Ratzon HaTorah                                                                            Yitzi Horowitz, LCSW

VaYeira 2023

None of us imagined living through this in our lives.  We are so entrenched in the permanence of life that this feels surreal. Here we are. Yet again. Our people drenched in our own blood and tears.  Yet again. Those who come before us remind us steadily, “We have been here before. We will prevail.”  We know this. Rav Kook tells us that all of reality is in a constant state of unfolding, of becoming.  October 7^th is an opening, a preparation for a new stage of the Master’s plan. Something apocalyptic. Reality is permanently altering. The scent of Moshiach wafts through the air like the smells that hit us upon arriving home Friday night from shule.  Yet, we are still very much in this terror. The world is beginning to take sides. Seems like countries are gearing up for a round three. And something else is happening also.  Something more sinister than the last two rounds. Anarchy. It’s much more frightening than a single nation attempting to take over the world. Anarchy is world chaos on the individual and communal level, not the international one. And its ideology permeates the world as fast as the click of a button on a screen. We do not know what is yet to come on our becoming journey. The uncertainty is terrifying. Yet again. 

It would be good for us to think deeply.  Now, during this time. Our thoughts and ideas are intentions. And our intentions are mini prayers. So let’s think.

Judaism has never been interested in debating its theology with other religions. It has never attempted to demonstrate its holiness on the world stage.  Nor does it ask its adherents to wage holy wars in its name or attempt to proselytize others.  It does not ask for recognition from anyone, nor ask for permission to be itself.  Nowhere in our thousands of years of preserved written texts are we tasked with showing off our greatness to anyone or convince others of the merits of Judaism’s ways.  Judaism is a closed system. Not elitist; self-contained. Judaism does not perform for the world because it does not have an ego.

The smear campaign that vociferously professes that the modern country of Israel are occupiers, that accuses Jews of attempting to laud themselves over the rest of the world… is thinly veiled ego-projection. An assumption that any of Judaism’s successes are a collective attempt by Jews to demonstrate its superiority. An ideology rooted in and nourished by hatred.  A hatred that sees the Jew as having a need for world domination. An ideology that is unable to see that the Jew is merely a mirror. It is not the Jew who seeks to dominate. It is the antisemite who cannot bear to see the Jew. It is not revenge they seek, but an inability to contain their own unresolved hatred.

Antisemitism misunderstands the way Jews translate the words, “God has chosen you to be a special people for Him, above all people that are on earth.” Jews does not seek superiority, we seek greatness. We do not seek competition, we seek self-assuredness. We do not seek proselytization; we seek our own subjective truths. We do not seek world approval; we seek humility. We do not seek anything from others; we seek to contribute to humanity. We do not seek to destroy others; we seek to empower.  This is what we are chosen for. To be, for ourselves. For others. For God.

Antisemitism sets its own narrative. It is as old as that first snake in a tree. It pre-dates Judaism. It is, in its core, an attempt to subvert all that is good. It cannot bear beauty and meaningfulness. It cannot bear self-determination, resiliency and inherent essential worth. It cannot bear the magnificence of the Soul. The perfection of Being.

My paternal grandfather escaped the Nazi concentration camps through Shanghai. He was a soft modest man. Sometimes I wonder if he was nervous about the rapid growth of Judaism in post-World War II America. Let’s not show our Jewish pride, I imagine him whispering. Let’s understate it. Let’s not tempt the projection of the Antisemites. They just had their way with us. And we need to nurse our wounds.  Yet with all his softness, he had a fire about him. That always fascinated me. He wasn’t lacking anything; he was a powerful stoic. He turned down a muti-million-dollar business in the 60’s because there was no minyan in the state where he would have needed to move. His Jewishness was not his religion. It defined him. And while my aunts claim they never heard him raise his voice, the power of his majesty was palpable. He was mesmerizing.

My maternal great-grandfather was born in Jaffo. He was a proud man. Never installed an alarm system in his house and didn’t agree to have bars installed in his first floor Brooklyn apartment when he got older. Late one summer night, I burst into my bedroom and flipped the light on, looking for something.  Forgetting that he was visiting and sleeping in my room. He jumped out of bed and leaped straight at me. “Get out! I have a stick! I will hit you! Get out!” he yelled. Everyone came running to see the commotion. I calmed him down and we all had a good laugh. He was well into his 90’s.

It wasn’t rage that I experienced in him that night. It was strength Resilience. Certainty with who he was. An energy that erupted from him that was never hidden, that always stayed right behind the twinkle in his eye and the way he said “Hello” when he answered the phone. Conviction. Forged in the chaos of early 20^th century Israel.  You see this Zaidy was born and raised in Palestine. He was one of Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s bodyguards. He was not a trained soldier. He was a protector. They all were then. They were trained by violence. 

They were a mix of indigenous Palestinian Jews and immigrant Jews from Europe who, for roughly a century, bought land in Palestine and developed it. Bought more land and developed more of it. They never stole. They bandied together and bought and built. Developed.  And the response from their cousins, their Arab neighbors was violence.  They built to live their lives. And their Arab destroyed lives. They built and they built regardless. And after a few decades they grew large enough. The State of Israel was formed, not by aggression or oppression but by conviction and protection. And it is only upon reflection that Jews can appreciate the miraculous convergence of the ending of the atrocities of the Holocaust and the creation of the Jewish state of Israel.

Zaidy left Palestine in the mid-1940’s. He never talked about his history there. He wasn’t a proud Israeli. He was a simple Jew. He made a life for himself in New York. Settled down. And didn’t raise Zionists. He raised Jews. His daughter, my grandmother (should live and be well) doesn’t have Israeli roots. She has Jewish ones. My grandfather told me stories in confidence about the first time he killed an Arab who killed his best friend. How he sat on Rav Kook’s lap growing up as a child. He wasn’t taken by the pride of the Jewish state. He did what he needed to survive in those days. Just like they all did. The pride and nostalgia he left for other generations. No ego. Just greatness.

It is November 3, 2023. Four weeks after evil erupted and began this new phase in our history, in world history. It is difficult to stay away from the news. Not because I feel the need to be in control. But because, as a Jew, I am a part of this. This is about me. And while increasing religious observance and taking a more inspired approach to my daily life is how I am trying to react to this, I still do not know what this is about. For me. And I feel lost. In a twilight zone I always wondered about but never dreamed I would live through in my lifetime.

The instantaneous way we can access each other is what scares me about anarchy. But instantaneous connection is also what is channeling the vibes of love and connection in a way the world never knew before. A twitter user Yakovolf writes: No antisemite will ever be able to hate us as deeply as we love each other.  No hate will ever outlast love.  Never Again means that love will outshine, outperform, and outweigh evil in all instances. In the end it will be good. We must remember that. Because it is what Judaism began with. Avraham, the paradigmatic lover of all people. Who cast aside the fragmented gods of his father through love. Not through hate. We must digest this and metabolize this in the deepest recesses of the darkest cockles of our hearts.

So let’s look at this moment when Yitzchok and Avraham are headed towards the Akeda.

וַיֹּ֨אמֶר יִצְחָ֜ק אֶל־אַבְרָהָ֤ם אָבִיו֙ וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אָבִ֔י וַיֹּ֖אמֶר הִנֶּ֣נִּי בְנִ֑י וַיֹּ֗אמֶר הִנֵּ֤ה הָאֵשׁ֙ וְהָ֣עֵצִ֔ים וְאַיֵּ֥ה הַשֶּׂ֖ה לְעֹלָֽה. וַיֹּ֨אמֶר֙ אַבְרָהָ֔ם אֱלֹהִ֞ים יִרְאֶה־לּ֥וֹ הַשֶּׂ֛ה לְעֹלָ֖ה בְּנִ֑י וַיֵּֽלְכ֥וּ שְׁנֵיהֶ֖ם יַחְדָּֽו.

And Yitzchak says to Avraham his father, “My father,” and Avraham says, “I am here, my son,” and Yitzchok says, “Here is the fire and wood and where is the sheep to sacrifice up to God?” And Avraham said, “God will show us the sheep for our sacrifice, my son.” And the two of them walked together. (Vayeira 22: 7-8)

In perhaps the most touching exposition ever written, the Kli Yakar interprets this dialogue between Avraham and Yitzchok like this:

Yitzchok says to Avraham his father, “My father…” And he does not say anything else. He calls his father and then goes silent. Because Yitzchok felt that it was his fathers desire to sacrifice him to God. And Yitzchak thought, therefore, that his father did not have any compassion for him like a regular father has for his son. And that Avraham had transformed into a barbarian. Because Yitzchok did not yet know if this was really God’s intention. So, he called his father to test him. To see if his father would answer. Because he needed to internalize in his own heart that his father was still, indeed, his father. A father to him. Yitzchok was conflicted and thought, “maybe my father has already disowned me as if I am no longer a son to him.” With this test, Yitzchok was trying to ascertain what the mental status of the slaughterer was.

When Avraham answered him, “I am here, my son.”  Avraham was really saying, “I am still filled with deep longing for you.” (Yitzchok had his answer. I am still his son, my father is not barbaric, this journey is not of cruelty but a loving act by my father.) So Yitzchok asks, “if you are my father then where is the animal you are going to sacrifice?” (What will be our relationship when you slaughter me? Will you disown me and slaughter me as if I am merely a sheep?) Avraham answers, “God will show us the sheep for our sacrifice, my son.” I, Avraham says, did not choose you for this. God did. And both of us are both called to His glory. And then, and only after this exchange, the two of them went together, with the same intention. (Of God’s glory.)

Are you still my father or have you disowned me? Are you in the throes of a psychotic mystical primitive trance? Are you an animal out for murder? Or perhaps, you are focused so intently on listening to God that you have completely lost touch with this moment, with this world, with who I am to you? What am I for you, right now? Have you already psychologically killed me? Do you remember me, Yitzchok, your son? Do you see me? Do you understand me? Are you tuned into my experience? Do you know me? Did you ever know me? Am I still your son? Am I alone?  Should I just die right here. Alone and rejected?

And in this most tender moment, Avraham turns to Yitzchok and says, with tears streaming down his face “הנני בני I am here my son”. Behold, I am. Only because you are my son.  I have walked through fire to prove my conviction in Hashem. I have advised world leaders, fought and won wars with them, accumulated wealth, hosted dignitaries, taught 3 million students about God.  None of that defines me.  I may have altered the world by introducing the concept of monotheism and also introducing Hashem Himself into this world. I am not defined by that either. I am Avraham. Father to Yizchok. 

And Yitzchok presses him further. “So, tell me father...” My father. Tell me daddy, tatte, abba.  My abba. When we get to the top of this mountain and you lift that knife to sacrifice me. Will you disown me then?  Will you become a barbarian then? Will you cut me off in your mind in order to serve God? When I am gone will I be an afterthought, a religious relic?  Will you still remember me as your son? In the flesh and blood? 

And Avraham answers, “God will show us the sheep for sacrifice, MY SON.” I do not know how this will be. I do not know how I will do this. There is too much confusion. Unknown. Too much uncertainty about how I will do this.  Have faith with me, Yitzchok, God will explain this to both of us when we get to the top of the mountain. But one thing I have no question about. No doubt in the world. You are my son. You will always be my son. Even if that knife is held in my hand and it is I who sacrifices you.

בני. My son.

And the two of them walked together. Father and son. The father on his own life mission. The son on his father’s mission. A bond that fortifies and grounds both of them. From there on in they walk together. As one. Not just a more enjoyable journey but a completely different one.

The Jewish people are once again headed up this mountain. We are in jeopardy. Again. As a people. We do not know what will be when we get there. It seems like a terrible place.  And we are searching the heavens asking, אבי, my Father?

So, look at someone you love. Look at another Jew. Say to them אחי? אשתי? אבי? אחותי? ילדי? אחותי?. But ask with sincerity and curiosity.  And listen for the response that every Jew is screaming with conviction to each other these last few weeks. הנני . I am. Because of you. For you. No antisemite will ever be able to hate us as deeply as we love each other. In one second of evil we have all the clarity we have ever needed.

“Hashem, אבי?” May we never stop asking or searching until we hear His tender voice answer הנני בני. And may He decide that the time for our questioning is over.  Forever. And we never again have to remind the world Never Again. But we can say, Always Forever. With the coming of Moshiach. B’Mheira B’Yameinu.

Gut Shabbos

With Love,

הנני אחי