laban, who envies the man who came to him barefoot and alone twenty years earlier, can’t bear the thought he’s leaving him with both his daughters and so much property (despite the fact he worked for them for twenty years). He chases Jaboc and accuses him of stealing his medicines (an interesting story that would repeat itself later with Tamar; but we can’t discuss it here). Then, in an astonishing turn, Jabob – who was silent all these years, never complained, never argued with his deceitful uncle – finally relents and delivers one of the most moving monologues in all of Genesis. Opening a narrow window into what he went through all those years, he says: (Gen. 31:38-42)

“For twenty years I have been servant to you . . . not once have I eaten from your herd; not once have I violated your property; I myself made good on any loss to your herd – whether stolen by day or stolen by night [an interesting comment on the different laws, perhaps, that applied to theft in different times of the day]. Often scorching heat ravaged me by day, and icy-freezing temperatures by night bearing sleep impossible. I have spent twenty years at your home, working all the while: Fourteen years working for your two daughters, and six years for your sheep, and you have earned my salary scores time over.”

Laban tries to argue – “the daughters are mine, and the sheep are mine, and everything you see here is mine” – but quickly suggests a pact. Jacob agrees and they part ways amicably. So comes to an end one of the most fascinating chapters in our history. Loves concurs all, and Jacob’s back on his way to Israel. Now he realizes that fraudulent Laban was merely a warm-up: His vengeful brother awaits him in Israel.

To be continued. Shabat Shalom.

Parashat Toldot: Gen. 25:19 - 28:9

The sixth portion of the week introduces us to the third and most influential Father of our nation, Jacob (later to be called Israel). Unlike Abraham and Isaac before him, the biblical text tells us much about Jacob -- from the day he was born (and even before that) until the day he dies. Thus, we receive a full and very comprehensive picture of this multifaceted twin, who grew up from being a “mother’s boy” and “tent dweller” to become one of the most influential leaders of all times.

Today I would like to make two related comments about Jacob’s nature which derive from two of the portion’s most prominent stories: The selling of the Birthright, and the act of receiving the Paternal Blessings. As I have indicated, the two are related, but reading the first more accurately may shed new light on the second.

The Selling of the Birthright

Rivkah, Isaac’s wife who was brought to him by his slave in the wonderful story told in the last portion, is barren. This is a pattern among our Mothers. Isaac “petitions” God (and that exact word – va’ya’a’tor – is used until today in Hebrew to describe a request to the Israeli Supreme Court), and God provides him and Rivkah with twins: The first-ever known red-head (Esau), and his twin brother, holding his heel (A’kev in Hebrew) – Ya’akov, roughly “he who followed his brother (out of the womb).”

While the text does not write much about the Right of the First Born (Birthright), we already know plenty of it. We have enough indications to believe it was of great importance, and carried social and economic consequences. Indeed, whenever the book of Genesis stops the story to tell us about lineage (see Chapters 5-6), the text focuses only on the first-born male, while all the other offspring are simply related to as “other boys and girls who were born to X.” Thus, only the first born is mentioned by his name, and only he is mentioned as having his own wife, with whom he had another first born who is mentioned by name, and so on and so forth. That goes to show that only the first born was considered the family safe-keeper, the one who continued the legacy, the one who received all the fame, fortune, and glory.

Now we deal, for the first time, with twins. Though very different in nature – one is an outdoors person, a hunter, while his twin is a “tent-dweller” and a “mother’s boy”– they are both of the same age. Yet only one of them would enjoy the very substantial right of being the first born. Although the text does not mention it, I am sure that Jacob, while sitting for hours and hours in his tent with his beloved mom, used to dwell on the injustice that was caused to him: Why would he (Esau) receive all the glory? We’re of the exact same age!

And so Jacob begins to plot his revolutionary – no less – idea. He would buy back his Birthright. The readers must understand how subversive, original, and brilliant – all attributes we meet again later with Jacob – this idea is. Birthright is acquired through biology. Just like Royalty in England, this was the Law of the Land for years, and there was nothing that could be done to challenge it. While today we mock and reject such arrangements explicitly (see the U.S. Const. Art. I § 9: “No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States”), it is still worthy to consider the simplicity and economy of such a rule for ancient societies: “The first-born (male) gets it all. No argument.” While arbitrary in nature, this rule is fair in that it applies equally to all families; it prevents many intra-family feuds as to who deserve to receive most of the inheritance; and it simplifies the otherwise very complex laws of inheritance.

But what is the law of twins? Jacob, who lives at a time when the Supreme Court is not yet functioning (notice his complete disregard of God as a source of restoring justice in this case), decides to take matters into his own hands.

While Esau returns from one of his many days-long (and perhaps weeks) journeys, possibly without any game – as many hunters would tell you – tired, frustrated, and very hungry (recall that McDonalds and other fast-food joints were not in existence then), Jacob makes sure he would smell his delicious stew. Now note that it is Esau who asks Jacob – and not the other way – to taste from this heavenly gourmet dish: “Fill me up with this red, oh so red thing, as I am tired now.” (Gen. 26:30; note that red in Hebrew is Adom, and the text explains that the Adomites, an important people who are descendants of Esau, are called that way because of this Adom.) Jacob agrees, but not before he asks Esau for something huge in return: “Sell me today your Birthright.” Esau, exhausted, hungry, and frustrated, agrees: “Here I am, about to die – why would I need my Birthright any longer? And Esau swore to him, and he sold his Birthright to Jacob. And Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew.” (Gen. 26: 32-34)

What’s shocking to me is not the act of the sale itself, but the audacity and originality of its originator. Before that, the sale of intangible rights in not even mentioned anywhere in the text – Jacob had to come up with the idea all by himself. There were no institutions (like courts) that could enforce such a sale, and – as far as we know – the act had no witnesses. Still, Jacob decides to correct what he sees as prolonged injustice and to get his Birthright though sale. (When we look at the current crisis in the banking system, and can’t believe what these people bought and sold – fractions of insolvent mortgages – we may look back to Genesis and see where it all began. This comment is dedicated with love to the reader Lalo).

The Blessing from Father Isaac

The story of Jacob cheating his father to receive the blessing of the first born is well known in Halacha. In fact, the text itself tells us – from Isaac’s mouth – that “[Jacob] came to me with trickery and took your blessing.” (Gen. 27:35). Until today, when well-read Israelis want to say that something doesn’t feel right, they quote Father Isaac’s suspicious call: “The voice is the voice of Jacob, yet the hands are the hands of Esau.” (Gen. 27:22; I highly recommend you read the entire text, there.)

But did Jacob really trick his Father? Wasn’t there something much deeper going on? To me, all that happened here is the Jacob, many years after buying the Birthright – an declaratory gesture, without much meaning during the father’s lifetime – comes now to cash the check and receive the actual blessings (and all of its consequences). He feels he deserves that. He feels that the blessing directly derives from his purchase act of many years earlier. Therefore, the “big and loud cry, bitter and wild” that Esau made when he realized the trick, complaining that Jacob tricked him twice: “he took my Birthright and now my blessings” (it’s much better in Hebrew) – is not convincing. The two are one – you get the blessing because you have the Birthright, and vice-versa. Now that Jacob earned his birthright fair and square, in a purchase, he can enjoy all the accompanied rights.

Note that Isaac, the father, who learns about the trick, doesn’t even consider to “un-do” his blessing, to cancel it due to the fact it was made by fraud. Today this is probably what a court of law would do. But back then, what’s done is done, and there’s no turning back. That was the case with the sale of the Birthright, and that was the case with the blessing – both belong now to Jacob.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Chayey Sarah Gen.: 23:1 - 25:18

The fifth portion of the week – Chay’ey Sarah (The Life of Sarah) – is almost a comic relief in comparison to the first four. “Comic?” you may ask, “how could you say that? Both Sarah and Abraham die in the portion. What is so comic about that?” Well, no disrespect here: While it is true that they both die, they do so at the very old age – well over a hundred and twenty years (which is nothing compared to the first lineage described in Genesis, where eight and nine hundred years were no exception, but still extremely old); they both lived long and fulfilling lives; and they died among their family and friends (most probably). That, of course, is not the comic-relief part of the portion (hence the “almost” in my opening sentence).

The comic relief, if you will, is in the fact the God is almost completely missing from the portion. After being at the epicenter of each of the first four portions, the fifth offers us something much more mundane, though equally fascinating: human life. Indeed, this week’s potion is all about people – the soap-opera version of the bible, if you will – without much God involved. No flood, no burning of a city, no punishments, but also no creation of the Universe, no moral lessons, no intervention. Instead, we find the cycle of life and death, family values, falling in love, wooing rituals, a bit of Freudian psychology, and marriage. This is what this portion has to offer, and in that sense, it is a very welcome comic relief (or respite) from the previous four. No divine drama; only human drama.

To sum up the story: Sarah dies; Abraham negotiates for a burial ground in Israel; Abraham is extremely preoccupied with finding a suitable bride to his son Isaac (whom he nearly just killed); Abraham’s slave goes out to find Rebecca; Rebecca and Issac get married (actually, the whole idea of marriage is quite complicated at the time, but, for simplicity sake, let us assume they got married), Abraham dies; both his sons – Isaac and Ishmael – burry him. End of story. End of an era.

The “Life of Sarah” – An Ironic Title?

The first four portions bore strong relations to their titles: Be’re’shit (in the beginning), Noah, Lech Lecha (Go, go away), Va’yeera (“And God was seen to him”). But the fifth presents somewhat of a conundrum: The title is “The Life of Sarah,” but the portion actually begins with her death. How can that be? The answer is simpler than one might assume. The title of the portion are not selected after careful examination of its content and then vetting of the best one or two words to represent it. Rather, the title is simply the first (meaningful) word or words in every portion. Recall that the division to verses and portions, and the actual naming of the portions, is a much later ritual than the (divine?) writing of the text itself.

So, the portion opens with the notice of Sarah’s death, at the age of 127 years. [An elegant, though not entirely authentic, interpretive effort was made here by the JTS translation: “Sarah’s lifetime – the span of Sarah’s life – came to one hundred and twenty seen years.” Gen. 23:1] So, is the title truly a complete coincidence, and has nothing to do with Sarah’s life? Not quite. In two very important ways, the portion is, in fact, about Sarah. But before we get to that, a word about the age in which she dies, which may provide us with a clue as to this week’s title: that same number – 127 – appears again as the number of countries in which an ancient king holds court in the very first verse of The Book of Esther – another very impressive woman in Jewish history.

Sarah’s Burial

And, indeed, despite her death this portion could not be more aptly named. First, Sarah’s burial, and the negotiation over her burial grounds, occupies a great deal of the portion – and rightly so. Abraham insists to bury her in Hebron, in Israel, and not where he came from. The great detail in which the text describes every move here suggest that this was the exception. Indeed, a careful reading shows the “burial ground” careful negotiation as a real legal tug of war. In short, Abraham knew that despite his inferior status as “a foreign resident” (or a “resident alien,” as nicely translated by JTS, Gen. 23:4), the way to first buy and own land in the new country – and therefore to make the first steps towards future ownership on the land as a whole – would be through his wife’s burial ground. Who would refuse to sell a parcel of land to bury the wife of a very rich foreigner?

Well, the locals were far from stupid. Knowing that buying the land would constitute an irreversible step, they “kindly” offer him to take the land for free – a symbolic gesture, that would not grant him with any ownership title (apparently), but only “a right of passage” to use the land for burial and visit his loved wife’s grave. “Not so fast,’ insists Abraham, I want to buy it “for the full price.” (Gen. 23:9) Indeed, Abraham is willing to pay a lot of money to enter the selective club of land-owners in Israel. Well, again – the locals are far from stupid. By the time the negotiation reaches the designated place – Me’arat Ha’machpella in Hebron, a place that today, as then, was a great source of tension between Jews and Arabs – it becomes public. Statements are made for the ears of the crowd. The drama intensifies. Efron insists, again – “No, my lord, hear me: I give you the field and I give the cave that is in it; I give to you in the presence of my people; bury your dead.” (Gen. 23:11). When Abraham insists, Efron retorts with the unforgettable “between you and me,” what is 400 shekels? (23:15). Now, it is important to understand that this was a fantastic, truly fantastic sum. (Meir Shalev writes beautifully on this public drama in the fields in his classic “bible now.”)

Now imagine the staging for a minute: A great crowd – all locals – is gathered, standing between the two people; the local land owner, after consulting with his advisors, publicly dares Abraham to either receive the land for free (no rights), or buy it for the equivalent of 400 million dollars. The foreigner, on the other side, is aided by no one (other than his God, of course). He says nothing. He turns to his slaves, and within short order “weighs” each of the four hundred silver coins to Efron, the land owner. The crowd disperses, speaking of this amazing sum of money which they have never seen before.

So it was in her death that Sarah enabled her husband – and, as a result, the entire Jewish People – to become land owners in Israel. Not conquerors, buyers. That is the right way to own a new land.

Sarah’s Legacy

But Sarah’s spirit is all over this week’s portion in another, very important aspect. The entire story of the Selection of Rebecca as Isaac’s wife is a true story of (what is known today as) “girls’ power,” or true feminism. To begin with, Abraham understands, before he dies, that while he would not be able to amend his relationships with the son he already tied to the woods, he needs to find him a proper wife – the most important last task before he himself dies. Second, the slave that Abraham sends – after encountering the “extremely good looking virgin,” which, to eliminate any doubt, “no man has ever known,” (Gen. 24:16) – meets her brother, Laban. Now this Laban guy would cause a lot of problems to our third Father, Jacob. But even now we get a flavor of his crafty ways. Right after noticing all the jewelry and gold that his younger sister received from the slave, he becomes extremely friendly to the slave, who then describes his master’s wealth in great details. Laban happily agrees that his sister would wed into this rich family (not much has changed since), but when the time to leave arrives, he (Laban) suddenly comes up with what later becomes his trademark – a nasty delay tactic: “let the girl sit with us some days, or ten, and then she would come with you.” [Importantly, the “ten” may also be interpreted as a decade.] (Gen. 24:55) This, of course, is presumably done to raise her price – “you want her now, you pay more. Nobody said anything about now.” But the slave insists. He wants to leave now (before his master dies). Laban, pressured, thinks of a creative solution. There’s no chance, he thinks, that the girl – until now completely ousted from the process – would like to leave with a complete stranger, a slave at that, to marry someone she never even met in a foreign country. “Here is the solution,” thinks Laban, “let’s make her say she doesn’t want to go, and this would be over.”

And thus comes one of the most famous – and surprising – feminist statements in all times, from none other than the most conniving, hypocrite persons of all the bible: “Why won’t we call the girl and see what she wants?” [or, more traditionally translated: “Let us call the girl and ask for her reply.” Gen. 24:57] So, the text continues in great detail, they did went to call her – she wasn’t even there while all this was taking place – and asked her “would you go with that man?” (marriage ceremony, anyone?). Her beautiful answer, only one word in Hebrew, without any hesitation is “I will.” This is Sarah’s heritage. This is the true “life of Sarah.”

Parashat Va'yee'ra: Gen. 18:1 - 22:24

The fourth portion of the week – Va’yee’ra (which means, more or less, that God revealed himself to Abraham) – is as famous as the first three [which, perhaps, are the most famous portions of all], primarily for two reasons: The first relates to Abraham’s emotional call to God, imploring him to do what is right with a city full of sinners; the second relates to Abraham’s silence in the face of God’s order to sacrifice his first born.

Today I will not dwell on Isaac’s A’ke’da – the story of the binding – as it is too deep to cover in the framework of this blog. Suffice is it to say that this story is regarded by many as the supreme point of God’s worship, while by others as Abraham’s lowest point as a human-being. Be it as it may, anyone who is remotely interested in understanding Genesis must read each of the 20 verses [Gen. 22:1-19] slowly and carefully; ask yourself who or what is participating in this drama (including the two helpers, the donkey, the fire torch, the slaughtering knife, the woods, the angels, and the ram), and what is each’s role; note the textual tool-kit (on which we said a few words last time); and finally, ask yourself how are the two hardly-speaking protagonists – the father and his son – were feeling throughout. If you have kids, try and imagine how would you feel during those three days.

But enough with the binding. The two quick notes I wanted to make this week relate to, first, the famous cry by Abraham to God about doing what is right, or just; the second relate to hospitality in the ancient world.

Abraham and Constitutional Due Process

Genesis 18:25 is one of the most shocking, dramatic, and nearly impossible-to-translate verses in the entire Bible. Here is Abraham – who says nothing when God orders him to go and sacrifice his own beloved son – arguing ferociously with God who wants to kill a bunch of sinners in Sodom and Gomorrah, a group of people Abraham has likely never seen before (although, it should be mentioned, his nephew Lot lives there).

As you may recall, a very interesting argument – or is it negotiation? – ensues, where Abraham asks God to take pity on the town if He can find 50 righteous people there, and God agrees; then Abraham lowers his offer to 40, and God agrees again; to 30; to 20; and finally, to 10 (but not lower). God agrees, and the two parties go their own ways. [Gen. 18: 22-33]

In the heart of this negotiations stand Abraham’s call to God. In Hebrew, the words are:

“Chalila Le’cha, Ha’shofet Kol Ha’Aretz Lo Ya’ase Mishpat?” [Gen. 18:25] [according to JPS translation, just for general knowledge, the translation is: “Far be it from you! Shall not the judge of all the earth deal justly?”].

Not surprisingly, I could not find any translation – among the ten offered on bible.cc or otherwise – that comes close to the original. The first thing to note here is the Abraham warns God – “Ch’alila Le’cha,” which, by today’s standard would easily be interpreted – if it weren’t for God – as “I dare you!” Now, none of the interpreters – nine of them opting for the vague “far from thee” – would have imagined such a provocative statement from the first “true believer” to his own God. But it gets better. The rest of this famous call is usually interpreted as a call for justice of some sort (“do right,” or “do justice” are the most common terms used by English translators.) But the actual words are more refined: Abraham does not warn God from not doing the right thing; he warns him – as the Judge of the entire universe – to bring down the punishment before having a trial.

Indeed, according to a contextual reading, Abraham was not afraid that God “forgot” what’s wrong and what’s right; he was afraid that God would not act like a judge, but rather as a jury and an executioner.

Let us take a quick look why. Before this famous discussion begins, in a little-noted verse, God mentions in his blessing to Abraham the important fact that he – Abraham – will keep the ways of God by doing “Tzdaka Umishpat” – that is, will do both compassionate deeds (T’zdakah) but will also keep the law (Mishpat). This tension between the letter of the law (known in Mishna as Midat Ha’Din) and the compassionate side (known as Midat Ha’ra’chamim) has been one of the greatest trademark of Jewish thinking throughout the ages.

Only a few minutes after that blessing, God intends to do neither: There is no mention of any compassionate thought of the people of Sodom; and there is not trial either. They are simply sentenced to die. (Or are they? The text doesn’t make it clear, at all, how did Abraham come to learn on God’s plan to kill all those people; but this is less important. See Gen. 18:21).

And here is where Abraham is getting frustrated. Where is the compassion? Where is the law? And he warns God (and this is the entire verse, my translation): “I dare you to do such a thing, killing a righteous man with a wicked man – and thus making the righteous as the wicked; I dare you – shall the Judge of the entire Universe not hold trial?”

While this interpretation may seems, at first blush, procedural (primarily to the non-lawyer readers of this blog), please recall that many constitutions, including the American, see Due Process as one of their cornerstones, and for a good reason.

Thus, Abraham wanted to make sure that Sodom’s people – yes, they too – get a fair shake (or a fair trial) before they are sentenced. And he served as their lawyer, and an excellent one at that. That makes me, personally, more proud of the Father of my People than the more conventional interpretation.

A Word on Hospitality

On a lighter note, it is hard not to notice the special care the text takes in informing us what type of food – but exactly what kind – Abraham prepared for his uninvited guests. [Gen. 18:6-8]. Similarly, we hear of the special measures taken by Lot to host and defend his own two uninvited guests – he was willing to sacrifice his two virgin daughters to the mob, if only they would leave his guests alone. [For a fascinating description, read 19:4-11]

These two stories come to show, in my mind, how important hospitality was in ancient times. Until today, many middle-eastern tribes will welcome you as a king – invited or uninvited – if you come across their land to visit. This is true even – and perhaps especially – for an enemy. If an enemy comes to visit, and he’s found on the tribe’s territory, he (or she) will be treated like royalty, and would not be hurt, until they leave.

Some food for thought for today’s world leaders.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron