Rosh Hashanah Torah (Bible) Commentary 2018:
On the Meaning of a Father Willing to Sacrifice His Son in God’s Name
Or, How to Live, According to Genesis 22
— by David Kobrin —
In the Jewish tradition, to ask questions is valued as much as finding the “correct” answer. It’s thought that’s how learning takes place. The quest for answers is the goal.
I needed three sequential answers to the questions raised for me by the story in Genesis where God commands Abraham to sacrifice his beloved first son, Isaac. Only then did I feel I’d run out of approaches (for now). Please note: not answers, but approaches to identifying the problems raised for us this Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year).
1.
The basic common sense understanding of this story is that a child’s father is able and willing to kill his own son — his first born and best loved son — because his religious beliefs tell him to. No other reason is offered in the text; God simply tells Abraham to sacrifice his first born.
For me, this is the omnipotent, all powerful, ever present God that allows the separation of children from their families at the U.S. border, with all its manifold repercussion for later life; the bombing, death chemicals, and devastation of life that is the Syrian civil war; and, of course, Hitler and the Holocaust.
Remember, also, since we are all children of God, Isaac is God’s child as well as Abraham’s and Sarah’s.
And where is the mother in this story? Where is the maternal care of Sarah, of she who conceived, bore, nursed and raised Isaac?
Nowhere; there is no mention of Sarah.
In this child’s view, the inexplicable God does what he wants in order to show us humans what we are worth.
2.
There are, of course, many other ways to approach this difficult Torah portion. (All Torah portions I read are difficult for me to fathom.)
Here I rely on the physicist Niels Bohr; Bohr did not write these words, but what he wrote spurred my thoughts.
As a physicist, Bohr understood that reality is not as straightforward as we humans perceive it to be. For example, we now understand that some one thing can be in two distant places at the same time; and while this table is as solid and firm as it appears, it is also full of holes and in constant movement. All of that is our reality. The world is more complicated than I can conceive, or identify by my senses.
Bohr also noted, as a father, there is a duality in dealing with one’s children, two separate views that he could not bring together. He loved his son; and also knew that a sense of justice was demanded at times that conflicted with his feelings of love.
Just like God in the story of the sacrifice of Isaac. The universe — and the Torah — cannot be explained as a children’s story of simple moral platitudes.
3.
The third response requires a fundamental leap of faith (which I lack).
The story of God ordering Abraham to sacrifice his first born son is not to be understood intellectually, but to be felt! Deeply felt.
What is the message of the story? It is an assertion of the existence of God — Master of All.
Like Abraham and Isaac, we are but toddlers crawling, stubborn, aimless. But know that there is a Power that is so beyond our understanding we can only use metaphors to talk about It. A Power that must be felt not understood or explained. Thus the story: What would your feelings be when you are ordered to slay your beloved first born — no reason given? Fear? Panic? Awe? Puzzlement? Bewilderment? Shame?
That is the lesson of the Torah story for us today: to feel there is a God over our universe.
In sum, I find all three answers of interest for more thought about families, values, and the world we live in; and, none of the answers acceptable.
The quest for answers is the goal.
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Around the time I attended Columbia, a fellow secular student embraced the Orthodox faith and donned a kippa. After further study at Oxford, he returned for his PhD, and later went on to write: “Open Minded Torah: Of Irony, Fundamentalism and Love.” He now teaches English literature at Bar Ilan in Tel Aviv (district). There are reasons we yearn for connectedness. The teachings of the Talmud and Torah highlight engagement, not neutrality– of finding and connecting people with people and people with communities. Even growing up secular, traditions have deeper affects on the development of one’s psyche; it is in the “telling of stories” where one finds the mischief in my secular view. Freud wrote “religion is the obsessional neurosis of humanity.” Did William lose his authentic self to religion? I think so. Ironically, the epistemologically openness of the Talmud leads some from the faith forever; it didn’t for him.
I prefer not to enter the storyline. Inquire outside the box with an uncommon level of self-awareness. We say reality is “probabilistic,” not based on singular particles but on waves perhaps capable of many worlds depending on the placement of one’s attention(?) Better to remain open and humbly ignorant. It’s not a story but the starting point. Traditions are multi-edged swords.
Why not find solace in “what is?”
What can go up onto the chalkboard (metaphor)? Only that which can be demonstrated before all (and repeated); otherwise, where’s the quality of what’s “known.” Is it fair to toss unverified “knowns” into the town square for consumption? Where they become mores of expected behavior? And eventually laws that prevent women control over their bodies? Or condemn one to death for loving the wrong person?
Where one begins the inquiry matters? It’s the root meaning of bias in any inquiry.
After years of deep reflection, I’m left with the observation:
Perhaps there never was a question to answer? Birth, leading to self-consciousness, is the de-facto “Question”. Perhaps we search in vain for “the Answer” — an Answer to a Question that was never independently posited.
(there’s much more – 348)
David; I appreciate your deep and searching questions. Thank you for sharing them with us.
David- sorry if my comment failed to directly address your struggle to make sense of a long tradition and reconcile it with today’s reality. I’ve traveled the world for a few decades and can’t help but conclude that our failure as a species (ecological, poverty, genocide, famine, war, violence, etc. . . ) coupled with the fact that we’re just about running on fumes on so many metrics is fundamentally due to a lack of “Reason”–which shows itself in so many shades, shapes and forms (but all inextricably tied to once deficit). Hence, my impatience often shows.
But clearly, your standards of “acceptance” are high– that alone is very comforting for people who think as I do. While we’re at different places on the same plane, we’re close enough to make each other out. Many a good Rabbi struggle so creatively with your questions (Rabbi David Wolpi comes to mind). And while in my mind the Rabbi’s arguments finally fail the test of Reason, he’s quite entertaining to listen to apart from being a very serious thinker and formidable force in his defense of Judaism. Perhaps you know of him?