Here's my short thought- there are so many layers to our world, and we see so few of them. For example, until van Leeuwenhoek invented the microscope, we had no ability to see germs, even though they were always there.
Similarly, in a scene in this chapter and a scene with the Prophet Bilam, something is there all along, but our protagonists do not see it until God literally opens up their eyes.
31 Then the LORD opened the eyes of Balaam, and he saw the angel of the LORD standing in the way, with his sword drawn in his hand; and he bowed his head, and fell on his face.
The Hebrew words are different, and it would be worthwhile to look at a concordance to figure out when the word פקח is typically used as opposed to גלה. Opening is likely different from revealing. But in both scenes, it seems clear that something was there all along (a well, an angel) and it was simply a matter of revealing what was already there to our befuddled protagonists.
This reminds all of us that "there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
When I learned this perek at other times, I typically thought about it through the lens of the individual. I wondered why Abraham would resort to the same ruse that failed in the past, and compared Avimelech's responses to that of Pharaoh. However, this time I came to realize that the placement of this chapter is incredibly important because it is intended to show both Abraham and the reader how God's justice works.
We see this almost from the get-go. When Avimelech realizes that the woman he has taken is another man's wife, he speaks to God and says (Genesis 20:4)
4 Now Abimelech had not come near her; and he said: 'LORD, wilt Thou slay even a righteous nation?
There is a very strong echo here to an earlier scene with Abraham. Specifically, it is the scene in which Abraham pleads for Sodom and Gomorrah (Chapter 18).
24 Peradventure there are fifty righteous within the city; wilt Thou indeed sweep away and not forgive the place for the fifty righteous that are therein?
25 That be far from Thee to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the wicked, that so the righteous should be as the wicked; that be far from Thee; shall not the Judge of all the earth do justly?'
The cry that Abraham espouses- "Shall not the Judge of all the earth do justly?" is echoed by Avimelech. "I didn't know," Avimelech claims. "I acted in the innocence of my heart and with clean hands. I ought to be judged fairly!"
(A point of interest is that God agrees that he acted in the innocence of his heart but not with clean hands. That part is omitted from the answering verse.
5 Said he not himself unto me: She is my sister? and she, even she herself said: He is my brother. In the simplicity of my heart and the innocency of my hands have I done this.'
6 And God said unto him in the dream: 'Yea, I know that in the simplicity of thy heart thou hast done this, and I also withheld thee from sinning against Me. Therefore suffered I thee not to touch her.
Why isn't Abimelech considered to have acted with clean hands?
Rashi comments to this and explains that while it is true Abimelech originally took Sarah innocently, not having known she was another man's wife, it is only Godly intervention that prevents him from consorting with her. As becomes clear later in the chapter, Abimelech and all of his court are stricken with some kind of ailment that stops up women's wombs and renders them infertile (Genesis 20:18).)
Here is the important part. Once Abimelech recognizes that God has brought this plague upon him, he does the right thing and relinquishes Sarah. But not without a parting shot- note the following odd phrase:
And to Sarah he said, “I herewith give your brother a thousand pieces of silver; this will serve you as a covering of the eyes before all who are with you, and you are cleared before everyone.”
There are several different interpretations as to what Avimelech means when he talks about giving Sarah money "as a covering of the eyes" before all who are with you. However, some commentators interpret that Abraham and Sarah blindedAbimelech and kept him from seeing clearly by pretending to be sister and brother. Therefore, an angry Avimelech curses Sarah (see the Torah Temimah) and eventually the curse comes true. כסות עינים. א"ר יצחק, לעולם אל תהא ברכת הדיוט קלה בעיניך, שהרי אבימלך קלל את שרה ונתקיים בזרעה, שנאמר הנה הוא לך כסות עינים, אמר לה, הואל וכסית ממני שהוא אישך וגרמת לי הצער הזה, יהי רצון שיהיו לך בני כסויי עינים, ונתקיים בזרעה, שנאמר ביצחק (פ' תולדות) ותכהין עיניו מראות י. (ב"ק צ"ג א')
There is another scene just prior in whichblindness was referenced. This is the famous scene where the angels come to Sodom and Gomorah and the members of the city want Lot to give them over to be sodomized. Lot tries to argue with the mob and offers them his virgin daughters in lieu of his guests but the people of Sodom press him and say they will do worse to him. They attempt to break down the door.
Then the angels cause blindness to fall upon every single one of them (which, if we are paralleling our two scenes, would be the equivalent to Avimelech and his entire court being unable to bear children).
This is the moment at which the people of Sodom can choose to see the hand of God at work or choose to refuse it. They can decide to give up on their desire to sodomize the men, recognizing that God (or more precisely, His angels) have forbidden them to do it. This is what Abimelech does in our scene- recognizing that something mysterious and miraculous is in play, he speaks to God, speaks to Abraham, makes reparations to Sarah and relinquishes her.
But this is NOT what the people of Sodom do. They are stubborn and they will refuse to recognize God's intervention- quite literally if it kills them.
11 And they smote the men that were at the door of the house with blindness, both small and great; so that they wearied themselves to find the door.
Those three words ought to shock you. When these people are blinded, a completely supernatural event, their reaction is NOT, like Abimelech, to give up on the pursuit. They do not make reparations, pay Lot, pay the guests they have tried to seize (exactly as Abimelech took Sarah)- no, they simply keep on grasping for the door and they only give up when they have literally become so weary that they have to.
It is only AFTER this event that the angels turn to Lot and say
12 And the men said unto Lot: 'Hast thou here any besides? son-in-law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whomsoever thou hast in the city; bring them out of the place;
13for we will destroy this place, because the cry of them is waxed great before the LORD; and the LORD hath sent us to destroy it.'
What then do we learn from this?
We learn that this was actually a test.
Abimelech passed the test but the men of Sodom failed.
Here's the test, in short: Someone who is not quite who you think they are (an angel disguised as a man, a wife who appears merely to be someone's sister) appears in your place of residence. You either take them or try to take them. You are stricken by a mysterious plague (literal blindness or a plague caused by the fact that you were blind to the truth of the situation). Do you recognize God's hand in these events and immediately attempt to make reparations? Or do you deny God's role completely?
If you're Abimelech, you recognize God. Thus, you pass the test. You demonstrate there is at least some fear of God in your land.
If you're the Sodomites, you refuse to recognize God. You fail the test. You and your city are totally destroyed.
Here's why it matters- because Abraham bears witness to it. He sees a situation in which God does allow someone who did wrong but who later made reparations to be saved. Indeed, he is the agent that helps it to happen because he prays on Avimelech's behalf (Genesis 20:17).
Where else do we see someone praying on a monarch's behalf?
27 And Pharaoh sent, and called for Moses and Aaron, and said unto them: 'I have sinned this time; the LORD is righteous, and I and my people are wicked.
29 And Moses said unto him: 'As soon as I am gone out of the city, I will spread forth my hands unto the LORD; the thunders shall cease, neither shall there be any more hail; that thou mayest know that the earth is the LORD'S.
ל וְאַתָּה, וַעֲבָדֶיךָ: יָדַעְתִּי--כִּי טֶרֶם תִּירְאוּן, מִפְּנֵי יְהוָה אֱלֹהִים.
30 But as for thee and thy servants, I know that ye will not yet fear the LORD God.'--
Notice the echoes going on in this scene. Pharaoh admits that he and his people are wicked while God is righteous and just. It seems like he is going to behave as Abimelech does and finally relinquish the people once and for all (just as Abimelech relinquishes Sarah). But Moses chides him, saying that while he will pray for him he knows that they do not truly fear God. Pharaoh and his countrymen are more similar to the people of Sodom, who will weary themselves trying to keep what they want, than Abimelech, who was willing to give it up eventually.
So what is going on in this perek? This perek is a meditation on God's justice. We learn something about how His justice works. God does not assume that everyone knows and plays by His rules from the beginning. He does, however, insist that once He brings punishment upon them (whether blindness or a plague that causes infertility) they then acknowledge His presence and relinquish what is not theirs (whether it is the men who are really angels, or the sister who is really a wife, or the slaves who are really God's chosen.) If they are willing to do this, He is merciful - as Abraham himself and we as the readers witness in this chapter. If they are unwilling...God has already shown what will happen in His destruction of Sodom.
We live in a visual culture. The aphorism "a picture speaks a thousand words" is well known. Especially today, with our emphasis on sharing information about our lives through formats like Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook (if you're my age) and even blogs, so much of what we do has to do with visual social media. If you ask people what they have found arresting of late, it's typically pictures, texts or videos.
So I found it interesting when reading this chapter that God specifically speaks about the crythat reached Him from the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. He is responding to an auditory cue, not a visual one.
A long time after that, the king of Egypt died. The Israelites were groaning under the bondage and cried out; and their cry for help from the bondage rose up to God.
God looked upon the Israelites, and God took notice of them.
What I found fascinating is that there seems to be a theme. First there is cruelty. Then God hears the voice of the victim. After hearing the voice of the victim, that is the point at which He actually goes to investigate - and that is the first visual mention. God does not need to see the degradation the people are under- the first step for Him is to hear their cry.
(Please note there are exceptions to this rule. For example, when it comes to the Flood, God saw that the wickedness of man was great on earth. Similarly, by the Tower of Babel, it is left ambiguous in that there are certain things members of the coalition say, but the first verse we have referencing God says that God came down to see what was happening. This suggests that perhaps punishment is different and more severe- or at least encapsulates more people- when God simply sees as opposed to hearing, but to investigate that concept I would need to use a concordance and look at the language used in each place in order to see whether that is indeed so. It's also possible the difference lies with whether the people are rebelling against God (breaking bein adam l'Makom) or harming one another (bein adam l'chavero).)
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in his book Lessons in Leadership: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible talks about the visual vs auditory nature of Judaism as a whole. He writes:
Ancient Greece was a visual culture, a culture of art, architecture, theatre, and spectacle. For the Greeks generally, and Plato specifically, knowing was a form of seeing. Judaism, as Freud pointed out in Moses and Monotheism, is a non-visual culture. We worship a God who cannot be seen; making sacred images, icons, is absolutely forbidden. In Judaism we do not see God; we hear God. Knowing is a form of listening. Ironically, Freud himself, deeply ambivalent though he was about Judaism, invented the listening cure in psychoanalysis: listening as therapy.
It follows that in Judaism listening is a deeply spiritual act. To listen to God is to be open to God. That is what Moses is saying throughout Deuteronomy: "If only you would listen." So it is with leadership- indeed with all forms of interpersonal relationship. Often the greatest gift we can give someone is to listen to them.
Viktor Frankl, who survived Auschwitz and went on to create a new form of psychotherapy based on "man's search for meaning," once told the story of a patient of his who phoned him in the middle of the night to tell him, calmly, that she was about to commit suicide. He kept her on the phone for two hours, giving her every conceivable reason to live. Eventually she said that she had changed her mind and would not end her life. When he next saw the woman he asked her which of his many reasons had persuaded her to change her mind. "None," she replied. "Why then did you decide not to commit suicide?" he asked. She replied that the fact that someone was prepared to listen to her for two hours in the middle of the night convinced her that life was worth living after all.
As Chief Rabbi, I was involved in resolving a number of highly intractable aguna cases, situations in which a husband was unwilling to give his wife a get so that she could remarry. We resolved all these cases not by using legal devices but by the simple act of listening: deep listening, in which we were able to convince both sides that we had heard their pain and their sense of injustice. This took many hours of total concentration and a principled absence of judgement and direction. Eventually our listening absorbed the acrimony and the couple was able to resolve its differences together. Listening is intensely therapeutic.
[...]
The deep truth behind person-centred therapy is that listening is the key virtue of the religious life. That is what Moses was saying throughout Deuteronomy. If we want God to listen to us, we have to be prepared to listen to Him. And if we learn to listen to Him, then we eventually learn to listen to our fellow humans: the silent cry of the lonely, the weak, the vulnerable, the people in existential pain.
When God appeared to King Solomon in a dream and asked him what he would like to be given, Solomon replied: lev shome'a, literally "a listening heart" to judge the people (I Kings 3:9). The choice of words is significant. Solomon's wisdom lay, at least in part, in his ability to listen, to hear the emotion behind the words, to sense what was being left unsaid as well as what was said. It is common to find leaders who speak; it is very rare to find leaders who listen. But listening often makes the difference.
-pages 252-254
What I find fascinating is that here Rabbi Sacks talks about how important listening is for us as people and as a nation. But there seems to be another aspect to listening, and that is that it is actually a form of imitatio Dei, emulating God. God listens. He hears the voice of the victim. After He hears it, He investigates it. He is the Auditory God, the God who hears as opposed to merely seeing.
And there is something really impactful about that image. The God who listens is a God who is connected. The God who sees could seem more impassive, dispassionate, looking down from on high (although interestingly, we notice in our texts that whenever God goes to investigate and see, He actually descends, going down in order to see). What becomes clear in our narrative is that no victim is forgotten- their blood cries out- they cry out- and then God investigates, looking to determine what must be done. The voices remain even when the person is gone.
There is a scene in the film 'Bruce Almighty' (see below) that shows God receiving email prayer requests, and it could not be more different from the way God is depicted in our texts. God does not simply receive all these emails (visual) but rather He actually hears the cries, the pain, the difficulty, the whispered words (auditory). It provides us with an understanding of a far more connected, loving God. He is the All-Hearing God, if you will, such that every creature may come to His attention, as opposed to the All-Seeing Odin of Norse Myth.
6And the land was not able to bear them, that they might dwell together; for their substance was great, so that they could not dwell together.
The reason this verse struck me was because it personifies the land. It suggests the land is unable to bear both Lot and Avraham. Why should this be so? The implication that immediately came to mind is that Lot might have already shown signs of problematic (or sinful) behavior. The reason I thought this might be plausible is because we later find out that the land of Israel has special properties and cannot bear sin. See Leviticus 18:24-28.
26 Ye therefore shall keep My statutes and Mine ordinances, and shall not do any of these abominations; neither the home-born, nor the stranger that sojourneth among you--
28 that the land vomit not you out also, when ye defile it, as it vomited out the nation that was before you.
I did a quick search and discovered that the only other place (at least that I could find) where the land is described as being unable to bear two people is when Jacob and Esau are referenced. This appears in Genesis 36:6-8.
6 And Esau took his wives, and his sons, and his daughters, and all the souls of his house, and his cattle, and all his beasts, and all his possessions, which he had gathered in the land of Canaan; and went into a land away from his brother Jacob.
8 And Esau dwelt in the mountain-land of Seir--Esau is Edom.
We know that Esau is seen to be a sinner, or at least to allow sin in his household, even according to the peshat, because he marries women outside of the family construct and religion (see Genesis 26:34-35 and 27:46). This supports my thesis that the land could not bear Abraham and Lot together, not simply because there wasn't enough grass to support both their flocks, but because they were fundamentally different- one was given to sin and one was not.
So then I perused some commentaries and found that the Netziv says exactly what I intuited.
ולא יכלו לשבת יחדו. הוא כפל לשון. ובא ללמדנו דלא משום שלא הספיקה מרעה הארץ לצאנם כמו דכתיב להלן ל״ו ז׳ ולא יכלה ארץ מגוריהם לשאת אותם מפני מקניהם. אלא משום שהיו הטבעים רחוקים ולא היה לוט לצוותא לאברם כי אם מרחוק. אבל יחדיו לא יכלו לשבת. ובאשר היה רכושם רב היו מוכרחים לפגוע זב״ז. והיתה פגישתם למשא על אברם ומ״מ לא מצא אברם עדיין לב להגיד לו להפרד עד.
So now the question is- at this point, what exactly is Lot's flaw? In what way is his nature different from Abraham's? And how can we determine it from this point in the narrative (prior to his having done anything that could be seen as problematic, such as the episode with his daughters?)
My suggestion is that the fundamental difference between Abraham and Lot has to do with how much appearance matters to them. Lot is led astray by his eyes while Abraham is not. Here's what I mean by this.
In Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice" there is a scene where Portia's suitors must choose between three caskets- one made of gold, one made of silver and one made of lead- in order to win her. Her portrait is within one of the caskets. Each casket bears a legend. The gold one reads "Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." The silver one reads "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." The lead one states "Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." The point, of course, is to make sure the suitor is worthy.
Those who choose by appearance alone are caught in a trap. Morocco does so, choosing the gold, and here is what happens:
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing. ReadsAll that glitters is not gold; Often have you heard that told:Many a man his life hath soldBut my outside to behold:Gilded tombs do worms enfold.Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.
We know that Lot chooses his future dwelling place by appearance alone (Genesis 13:10-11).
10 And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of the Jordan, that it was well watered every where, before the LORD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, like the garden of the LORD, like the land of Egypt, as thou goest unto Zoar.
11 So Lot chose him all the plain of the Jordan; and Lot journeyed east; and they separated themselves the one from the other.
Lot is not at fault for selecting a place that would be good for pasturing his flock, but one can argue he is at fault for not a) seeking to learn more about the inhabitants of the town prior to moving there and b) not leaving the place once he is able to determine what they are like. Additionally, the very methodology behind his choice (focusing on appearance) is problematic because it is a repeat of the exact sin that Eve commits earlier in Genesis 3:6.
6 And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat; and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat.
(I believe Rabbi David Fohrman of AlephBeta addresses this in some detail in one of his video series.)
In contrast to Lot, Abraham is someone who specifically does not look at appearances. Note that when Sarai, his wife, is first referenced in the text, her looks are not mentioned at all (see Genesis 11:29).
29 And Abram and Nahor took them wives: the name of Abram's wife was Sarai; and the name of Nahor's wife, Milcah, the daughter of Haran, the father of Milcah, and the father of Iscah.
11 And it came to pass, when he was come near to enter into Egypt, that he said unto Sarai his wife: 'Behold now, I know that thou art a fair woman to look upon.
12 And it will come to pass, when the Egyptians shall see thee, that they will say: This is his wife; and they will kill me, but thee they will keep alive.
Why is this? There are a few reasons. The simplest is that Sarai's looks were not relevant to the story line until now, and thus they are only mentioned now. But I think the more compelling reason is that when Sarai and Abram are introduced, the Torah wants to make abundantly clear that Abram is not a base individual. He does not crave, lust after and marry Sarai because she is beautiful. If anything, based on a number of commentaries and Abraham's own admission later, he marries her because she is a member of the family.
What this suggests is a fundamental difference between Lot and Abraham that is portrayed in the Torah from the get-go. Lot is the kind of person who looks at the outside and judges by appearances. Abraham is the kind of person who looks at the inside, judges a person by their worth, and only references the outside appearance when he must.
A person who cares about image and status is someone who looks to appearances and does not do further research. A person who cares about depth and is driven by mission as opposed to image or status is not concerned with appearances.
Abraham continues to demonstrate his focus on meaning and mission as opposed to image and status when, in the next chapter, he categorically refuses to benefit from the profits reaped in saving his kinsman Lot (Genesis 14:22-23) during a battle:
23 that I will not take a thread nor a shoe-latchet nor aught that is thine, lest thou shouldest say: I have made Abram rich;
Indeed, he specifically mentions God (referencing his monotheistic beliefs as opposed to the common idolatrous ones) and credits God with the victory.
If we identify Lot's flaw as his being overly concerned with appearance, and thus image and status, we can come to understand his disturbing thought process when he privileges unknown strangers over his own virgin daughters (Genesis 19:8).
8 Behold now, I have two daughters that have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes; only unto these men do nothing; forasmuch as they are come under the shadow of my roof.'
To Lot, maintaining the appearance of being a welcoming, hospitable host who upholds guest-right is more important than his daughters' welfare.
Unfortunately, even today there are far too many people who are concerned with maintaining appearances while their own brethren suffer:
Let us hope that we allow for more Abrahams and fewer Lots going forward.
Tova Mirvis' memoir, The Book of Separation, is a beautifully written account of her break with Modern Orthodoxy (and religion as a whole). It's unique in the genre in that she left Modern Orthodoxy as opposed to Hasidim or the Haredi community; also, she left when she was turning forty, and the process of leaving involved the death of her marriage. That experience is unlike that of many college students or other young adults who slowly drift and then defect from the movement.
Mirvis struggles with guilt, shame, critical voices in her head, the role of men vs. the role of women and many other uniquely modern problems throughout the course of the work. She's at her strongest when she is describing the impact of leaving and the very real ramifications for herself and for those around her. There's a recurrent theme based on a story she was once told that people may leave religion, and partake of the pleasures of the world, but they will never be able to fully enjoy them. The mind remains caught within the religious strictures even when the body rebels. Mirvis also movingly describes the variegation within her own family- her brother became Haredi, she left Orthodoxy, and her sister was single at the age of thirty-seven. Each of these individuals had their own unique experience with religion and the attendant judgment, shame and the potential lack of understanding or acceptance from others due to their choices.
Mirvis is at her weakest when describing the death of her marriage, something which she consistently attributes to having gotten married too young and to the restrictions of religion. It seems obvious there was more to it than that; most likely Mirvis could not write about it in detail (either due to worry about defamation or because her children will read this book one day). In her narrative, Mirvis takes minimal responsibility, instead casting herself as someone brave, finally gathering the courage to live her truth; this reader sees her as someone who had a midlife crisis and decided to paint it in pretty colors. The depiction of her husband is also flawed; he is a one-note character who only shows up as a foil to her supposed bravery. He wants to remain Orthodox, sticking with the status quo, where she wants to engage in free fall because she needs to do the things that scare her. Additionally damning is the fact that Mirvis was interacting with the man she would marry after her divorce at the same time that she was in couples therapy; granted, all of the interactions between them were innocent. Yet it's clear, in a scene where that man makes her feel confident and offers her courage, helping her overcome a long-held fear, that he is fulfilling her emotionally in a way her husband can't. It reads like an emotional affair even if nothing physical happened.
The scene which I found the most raw and impactful has to do with the relationship between art & religion. The Orthodox Forum asked Mirvis, along with other artists and creatives, to talk about the tension or correlation between religion and culture. Mirvis at first gave canned answers trying to claim that creativity wasn't stifled by religion, but then told the truth. In her words:
I sat down at my desk. The words rushed out of me. There was a conflict, a terrible one. To write required freedom, but I didn't think you could create freely with the admonitions of Orthodoxy looking over your shoulder. Did you have to show your rabbi any potentially controversial scene and ask whether it was permissible- here, too, were you subject to inspection What did it mean to write knowing you'd be viewed suspiciously by your community if you pushed past the comfort zone? What about stories that didn't conform the official public version of Orthodoxy- what about stories that wanted to challenge or subvert? Even though what I'd written didn't overtly cross any line- there was no attack against Orthodox doctrine, no open disavowal of the rules- I knew that I had become willing to walk closer to the edge. (194)
Chaim Potok said something much the same when he talked about cultural fusion. It's something that I think all creatives struggle with- how to be part of the religion that binds you while interacting with a world you find spellbinding. The give and take, the push and pull, the tension that can choke you...how do you navigate it?
Absent in Mirvis' memoir was anything relating to Tanakh. She is a novelist, and so one might hope that she would have been exposed to the ultimate storybook- the Tanakh, with all its twists, turns, complicated characters and complex realities. But in her book, her focus is entirely upon halakha and Talmud. The halakha binds and restricts her, curtailing her every movement. She chafes against it, a bird caught in a cage she is partially complicit in building...and so at last, she must break free. The Talmud fascinates her, and she enjoys it as an intellectual pursuit, but it doesn't provide meaning to her. I have to wonder whether the Tanakh was taught to her with the same passion that halakha was. My guess is no. I wonder whether a Tanakh-infused Judaism, one where the stories were not moralistic (as so many of the ones she references in her memoir were), but rather real, would have made any difference. The one scene where Mirvis talks about Tanakh is when her teacher is engaging in apologetics for David & Batsheva. Mirvis catches on to the seeming hypocrisy; she would not be permitted to give this sort of excuse, so why does David get away with it? This is precisely why Rabbi Carmy and Rabbi Helfgot have written about the need to teach authentic Tanakh, one which does not (or at least does not only) excuse characters but also engages with them, flawed as they are.
Much in Mirvis' memoir speaks to me as someone who loves words, loves books, loves to write and is still a participant in this religion. Like Mirvis, I often find the halakha constricting, and like Mirvis, I dislike the focus upon nitty-gritty details. But unlike Mirvis, the stories capture my attention and move me. When I find myself frustrated by snow white cloths and drops of blood, I remember Saul and Samuel and Abraham; it's their world, and the meaning they wrung from it, that appeals to me. My world is made of stories and I believe the stories in our book are some of the most potent and meaningful. They differ from myths and other Near Eastern origin stories in important ways; they educate humanity and teach humans the importance of nobility over power. The way I see religion emphasizes God and the individuals with whom He communed above the law, especially the law wielded as a weapon. At the center of The Book of Separation is the fact that Mirvis' Judaism had no God, or at least no God with whom she could really speak. Her religion was run by men and comprised of everlasting details, inspections, things she could and could not do. There's a piece of me that wishes- that wonders- whether things would have been different if she had been raised to speak to God, and to find power in the stories of her heritage, power that would have superseded her frustration with the law's grip. In a different world, Mirvis would use her incredible talent to write authentically about the tension of being a creative caught within a religious world. However, she would recognize God cheering her on, eager for her to navigate that territory, and so she would not worry about His supposed emissaries holding her back.
As many of you know, "Game of Thrones" is a hit HBO TV show that has many people fascinated. Well, I loved the series A Song of Ice and Fire way before it became popular (for example, see this post where I was using evidence from the books as a way to prove that Snape was good) and have enjoyed seeing the series brought to life on the small screen. As a Tanakh teacher, I find many connections between the books, show and Tanakh, and I thought it would be useful to elaborate upon some of them here.
First, for those interested, here is a link to a crowdsourced Google Doc where I (and other interested parties) add connections between Game of Thrones and Tanakh. Feel free to check back for updates. Let me note that I do not plan to go through every Season 7 connection in this blogpost- only the ones that I feel are most important.
One of the reasons I loved A Song of Ice and Fire was because George R.R. Martin departed from many other fantasy authors in having protagonists who were deeply flawed. The moment Ned Stark got himself killed because of his noble idealism, I knew I was in for a treat. I like people who are complicated (because in real life, these are the people I know) and complicated means that people can be blind or selfish or cruel or kind - and rarely are they simply one thing. Tolkien gave us incredible works, but Sauron was wholly evil whereas Gandalf was meant to be wholly good, and this archetypal rendering needed to be shaken up a bit. Enter GRRM- and a world where heroes don't survive just because we like them, some characters end up redeemed and some characters really don't. You can understand the motivations of every character, because as GRRM likes to say, most people don't see themselves as the villain of their story; in fact, it's the opposite, where they see themselves as the hero of their narrative.
Now, let's talk about the overall Tanakh connections. One of the problems I commonly encounter when people are reading Tanakh is that they bring their own viewpoints, culture, beliefs and understanding of ethics and impose it upon the book. (It's a bit of the reader response method as opposed to trying to determine authorial intent.) What they fail to understand is that one needs to look at the mores and behaviors of people during that time period in order to comprehend what is happening. If one then wants to make arguments about how exactly the law should be applied today in keeping with current views, that's a different matter. But it is highly problematic to impose, for example, a Western viewpoint on a text that was written in the ancient near east because it means that one is unlikely to understand anything that is happening in that text.
Perhaps one of the most significant places where this comes up has to do with the idea of individuals as opposed to the community. In Tanakh, and indeed in the ancient near east as a whole, the entire system was based upon communal norms, the good of the community, ensuring the best outcomes for the community, and so forth. Thus, for example, the laws regarding rape. The woman was not looked at as an individual with individual rights; she was looked at as property and the crime that was committed against her was a crime that diminished her worth within the community. It harmed her value and her father, and thus her rapist was fined and ordered to marry her. A typical American gets up in arms about this, and perhaps that reaction is warranted when one reads the text with a 21st century perspective, but my point is that one must first read the text in keeping with the viewpoint of that time period. When one does this, one will find that much of what occurs within the Tanakh is not only sensible but actually radical in comparison to what the rest of the ancient near east was doing. (Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes about this extensively.)
Atonement/ Communal Accountability vs. Repentance/ Individual Redemption
In this season of Game of Thrones, there was an excellent scene between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark that brought home just this point. This scene dramatically highlights the tension between the system of atonement and communal accountability within Torah as opposed to the switch to repentance and individual redemption in Prophets. (See more about that switch in this class taught by The Adept at Revel.)
Read Tanakh and you will find countless scenes where the community is held accountable for the sins of the few. There are plagues that affect the whole nation when only certain members are sinning, and notably there is the lost battle of Ai because of Achan's actions. God remembers the sins of the fathers upon the children for generations. But suddenly there is a shift in the time of the Prophets, and God declares in Jeremiah 31:28-29:
29 But every one shall die for his own iniquity; every man that eateth the sour grapes, his teeth shall be set on edge.
God has realized communal punishment and accountability no longer works with His nation. Instead, He needs to switch over to an individual model of relating to Him, where each individual has the ability to seek Him out, sin and repent.
But what was going on? Why did God ever think that communal punishment was the way to go? That's what this debate between Sansa and Jon so beautifully illustrates. Here's the scene:
Bannerman: The Umbers and the Karstarks betrayed the North! Their castles should be torn down and no stone left standing.
Sansa: The castles committed no crimes. And we need every fortress we have for the war to come. We should give the last hearth and karhold to new families. Loyal families who supported us against Ramsay.
Everyone: Aye.
Jon: The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centuries. They've kept faith for generation after generation.
Sansa: And then they broke faith.
Jon: I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons.
Sansa: So there's no punishment for treason and no reward for loyalty.
[Silence in the room]
Jon: The punishment for treason is death. Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle. Harold Karstark died on the field of battle.
Sansa: They died fighting for Ramsay. Give the castles to the families of the men who died fighting for you.
[Murmurs throughout the room]
Jon: When I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I executed men who betrayed me. I executed men who refused to follow orders. My father always said: "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword" and I have tried to live by those words. But I will not punish a son for his father's sins. And I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision and my decision is final.
Sansa: [sighs]
What I think is so vivid in this scene is the role that loyalty plays in all of this. To give one's word, swear fealty and give one's oath is to make a binding promise incumbent not only upon oneself but upon all of one's future progeny. In such a case, if faith is broken, the entire family deserves punishment. That is what it means to make a binding oath. Jon is against this, feeling keenly what it is like to be the bastard son, the individual who doesn't fit. But in the Torah, the system that was originally set up was a system based on Brit. Rabbi Dr. Josh Berman of Bar Ilan has a fascinating perspective on Brit where he compares the system to vassal treaties with Hittite kings. The Hittite king would make the treaty with his vassal and it would all be inscribed on tablets (does this sound familiar?) Should the vassal die, the treaty would need to be renewed (much like oaths of fealty would need to be renewed) but this was little more of a gesture; the assumption was that the king would continue to keep faith.
Thus, going back to God, the original system as devised in the Torah was one of Brit. The covenant was binding not only upon those who originally swore it but upon their children. For those children to break faith was an extreme sin, and one for which they could and should be punished. Eventually, however, God realized that the people simply could not operate in the communal fashion He had once envisioned. Instead, each person had to accept Brit on their own- not only as a community but as individuals. And each person had to be judged and given punishment or reward based on their own merits, not only as part of a nation with an ancestral heritage. In short, God changes over from Sansa's way of thinking to Jon's and that's the major switch in Navi vs. Torah.
The Shame of Enemy Capture
One of the scenes that is at times difficult for students to understand occurs when Saul commits suicide. Saul is one of my favorite characters in the entire Tanakh specifically because he goes through so much inner turmoil and pain. Haunted by a ruach ra'ah (what I think many of us might correlate with mental illness nowadays), he at turns is capable of great nobility and self-sacrifice and at the same time, an inability to do what is required of him. At the last, he is abandoned by God and finds cold solace in the words of his mentor Samuel, who informs him that the next day he and his sons will join the prophet in his eternal rest.
One of the fears that Saul has which leads him to commit suicide has to do with the desire not to be degraded by his enemy (the Philistines) once captured. (We know that they do this as we've seen evidence of it with Samson, whose eyes were gouged out and who was made to stand about at large parties as a way of showing Philistine might and conquest.) In Saul's words in I Samuel 31:4
4 Then said Saul to his armour-bearer: 'Draw thy sword, and thrust me through therewith; lest these uncircumcised come and thrust me through, and make a mock of me.' But his armour-bearer would not; for he was sore afraid. Therefore Saul took his sword, and fell upon it.
Indeed, Saul does not escape this fate. The Philistines do desecrate and defile his body- but consider how much worse it could have been had he fallen into their hands while still alive.
9 And they cut off his head, and stripped off his armour, and sent into the land of the Philistines round about, to carry the tidings unto the house of their idols, and to the people.
10 And they put his armour in the house of the Ashtaroth; and they fastened his body to the wall of Beth-shan.
The scene in Season 7 where Euron Greyjoy leads Yara Greyjoy and the Sand Snakes through the city to Cersei is an excellent example of what happens when one is captured by the enemy, and the mockery/ defilement one experiences in such a case.
Betrothal Through the Blood of One's Enemies
Euron Greyjoy wants to sit the iron throne. In order to do it, he has to wed Cersei Lannister. She won't have him, arguing that he has been disloyal in the past. He tells her ""In my experience, the surest way to a woman's heart is with a gift. A priceless gift. I won't return to King's Landing until I have that for you." And indeed, when he returns he brings her the enemy that slew her daughter Myrcella.
This sheds light on David's bloody betrothal to Michal, princess of Israel, as referenced in I Samuel 18:27-
27 and David arose and went, he and his men, and slew of the Philistines two hundred men; and David brought their foreskins, and they gave them in full number to the king, that he might be the king's son-in-law. And Saul gave him Michal his daughter to wife.
(Granted, Saul was trying to cause David's death at the times, but it still explains why this made David a suitable son-in-law. Vanquishing enemies could be an impressive bride price.)
Trying to Prevent Mass Destruction (When No One Believes You)
Jon Snow finds himself in the unenviable position of trying to prevent mass destruction and slaughter of humanity. He is aware of The Night King and the White Walkers, armies of the dead that are intent upon laying waste to the world and killing everyone in their wake. In the meantime, everyone in Westeros is squabbling over who will sit the Iron Throne. He has a poignant conversation with Tyrion Lannister in which he asks, "How do I convince people who don't know me that an enemy they don't believe in is coming to kill them all?"
This is exactly the dilemma that Jeremiah (and many other prophets) were faced with. They were graced with nightmare visions of an apocalyptic future, aware that God planned to kill and exile them in horrible, brutal ways. Jeremiah did his best to persuade the people of this, and their response was to laugh at him, mock him or try to kill him. In the scene with Tyrion, Tyrion does a good job of explaining why this was.
Jon: You probably don't believe me.
Tyrion: I do actually.
Jon: You didn't before. Grumkins and snarks, you called them. Do you remember? You said it was all nonsense.
Tyrion: It was nonsense. Everybody knew it. But then Mormont saw them and you saw them and I trust the eyes of an honest man more than I trust what everybody knows.
Jon: How do I convince people who don't know me that an enemy they don't believe in is coming to kill them all?
Tyrion: Good question.
Jon: I know it's a good question. I'm looking for an answer.
Jon: People's minds aren't made for problems that large. White Walkers. The Night King. Army of the Dead. It's almost a relief to confront a comfortable, familiar monster like my sister.
And that's the thing- not only do people not want to change their comfortable lives and the status quo, but what Jeremiah (and Jon) are telling them is totally unbelievable. It's too much to fathom- destruction, exile, death and mayhem at the hands of an enemy they don't perceive as the real threat- which is why most prefer to ignore it.
A Woman Can Make a Man Evil
There's an idea in the Gemara that a woman can make or break a man. There's an example where Korach's wife is said to have pushed him into his rebellion, while On ben Pelet's wife saved him from the consequences of his folly. The same idea takes root when it comes to Achav and Izevel. While Ahab was in many ways a terrible king, there is an idea that Izevel made him much worse than he otherwise would have been. In part this has to do with Izevel's casual disregard for the law (for example, her willingness to subject Navot to a sham trial to achieve her husband's ends, much like Cersei does to Tyrion simply because she hates him.) This exact relationship is typified between Cersei and Jaime, as Lady Olenna points out.
Lady Olenna: She's a monster, you do know that?
Jaime: To you, I'm sure. To others as well. But after we've won and there's no one left to oppose us, when people are living peacefully in the world she built, do you really think they'll wring their hands over the way she built it?
Lady Olenna: You love her. You really do love her. You poor fool. She'll be the end of you.
Jaime: Possibly. Not much to be gained from discussing it with you, though, is there?
Lady Olenna: What better person to discuss it with? What better guarantee could you have that the things you say will never leave this room? But perhaps you're right. If she's driven you this far, it's gone beyond your control.
Jaime: Yes. It has.
Lady Olenna: She's a disease. I regret my role in spreading it. You will, too.
Stay tuned for more Tanakh connections and comparisons.
I tend to be highly self-critical. My focus is on what is flawed, what can be improved, and the ways in which we can grow based on what did not go well. In my classroom, every day, I think about what I did not do well and try to come up with plans about how to do it better.
Today, however, there was a happy moment. And I think it's important to attempt to catalog the moments that are successful along with the ones I want to change.
I was teaching a group of 9th grade girls. They were responsible for learning a Seforno & a Ramban (which I provided with English translation) regarding Pharoah's plan. What kind of villain is Pharaoh? Did he plan out every step of his mass murder of Jewish males or did he simply make plans up as he went along? The foundation for this discussion was laid in previous sessions when we talked about different Disney villains and how some of them are masterminds whose evil schemes are premeditated (Scar from "The Lion King") and some are merely opportunists (Hans from "Frozen").
I divided the students up into two groups. One group was responsible for reading the Seforno. The other was responsible for reading the Ramban. I asked that the groups help each other make sense of the assigned text and the reading questions I had written. The end goal was for each group to present in front of the class and teach the text they had read to the remaining students.
At first, the students read silently. I was concerned they would all end up working individually rather than working together. But then, after I reminded and prompted them, they began to discuss the commentaries in their respective groups. The beautiful thing was that they were talking to each other, not to me. This Socratic style discussion involved critical thinking because the students had to listen to and respectfully disagree with one another when it came to answering questions that had been posed. I stepped in to remind them to look at the text they had just read to find proof or evidence to answer the questions.
I heard things like...
"But wasn't the reason that Pharoah was against them because there were just so many of them?"
"I thought it said that they weren't assimilating into the Egyptian culture."
"What you said is over here," and she pointed at the paper, "but if you read a little later on, you'll see..."
"His original goal was to enslave them, I thought."
"If you see here," and she pointed at the paper, "it says his original goal was to make them leave, but in such a way that Egypt wouldn't end up looking responsible."
That's what critical thinking is all about. Students being able to make sense of text, help each other understand text and then use evidence to back up their points. This is a constructivist approach to learning where the students take ownership of the task and collaborate together to assist one other in comprehending, considering and eventually, pushing back against or questioning the material. Today, I facilitated learning...and I felt like a rock star.
