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
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