As we begin the Book of Leviticus we again confront the perennial modern difficulty in comprehending the need for animal sacrifices. What is the need for all this slaughter and blood? In order to understand anything the place to start is at the beginning. How did this thing come about and what can its origin tell us about the meaning behind the practice? The first sacrifices recorded in the Torah are those of Cain and Abel. These were both a vegetable sacrifice and an animal sacrifice, and it is, interestingly, the animal sacrifice that is found acceptable. The motivation for both these sacrifices seems to have been gratitude for the success of the respective endeavours of the brothers. The preference for Abel’s offering seems to have been related to the manner in which it was given, rather than any divine preference for blood. The main concept was the importance of giving back to G-d something of what He had bestowed.

A more intriguing passage relating to the origin of sacrifices concerns the offerings of Noah after the flood. This is immediately followed by a Divine blessing and promise which includes the permission for the first time to eat flesh. The eating of animals was forbidden to Adam and his descendants and is only now allowed. There is clearly a connection between these two things with one seemingly dependent on the other. If humans are now going to be allowed to consume their fellow sentient beings they are also going to be required to sanctify that consumption by offering some of it to G-d.

Indeed, if we examine the various types of offerings we can see that most are consumed by humans with only the blood and some small internal organs being burnt on the altar. Only a very limited type of mostly public offerings are totally consumed by the altar. The majority of sacrifices are seemingly a joint meal between G-d, the priest and often the person bringing the offering. Indeed the optimal fulfilment of the mitzvah to rejoice on the festivals is to bring such sacrifices and rejoice with our families and ‘G-d’s family’, the less fortunate members of society. The ultimate example of this is of course the Pesach sacrifice, which is almost wholly consumed by the people bringing it and is replicated in the sanctified meal of the Seder night.

Thus we can understand that the main purpose of the sacrifices, as of Judaism in general, is to sanctify our physical existence. By offering as a burnt offering the produce of the herd and the field we sanctify our labour and by eating of the other sacrifices we sanctify our consumption of food. Whilst today we have replaced these sacrifices with the words of the various prayers and blessings, the actual physical offering of what we earn and consume is so much more real and intense than simply reciting words can ever be.

In the description of the making of the vessels of Tabernacle the Torah mentions that the lave and its stand were made from the bronze mirrors of the women who gathered at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting. This rather cryptic remark leaves unclear who these women were and what was the exact nature of their presence at this site. However, the midrash reports an interesting dialogue between Moses and G-d concerning this contribution. Moses is reluctant to accept these mirrors as he regards them as being things of vanity which are not suitable to be used to make holy vessels. G-d disagrees. He explains that these mirrors are the most precious material of all. While enslaved in Egypt the Jewish women used these mirrors to increase their attractiveness to their exhausted husbands, enabling the relations that ensured the continuity of the Jewish people. Thus, rather than being useless frivolities, these mirrors actually served a holy purpose and were a vital component in the survival of the Israelites in Egyptian bondage. G-d is teaching Moses that one should not simply dismiss an object or a method because it may be used for a negative purpose. The very same thing could also be used positively and, may indeed, be the best tool to be utilised for this purpose.

The same lesson can also be gleaned from the special Haftorah which we read this week. In it G-d  promises to redeem the Jewish people not because they merit it but because to leave them in exile would be to further damage his reputation. Rather than waiting for the Jewish people to be worthy of redemption by fully returning to G-d, He will firstly return them to the Land and then effect the process of regeneration and improvement that is necessary. G-d, in order to achieve His aim, is prepared to use a process that may at first seem flawed and contrary and yet is vital for the future of his plan. Based on this understanding, Religious Zionist thought understood the return of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel in our generation as part of the process of Redemption, even though it was led by Jews who rejected Jewish observance and were often openly antagonistic to religion.  This was the main dispute between this strand of Orthodoxy and the Haredi or Ultra-Orthodox world, who could not understand how a Divine process could be effected by non-religious Jews.

You could see this as the continuation of the discussion between Moses and G-d in the Parshah.  While Moses’ position seems to make more sense, G-d has a more profound way of seeing things. Vessels, methods or movements that may seem to our human eyes as unworthy or unsuitable may be in the eyes of G-d precisely what is needed.

This year there is a rare convergence of Parshat Ki-Tissa and Shushan Purim, the day of Purim that is celebrated in Jerusalem (and also originally in Shushan). Reflecting on this unique occasion we may ask what connects the Parshah and this day. If we read the Megillah we see that Shushan Purim was the day the Jews in Shushan celebrated their deliverance because they were still fighting on the 14^th of Adar, when everyone else celebrated. This was specifically in response to Esther’s request that the Jews in Shushan be given an extra day to finish off their enemies, and they killed three hundred more foes as well as publicly displaying the bodies of Haman’s sons. Thus Shushan Purim in particular is connected to the war the Jews fought against their enemies at the time of Purim. If we examine the Parshah we see that Moses also resorts to violence, killing three hundred revellers in order to restore order after the sin of the Golden Calf.

This leads us to contemplate the uses of violence and their legitimacy. There are two opposite extremes when it comes to this issue. Some people regard violence as the primary source of control and the first resort in any dispute. Others regard any use of violence with abhorrence. If we examine the career of Moses we will see that, while his initial foray into politics ended with killing the Egyptian overseer, as the leader of the Israelites he only resorts to violent methods twice. One is in our Parshah in the aftermath of the sin of the Golden Calf and the other is during the rebellion of Korach. In both cases the Jewish people were threatened with disintegration and the violence, while extreme, was of short duration.

If we turn to the story of Purim we see the same thing. The war the Jews waged on their enemies was short, comprising one day (two in Shushan), but intense, killing, at least 75,000 people. And, as Yoram Hazoni so brilliantly explains, it was vitally necessary. With a mercurial and somewhat unstable monarch on the throne (not unlike some leaders today), who could at any moment again turn against the Jews, an object lesson needed to be made of those who would destroy them. It needed to be made crystal clear that opposing the Jews was extremely unhealthy and really unwise, and the extreme violence of the 13^th of Adar as well as the extra demonstration given in the capital served exactly that purpose.

It is also important to note that in both cases the violence, though extreme, was not only of limited duration but targeted. Moses’ action targeted only those intimately involved in the debauchery surrounding the Golden Calf incident, while Mordechai’s war spared the dependents and property of the Jews’ enemies. What we learn then from the Parshah and Purim is that violence, limited and targeted, is sometimes required, if not desired.  While resorting to violence as the preferred instrument of policy is wicked, not using it when absolutely necessary is misguided and dangerous.        

After detailing the structure of the Tabernacle and the vessels contained within it, the Torah continues this week to discuss what is meant to occur within its precincts. It lays out in great detail the clothing to be worn by the priests, taken from one family, and sets out the daily offering to be offered on the altar. As we will later discover in Leviticus, no area of life is covered in more detail than the Tabernacle and the sacrificial service. In studying the Rabbinic texts we can also see how in no other area of Jewish law did the Rabbis seek to meticulously connect each rite to the words of the Torah. It is also noteworthy that no other part of the Torah contains so many possible capital punishments for the infraction of its regulations.

It seems that in this area of life the Torah was extremely concerned that things be done in a certain way and no other. This is because in seeking to approach G-d, especially through ritual and sacrifice, humans can climb to great heights but also plumb to great depths. We can achieve the exaltation of Yom Kippur but also fall into the abomination of child sacrifice. Therefore the Torah insists, in the words of the great medieval philosopher Judah Halevi, that we serve G-d as He wishes to be served, not as we think or imagine He wants to be served. Indeed this is the whole purpose of the mitzvot of the Torah, to remove our service of G-d from our individual or communal choice and place it upon a Divinely ordained path.

This may seem to our modern mind authoritarian and demeaning but, as the issue of sacrifice illustrates, actually essential. While today we recoil from child sacrifice, for many people across many different cultures and centuries it made perfect sense. What greater gift could a person give to the Divine than their most precious possession, the fruit of their loins. Or we may imagine that the worship of a great leader such as Pharaoh or Haman is the best way to approach the Divine. All other manner of ideas or rituals may seem to us to be pleasing to G-d.

And that is precisely the point. In serving G-d as seems reasonable to us we are actually creating G-d in our image rather than fulfilling our potential as creatures created in G-d’s image. Only by serving G-d as He wishes, according to His instructions, are we really connecting to G-d as He is, or at least how He wishes to be known to us. In contrast, in creating our own individual or communal path to G-d, we can actually end up worshipping our own imaginings with deleterious results. While not all that we do in following the Torah may seem readily intelligible to us, we can be confident that in doing so we are actually connecting to the Divine, not merely a creation of our own desires.

A fascinating law, among the many found in the Parshah, is that concerning the theft of an ox or sheep. The Torah provides that the thief has to pay fivefold the value of the ox and fourfold the value of the sheep. Unlike most such cases, where the tradition sees ox or sheep as generic terms, the sages here considered the Torah to be referring specifically to these two animals, and not others. Furthermore, interesting explanations were advanced by the Rabbis to explain the difference in penalty between the two. This was not simply that an ox is worth more than a sheep. Rather two sociological explanations were advanced.

Rabbi Yochanan considered the honour of the thief. Because he needed, when stealing a sheep, to carry it on his shoulders, he is required to pay less than for an ox he could simply lead away. We take into account the degradation of the thief’s human dignity. Rabbi Meir looks at the intrinsic value of the animal itself. Because an ox works for a living, ploughing and the like, his theft is regarded as more injurious than that of a sheep that does nothing. The Torah here is upholding the dignity of work.

If we look at these two concepts we may consider whether they are in fact really contradictory or actually complement each other. On the one hand we have the importance of the dignity of a human being, even a thief. The fact that he has had to degrade himself in the course of his theft is a reason to lighten his punishment. This is an intrinsic dignity, irrespective of the situation or actions of the individual. Yet the Torah also believes in another type of dignity, conferred on the person by their actions. The importance of work is based in rabbinic literature on the concept that it confers dignity on the human being, enabling him to be a partner with G-d in creation. These two concepts can be seen as the basis for two different types of human rights. We have human rights based in actuality; those that protect our right to life and freedom, and prohibit torture, starvation or degradation of our humanity.

Yet we also have human rights based on our potential. The right to education, work and responsibility. The right to be an active and valued member of society Above all, the right to moral responsibility and the expectation of consequences if we fail to live up to that responsibility. That is no less important. Taking away our ability to act in a moral manner by treating us as if we had no responsibility for our actions is just as damaging and discriminatory as removing other basic human rights.  We hear lots of talk about rights balanced by responsibilities, as if they were two opposing ideas. Yet according to our reading of our Parshah, they are in fact the same thing. For, in fact, one of the worst rights you can deprive someone of is the duty to behave responsibly.

The Parshah relating the Revelation at Sinai and the Ten Commandments begins with, and is named after, the visit of Moses’ father in-law, Yitro. There is, famously, a dispute among the Rabbis as to the timing of Yitro’s visit. Specifically, did it take place before or after the giving of the Torah? A large part of the argument hinges on the fact that, in typically Jewish fashion, no sooner has Yitro arrived than he starts interfering. He disapproves of the way that Moses is single-handedly administering justice and proposes a proper judicial system to administer the laws. This is duly accepted and implemented.

The question is what laws were being administered? If Yitro arrived after the Giving of the Torah, they were the laws contained within it. If he came before, these were the existing laws, administered for the good of society. We should not be surprised by this. Law is fundamental to human society; without a legal system, we would be no more than barbarians and society would fall apart. Indeed, the establishment of a legal system is one of the ‘seven laws of Noah’ or basic perquisites for a civilised society. The story of Yitro is written before the Torah is given, in order to demonstrate that Judaism did not invent law; it rather sanctified it.

This is an important point, as Judaism is often accused of being a legalistic religion. This is negatively contrasted with other more ‘spiritual’, religions. Yet this is a badge we should wear with pride. The portion of Yitro teaches us that law is a basic prerequisite of human society. Our lives are governed by it, even in a modern liberal democracy. Everything from how we drive to what children are taught at school is governed by rules and regulations. Surely then, a religion that seeks to be a religion of life, relevant to our daily existence, should be a religion of law. What Judaism does is take this legal framework that governs us and uses it as a vehicle for equity, impartiality and spirituality. Everyone is to have easy access to the protection of the legal system and, as various biblical narratives illustrate, the law is to be applied equally without reference to wealth or status. There is to be no two tier legal system or the use of the law as an extension of political power.

Jews should, therefore, be especially concerned at the undermining of legal norms whether at an international or local level. Widespread suspicion of politically motivated ‘two-tier’ enforcement of legal norms undermines faith in our legal system and the use of international legal frameworks as an extension of conflict or ‘law-fare’ threatens to undermine the whole notion of universal legal principles. Jews should be at the forefront of opposing these developments, not because they often negatively affect our community, but because they undermine the fundamental commitment to justice which is our inheritance from Sinai.

The foundational event of Judaism is the Exodus from Egypt and the primary means prescribed by the Torah of commemorating this event is the slaughter, roasting and eating of a lamb. While today this has been replaced by a symbolic bone on the seder plate and the eating of the matzah of the afikoman in place of the lamb, we still anticipate the restoration of the original ceremony. This ritual of course memorialises the actions of the Israelites at the time of the Exodus, with two significant details which are not replicated in perpetuity. The Israelites were commanded to take the blood of the lamb and smear it on their doorposts. They were also commanded not to exit their houses until morning. Both of these restrictions were connected to the final plague of the death of the first born. The blood on the door would mark that house as an Israelite dwelling that was to be spared from death and staying indoors would protect the inhabitants from the plague raging outside.

One can question why these precautions were necessary to protect against a blow specifically sent by G-d and designed to zero in on the Egyptian first born. The answer is given by the Sages in a maxim brought by Rashi’s commentary on this very narrative ‘once the destroyer is given permission to destroy it doesn’t distinguish between the righteous and the wicked’. In other words, once G-d had let loose the powers of destruction, even if focused on the Egyptians, Israelites who were not specifically protected were also in danger. On the one hand, this fits into a larger midrashic tradition that postulates that the Israelites were not really worthy to leave Egypt, and only through a special act of Divine mercy were they not included in the disaster that overtook the Egyptians. A similar midrashic narrative exists with regards to the Crossing of the Red Sea and reminds us of Lot being rescued from Sodom only because of Abraham’s merit. There too he was instructed not to look back at the destruction of his neighbours.

Yet this idea holds an important wider application. What the Sages are in effect saying is that once you let forth the forces of violence you cannot necessarily control where they will lead you. If even G-d, as it were, has to use special measures to protect the Israelites from the forces of destruction He has unleashed against the Egyptians, how much more must humans be wary when we unleash force, however justified. You can begin a war but you have no control on how it will unfold, let alone finish, While war is sometimes necessary and just, it should never be undertaken lightly and always with acknowledgement of the grave and often unknowable consequences.

We read in the Parshah this week of the first persecution of the Jews as a people by the ancient Egyptians. There are various features of this story that recur throughout Jewish history. Firstly, this oppression is instigated from above not below, by the government rather than the people. It is begun first of all by denigrating the Israelites, making them seem undesirable and dangerous in the eyes of the Egyptian people. This is then followed by various means of oppression which grow more severe and end in outright genocide. All of these stages can often be found in the various persecutions that have littered Jewish history.

But there is another very important feature of the story that is also often found in the narrative of oppression of Jews throughout the ages. That is the motif of the righteous non-Jews who bucks the prevailing trend and, often at considerable danger to themselves, take the side of the Jews. We see this in two cases in our Parshah. Firstly, the midwives, whose identity is uncertain but according to the plain meaning of the text were not Israelites. Faced with the decree of Pharaoh to kill all the Hebrew male children at birth, they refuse to do so, covering their tracks with a seemingly disparaging comment on the animal nature of Jews. These women had no incentive to take the side of the Jews other than basic human decency, yet despite the dangers they chose to do so.

The other person who helps defeat Pharaoh’s evil purpose is his own daughter who famously rescues Moses from the Nile and adopts him. It may be that she was childless and motivated by her own need or simply that she again acted out of basic human empathy. She certainly was well aware of the identity of the child and yet even so acted contrary to her father’s decree. The example of these women has been replicated throughout Jewish history. In moments of crises courageous non-Jews have stood beside Jews, even when facing down the majority of their own society. It is also instructive that these friends have come from both the top echelons of society like Pharaoh’s daughter and from among ordinary people, like the midwives.

All of this contains an important message for us in our current crisis. Despite the fact that we seem to be surrounded by enemies we in fact have many friends, both silent and those willing to be speak up. They exist both among ordinary people and the political class. In the Parshah we see how Miriam was on hand to help Pharaoh’s daughter save her brother. Without her advice and support the story may have turned out differently. This also contains an important lesson for us today. We must not simply ignore or be apathetic to those who support us. On the contrary we need to work with them, to strengthen them in their endeavour and to add our voice to theirs. Working together, we can, as in Egypt, defeat those who would destroy us.

This week we read of the descent of Jacob and his family to Egypt. They immigrate to the country as honoured guests of Pharaoh but, of course, this move is the beginning of the fulfilment of G-d’s promise to Abraham of exile, oppression and redemption. It is instructive therefore to contrast Pharaoh’s instructions to Jacob with what Jacob actually does. After promising Joseph’s family the ‘fat of the land’, Pharaoh continues his invitation by sending wagons to transport Jacob and his family. He continues by saying that Jacob should not worry about taking his possessions with him as the resources of Egypt will be at their disposable. While this commitment can be seen as commendable it also means that Jacob’s family will be dependent on Pharaoh’s largess, which is probably exactly where he wants them.

Jacob, however, wasn’t born yesterday and sees through Pharaoh’s generous offer. When he descends to Egypt, the Torah informs us that he not only transports himself and his family but also takes with him all the possessions he had acquired in Canaan. Pharaoh’s generosity notwithstanding, Jacob is taking no chances. Rulers are notoriously fickle and always have their own agenda. He would rather have his own resources to fall back on than be beholden to a foreign ruler, no matter how seemingly friendly.

In this action he sets an example to his descendants, one which they unfortunately didn’t always heed. The Prophets are constantly warning Israel against entangling alliances with foreign powers who in the end may not be so reliable and always follow their own agenda, which is often not ours. It was the failure to heed this advice that led to the ultimate destruction of both previous Jewish commonwealths. Playing off Egypt against Babylon in the end proved disastrous for the Judean kingdom and Judah the Maccabee’s dalliance with Rome eventually led to similarly catastrophic results.

The same lesson that applied then is just as relevant for today. While it is good to have friends, we should remember that all other nations, no matter how supportive, have in the end their own interests to pursue. Those interests may be often congruent with ours but they can also often not be. We thus need to be able, in the end to fall back on our own resources and not be dependant on others. First and foremost as the People of Israel, we must rely on G-d before any earthly power and that is our surest defence and the message of all the prophets. Based on this trust we should strive to become as self-reliant as possible. We should heed Jacob’s advice. Relying on others is chancy; for Jews relying on ourselves and trusting in G-d is the more appropriate path.

We begin this week to again read the story of Joseph. Most of the rest of the book of Genesis will be taken up with this story. It is interesting, therefore, that in the middle of this week’s Parshah we have the story of Judah and Tamar, which forms the longest aliyah of the Parshah. There are various  reasons given for the inclusion of this story in the narrative of Joseph. For example, Judah plays an important part in the sale of Joseph showing leadership qualities that are further accentuated in his resolution of the issue of Tamar.

I would suggest that this story also highlights how to deal with the divisions caused by actions in the past, in contradistinction to the only partial resolution of the issues surrounding Joseph’s sale. Faced with the evidence that he is the father of Tamar’s unborn twin children, Judah famously confesses that ‘she is more righteous than me’. But interestingly this confession does not concern their illicit sexual encounter but the fact that ‘I did not give her to Shelah my son.’  He thus not only admits that he is responsible for her pregnancy but justifies her actions and also takes full responsibility for her needing to act in such a manner in the first place. He thus goes right to the heart of the matter and directly confronts the misdemeanours of the past which led to the issues of the present.

If we then look at the reconciliation of Joseph and his brothers which we read about in a couple of weeks, we see a less clear picture. It’s true that there is indeed a reconciliation, at least on the surface. But the incompleteness of this process can be seen by the fact that after Jacob’s death, the brothers fear Joseph’s revenge, even after many years have passed. If we examine the Torah’s description of the original issue we see that both parties were to blame. Joseph was not only a pain but also openly dreamed of dominating the brothers, while the brothers’ actions were obviously cruel and unacceptable.

Yet when Joseph reunites with his brothers he never really deals with the inhuman behaviour of the brothers, rather simply explains everything as the will of G-d, seemingly absolving his brothers of any actual responsibility for their crime. Needless to say there is no mention by either party of Joseph’s behaviour that was the cause of the discord in the family. So, while there is a reconciliation, it doesn’t properly deal with the issues that led to the problem in the first place. As a consequence these problems in the family are never really resolved and echo in problematic ways through later Jewish history.

In contradistinction, in the book of Ruth, Judah and Tamar are held up as examples to be followed. For this reason, it is Judah and not Joseph who becomes the ultimate leader of the Jewish people. The lesson of these stories is clear. If you want to effect true reconciliation and build a different future, you must first properly deal with the problematic issues of the past.

Jacob, on his return to the Land of Israel is faced with confronting his brother Esau. He takes several steps to protect himself, including dividing his family and possessions and removing them to a safer position. These activities engender a puzzling midrash. The Rabbis, noting the absence of Jacob’s daughter in any mention of the disposition of his family ask where she had got to. The answer they give involves Jacob hiding her in a trunk in order to prevent her being seen by Esau who might take a fancy to her. Jacob is then criticised for this action, as maybe allowing Esau to marry Dinah would have improved his behaviour and proved a positive turning point in his life. They then state that because Jacob showed a lack of kindness to his brother in this action, Dinah later fell into the hands of Shechem.

This midrash is quite extraordinary. Not only would any normal father have sought to protect his daughter from a delinquent relative such as Esau, but the Rabbis themselves state elsewhere that a scholar who allows his daughter to marry an ignoramus is like putting her before a lion. How are we to understand this midrash? On the one hand it is possible that the Rabbis were interrogating Jacob’s attitude to his brother and finding it lacking. They saw in his action of hiding his daughter the same lack of consideration he showed years earlier when he took advantage of Esau’s hunger to buy the birthright from him. Maybe, they are postulating, it is Jacob’s lack of empathy for his brother that is at is at least partially responsible for his delinquent behaviour. The midrash is thus teaching us that if we are disturbed by the behaviour of others in our family or circle of friends we should maybe start by examining whether our own behaviour towards them contributed to the situation.

Another understanding of the midrash concerns Jacob’s propensity to try and totally control his own destiny. We see this in his various dealings with Laban as well as in his preparations for meeting Esau. In all these cases he is then taken by surprise by unexpected events. Despite his planning Laban still manages to deceive him and in preparing to confront Esau he is suddenly surprised by an assault by an unknown assailant. The midrash describes a similar scenario. He seeks to protect his daughter by hiding her from Esau only to have her later taken by Shechem, something he was not able to plan for. Our Sages see in this desire of Jacob for total control of his destiny, a lack of faith and understanding of Divine Providence unbefitting to the progenitor of G-d’s people. He is thus constantly faced with unexpected happenings that upend his carefully laid plans. The lesson for us, as individuals and as a people, is that the idea that we can fully or even mostly control our fate is an illusion and we would be far more content if we accepted this and stopped trying.

The relationship between Rachel and Leah is one of the more complicated in the Torah. Two sisters who are both married to the same man, with one being loved and the other not, and conversely, one having children and the other initially without. Both sisters can be in their different ways be seen as victims but the way they deal with their situation is very different.

Leah is married to a man who never wanted to marry her and resents her coming in-between him and her sister, whom he did want to marry. Leah, however, is blessed with children. While still longing for the love of her husband, she doesn’t wallow in pity but understands her many children as a way of becoming closer to her husband and acts accordingly. We are never informed that she is jealous of her sister, and only hear of her inner turmoil when Rachel asks for her mandrakes.

Rachel, on the other hand, despite having the love of her husband, openly expresses her frustration at not bearing children. It is specifically stated that she is jealous of her sister and she unreasonably demands of Jacob that he should give her children or she will die. Despite already having to share her beloved husband with her sister she then offers him her maidservant in order to have children by proxy. One can imagine how Jacob, who gave up fourteen years of his life to work for her, felt about her willingness to act in this manner. In giving up her ‘night’ with Jacob for her nephew’s mandrakes she again shows her willingness to give up what she does have for what her sister has and she doesn’t. Even when she finally gives birth to Joseph, his very name signifies her desire for more.

It is maybe apt therefore, that Leah who never gave up on seeking her husband’s love is buried besides him in the Cave of Machpelah, while Rachel who never seemed to appreciate her husband’s devotion was fated to be eternally separated from him, buried on the way. In many ways we have here the classic love triangle, where is no one is satisfied. Jacob loves Rachel but she cares more about having children than their relationship, while Leah loves Jacob but Jacob really only cares about Rachel.

Looking deeper, however, teaches us an important lesson about how, and how not, to respond to disappointment and tragedy. Leah’s real hurt at Jacob’s indifference to her is expressed in her outburst to Rachel ‘is it not enough that you have taken my husband’, yet she doesn’t let this ruin her life. While still hoping for a better relationship with her husband she is still able to rejoice in her growing family. Rachel, on the other hand, is consumed by her need for children to the extent that she is unable to appreciate what she has, the passionate love of her husband, in the end dying in childbirth and separated from him forever.

Both individually and nationally we face disappointment and tragedy. The question then becomes how to we react? Do we, like Rachel, concentrate on what we have lost or are lacking, forgetting to appreciate what we do have and thus putting even that in danger. Or do we like Leah learn to appreciate what we do have, building on that foundation to better our situation.

Both Abraham and Isaac occasionally had disputes with their neighbours, especially over water rights. It is interesting to note the different approaches they took in resolving these disputes. When the servants of Abimelech steal a well that Abraham had dug he uses the occasion of Abimelech’s request for a treaty of friendship to reprove him for his actions. In a similar situation Isaac merely moves on and digs other wells until he manages to dig a well that is not disputed. We see a similar scenario when, like Abraham, his designation of his wife as his sister causes Abimelech to take her into his harem. While Abraham answers Abimelech’s pained innocence with a lengthy justification, Isaac merely replies that he was afraid.

These narratives illustrate the differing approaches of Abraham and Isaac when dealing with people with whom they disagree or are in conflict. Abraham is more willing to face them head on and try and work through to a solution while Isaac normally chooses to walk away and not engage. This certainly reflects their different characters, with Abraham being more expansive and outgoing while Isaac is more retiring and unassuming. Yet it also expresses the different situations that they found themselves in. Abraham was already a well known figure by the time of his confrontation with Abimelech. He was someone who was respected and to whom Abimelech would listen. Abimelech had, after all, come to him with a request for a treaty.  Abimelech responds, for example, to Abraham’s rebuke over the stealing of the well not by claiming it was his but by making the excuse that nobody had informed him of the crime until then.

On the other hand, Isaac was the new untried son whom the Philistines were testing to see what they could get away with. Their intentions were made clear by their actions in filling in all the wells dug by Abraham after his death. Having a full on confrontation with them is not going to work. He simply doesn’t yet have the stature for him to be taken seriously. When he finally does confront the actions of the Philistines is the time when Abimelech approaches him also for a treaty. Then he lets rip asking why they bothered to visit if they hated him so much they sent him away. Beforehand, confrontation would have led nowhere, now it leads to a rapprochement. Rather Isaac simply carries on in his own path, doing what is right and necessary until his opponents come to him.

These stories teach us an important lesson. There are different types of opponents and you have to vary your approach depending on who you are dealing with. People who may respect or listen to you or who are open to persuasion should be engaged with in an effort to modify their opinion. On the other hand those who are totally closed minded and hostile should not be engaged with. To seek dialogue with them is simply a waste of time and energy and may even be dangerous. In such cases we just need to continue to do what we need to do and, as in the case of Isaac, our ultimate success may at the very least silence them or if not bring them round. There is a time for dialogue and a time to refrain from dialogue.

This week we read of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the rescue of Lot and his family from the doomed city. An interesting feature of the narrative is the instruction to those fleeing that they should not look back. When Lot’s wife does look behind her at the destruction of the cities she is turned into a pillar of salt. Various explanations have been given for her fate including her sodomite behaviour beforehand and the fact that Lot’s family were only saved because of Abraham and so not worthy to witness the destruction of their compatriots.

A different understanding can be discerned by comparing their behaviour to that of Abraham. After he does witness the destruction of the cities he leaves his abode in Hebron and moves south to the land of the Philistines. Lot and his daughters on the other hand are firstly reluctant to leave at all, then ask to be able to flee to a nearby city that is temporarily spared. Only afterwards do they leave the area of the cities and then only to hide out in caves in the nearby mountains. Abraham thus makes a clean break with the doomed cities and their culture while Lot seems reluctant to do the same. Abraham looks forward to a different existence while Lot keeps looking backward to the life he had.

Their different approaches also lead to different consequences. Abraham, moving forward to a new life, finally has the progeny he has hoped for from Sarah and ensures the future of both his family and his life project.  Lot, looking to the past, stays stuck in a cave with his daughters who then have children by him, ensuring a very different and far darker future.

We can now understand the original instruction to Lot’s family not to look back. Sodom and its culture had been found wanting and destroyed. Looking back to a past that could not be recovered would maroon them in that past and prevent them moving forward. Lot’s wife, who looks behind her, is literally stuck in place, but the rest of the family are also metaphorically stranded, unable to proceed.

This story contains an important message for our time. We live in a situation that is radically different from the one we lived in only a year or so ago. We are likely faced with even more uncertainty and upheaval. In facing this situation we have two choices. We can look backwards, bemoaning the loss of what we had and endlessly analysing what went wrong. Or we can accept that the world has changed, that it is impossible to go back and look to the future. Leaving the past behind we can not only face the challenges of the new and unpredictable world we live in but also embrace its opportunities. As children of Abraham, not Lot, we must progress to the future not remain stuck in the past.

The foundational mitzvah of Judaism is circumcision. It is one of only two positive commandments that has a punishment, excision, attached to it and being uncircumcised bars one from bringing the Pesach sacrifice, Even Jews who may not normally be observant will ensure their sons are circumcised and Jews throughout history have risked their lives to circumcise their sons. It was of course given to Abraham the father of the nation as the basis of his and his descendants’ covenant with G-d.

It is interesting to note, therefore, that it does not appear at the beginning of Abraham’s career but relatively late on, and in fact at the very end of the Parshah. Before he is commanded concerning this fundamental act he travels to Israel and is forced to leave it for Egypt where he has trouble with Sarah. Returning, he is forced to separate from Lot, then fight a battle to rescue him from captivity and have a child by his handmaid which causes discord in the family. In the middle of all this he receives from G-d promises of progeny and the Land, but only at the price of first enduring exile and suffering. Only after all this does G-d command him to circumcise himself and the male members of his household. Why does circumcision come at the end rather than the beginning of this story?

If we examine the act itself we can see that it involves pain and blood, however minimal.  Philosophically it could be interpreted as symbolising that Abraham’s future descendants will be required to lose something in order to be Jewish and that will entail a certain amount of suffering. A central component of the covenant of circumcision is the promise of the Land and as we have already seen that promise contains within it the necessity of previous exile and persecution. The mitzvah of circumcision thus comes at the end of Abraham’s career because it is both the culmination and continuation of what has gone before.

It institutionalises one of the foundations of Jewish life as exemplified in Abraham’s experiences, that being Jewish is not an easy option. Abraham’s life, of course, also consists of great triumphs, spiritual, material and even military. He dies in a good old age, well satisfied. Yet all this came at a cost. Similarly, in a famous passage, the Rabbis marvel that the parents of a child celebrate the occasion of his circumcision, despite the underlying painful nature of the event. Thus each time we initiate a new child into the Jewish people we convey a double message. Being Jewish is good and worthwhile but certainly not necessarily easy.

The Parshah this week can be divided into three distinct portions. The first deals with the prelude to the flood. The second narrates the course of the flood itself. The last portion of the Parshah deals with the aftermath of the deluge. If we examine this last section we can discern three different approaches or reactions to catastrophe and tragedy. The first is exemplified by Noah. Faced with a destroyed world and the guilt of maybe not having done enough to prevent it, Noah chooses the path of oblivion and escapism. He plants vines, harvests their fruits, makes wine and gets drunk. He has no more children and seems, despite G-d’s promises, to despair of the future of the world. At least it’s a world he can only live in by forgetting what came before and his responsibility for the catastrophe that overwhelmed it.

The second approach is exemplified by the builders of the Tower of Babel. Their way of dealing with the catastrophe is to resolve to use all means to prevent such a disaster or any similar even recurring. They thus build the Tower specifically to prevent a future dispersal or devastation of humanity. This is obviously a more positive approach than the path of escapism, yet it is also seriously flawed. In seeking to prevent similar disasters they create a totalitarian society where, according to the Midrash, the value of a brick is worth more than that of a human. Thus in seeking to prevent future tragedy they create an ongoing tragedy of oppression and inhumanity.

The third approach to dealing with the disaster of the flood can be seen in the actions of two of Noah’s sons, Shem and Yefet. When the universal calamity is compounded by a family tragedy they act to limit the damage by showing respect to their father, even in his degraded state. They cannot undo what has been done or even necessarily prevent it from happening again but they can seek to minimise the effect and provide some succour. This thus leads into the story of Shem’s descendant, Abraham, whose life is characterised by such actions and the ability to face challenges and tragedy with equanimity and responsibility, something he bequeathed to his descendants.

As we also find ourselves in an ongoing tragedy the Parshah thus has an import lesson to impart to us. We should not respond by seeking to escape from the harsh reality or to forget what has occurred. Neither should we seek extreme or simple solutions to complicated problems, where often the cure is worse than the disease. Rather we should act responsibly to seek to minimise the consequences of the tragedy, give assistance and comfort where needed, and work to change the reality in which we find ourselves by doing what is possible even it is less than what we hope for. That way we will build in our day both resilience and hope for the future as did Noah’s sons in their day.