It gives me great satisfaction to greet you – old members and new – who have come to attend this, our first Late Friday service of the year. Kodimoh is proud of its ‘regulars’ and happy to add to its ranks those who have seen fit to link their religious destinies with it and what it stands for – Torah, in its full, complete and genuine sense. My remarks this evening will be directed primarily to our newcomers, though I hope that those who have been affiliated with us for longer times will benefit by them too. Let me say that joining our congregation as a member is but the first in a threefold process. Becoming a member is an act of commitment – by doing so you commit yourself to the ideals and principles for which Kodimoh stands, the ideals and principles of a dynamic, undiluted Torah Judaism. It means that you have recognized yourself as part of the People of Israel in an active sense. Everyone born a Jew is a part of our people, but he becomes so in a positive sense only when he takes the step of constructive identification in a synagogue. Your membership in Kodimoh therefore means that not only are you not ashamed of your Jewishness, but you are intensely proud of it. You want it known that you are a Jew not only by birth, not only by appearance, not only by fighting anti-semitism – but by choice, your choice.However important as membership is in a synagogue, it is only a formality if it stops at that point. Being enrolled and paying dues is little more than a social convention in and of itself. The 2nd step is attending. It means seeing and being seen at Kodimoh. It means doing something with your membership. It means availing yourself of the many opportunities that Kodimoh has to offer to you and your family. It means not being a silent partner in the business of Jewish living.And from this follows a 3rd step. That step is active participation in all the realms of Torah living in the Kodimoh family. It is not enough to attend services. We must worship – ‘daven…

Question of Ramban: Why at beginning story of Noah does the Torah tells us he was ish tzaddik, and with Abraham it begins only with Lech Lecha and no comment as to his righteousness. The Sfas Emess answers: the difference is, contrarily, to the credit of Abraham. Noah was a Tzaddik – a pious person, and never developed any further. Chazal state that he was commanded to build Ark for 120 years as a method of educating and awakening his people by exerting his leadership. But he failed – he built it for himself and his family, and that’s all. G-d had given him a great gift and the opportunity to use it – the gift of leadership, spiritual leadership. But he relinquished it. And that it, in the eyes of the Torah, was a major crime. The fact that he had the potentiality for leadership was not to his credit – potentiality is not a real thing (A Jewish journalist recently quipped: “potentially, every potato is a latke”). And when it is there but not realized – then man has not fulfilled his obligations either to G-d or to his fellow man.With Abraham, however, the Torah means to tell us that he surpassed the stage of mere Tzaddik. For, says the Sfass Emess, the call of Lech Lecha was not given to Abraham alone. It was given to all men who had the spirit, the energy, the ability. GO! Get out of the rut, transcend your own shortcomings and take your people with you. That call of Lech Lecha is given to every man who has the capacity to achieve great things for his fellows. If he is a good fellow by and for himself, then he is merely a Tzaddik he is only a Noah, not an Abraham. The greatness of Abraham lay in that he responded to that challenge and was not satisfied with personal piety, but led his society to greatness.Our Rabbis noticed that difference in the characters and destinies of these two Biblical characters in the description of their religious natures by Torah. Noah: es ha’elokim hishalech Noach ... with G-d, himself, not overly anxious to do more than what he regard…

The land of Babylonia, what is today Iraq, from the Third to the Tenth or Eleventh Century of the Common Era, was the cradle of the great Oral Law of our people. During that time and in that particular place flourished the great Babylonian academies of Sura and Pumpedita, in which the Talmud was expounded and committed to writing, and in which the great Geonim, chiefs of the Yeshivot or academies, flourished and wrote. During this great and creative era of Jewish life, it was the custom to deliver lectures in Jewish law and thought on many specified occasions. Thus, on Sabbaths and holidays, lectures were delivered to the general public. During the weekdays, more profound and technical lectures were delivered to the scholars and students who gathered in the academies. But there was one lecture which was most outstanding of all those that were delivered during the year. This special occasion was distinguished by the fact that the Resh Galuta, Exilarch, the man who was the political chief of Babylonian Jewry, a sort of King of the Jews in exile, would himself, personally, deliver the lecture in front of the assembled people and in the presence of the Geonim and all the distinguished officials of Babylonian Jewry. This occasion, so prominent because of the personal participation of the Resh Galuta, was called the Rigla di-Resh Galuta, the Holiday of the Exilarch. And the Sabbath so chosen for this distinction of the special public lecture was Shabbat Lekh Lekha.Why was it this particular Saturday, on which this particular portion was read, that was chosen as the Rigla di-Resh Galuta? The answer comes from an ancient and revered book in the Jewish tradition which gives us a profound insight into the Jewish conception of history. In the “Tana di-bei Eliyahu” we are told that the six thousand years of human history, are divided into three cycles of two thousand years each. The first is called Tohu, Chaos, because during these two thousand years the spirit has not yet cry…

The dominant theme of this morning’s Sidra, treated in two separate episodes, is expressed in one word: berit. It is one of the most important words in the whole of the Jewish religious vocabulary. Berit, in essence, means – religion. For berit implies a relationship between G-d and man, a state of mutuality, a dialogue. For those for whom G-d is nothing but an ideal, a principle, or some abstraction, not a living reality, it is absurd even to speak about berit. You can discuss berit only in the context of the Jewish tradition in which G-d is taken in the theistic sense as Elohim Chayyim – a living G-d, one who engages the heart and mind of men. Similarly, the word “religion” derives from the old French and that from the Latin “relegare” – which, too, means to bind fast, to hold tight. Both words thus, berit and “religion,” mean to forge a close bond between G-d and man. How an individual reacts to berit, how he conceives of it and approaches it, tells us all we need to know about the quality of his religious experience. How then should we approach berit? In other words, how should we be religious? First, let us briefly say what berit should not come to mean to us. Berit should not mean merely, as it has come to mean for some people, a form of barter, a kind of religious bargain that one strikes with G-d. In this sense berit is merely a form of religious haggling or spiritual commerce, in which a man approaches G-d on a quid pro quo basis: I will give charity, you take care of my portfolio; I will fast on Yom Kippur, You provide me with health; I will recite the Yizkor, You take care of my family until the next such occasion. This is akin to paganism. Such a person acts as if Judaism and berit meant that in isolated moments and on rare occasions man comes to G-d and makes a “fast deal” with Him. This is a distortion of the concept of berit, a vulgarization of religion – no matter how popular it is.For others, berit means not barter but contract. The contract interp…

Keen observers of the contemporary American scene have informed us that one of the distinguishing characteristics of our society is the search for status, for reaching even higher plateaus of social recognition and acceptability. We are, all of us, involved in a kind of games mythology whereby the status we seek is represented by certain kinds of symbols. You are all acquainted with the status symbols of our society. One status symbol is the “right” kind of car – one year an outsized monster, the next an undersized foreign import. The neighborhood in which one lives is often a status symbol – even a remote, inaccessible area with no clear advantages over places closer to the city are sometimes regarded as having high status value. A status symbol is the “right” kind of store, regardless of the quality of the goods or their price; the kind of school to which you send your children; the kind of clothes you wear, the club you belong to, the temple you are afflicted with, and the restaurants you patronize. These symbols are supposed to bestow status upon the fortunate ones who achieve them. They are decided upon by a closed, anonymous circle of fashion-dictators and opinion-makers who are social leaders in our society, and whom others follow instinctively. They place a premium not on contents, inwardness, objective quality, or utility, but on fiction elaborately developed for the purpose of defining class-structure and mobility in America. Much of our current literature features books by sociologists who describe all this in detail, and usually gently poke fun at the status-seeker.What does Judaism have to say about this? What insight can we cull from our ancient wisdom? I believe that if we ponder our sacred literature we can discover nothing inherently objectionable in status-seeking. To some extent, every society must have a set of status-symbols. There is something of the status-seekers in every one of us. Kept in bounds, and practiced in moderation, status-seeking…

Both Aramaic translators of the Bible, Onkelos and Jonathan ben Uziel, present an interesting translation of one word at the beginning of this morning’s portion which serves as a key to understanding this whole period in the life of Abraham. The patriarch is commanded, “get thee out of thy country, and from thy birthplace, and from thy father’s house” (Gen. 12:1). It is the Hebrew word molad’tekha which is normally rendered “thy birthplace,” based on the root moledet. The Aramaic Targumim, however, translate the word as yaldutekh – your childhood. Itparesh min yaldutekh, get thee out of thy childishness, is the significant command of G-d to Abraham.Of course, Abraham was no longer a child when these words were addressed to him. Yet childishness is not only a matter of years; it is equally a matter of mental attitude. And the divine command to Abraham to grow up is the most significant event in the life of the patriarch thus far, an event the consequences of which first begin to unfold before us in this biblical portion and the next.Lekh lekha thus becomes more than the story of Abraham’s life. It is a guide to men and women of all ages in how to grow up. For maturity is fundamental to the life of mitzvot. A katan – a minor, one who is immature – cannot be a bar mitzvah. To grow up is a religious imperative.The symptoms of maturity are manifold. The ramifications are far too many to discuss within the confines of one sermon. But if you investigate the record of Abraham, you find that the foremost expression of his maturity consists of largesse, generosity, bigness of character, an utter lack of pettiness and cheapness.An argument develops between the shepherds of Abraham and those of Lot. It is a business quarrel that threatens the personal relationship of the two men themselves. Whose duty is it to initiate a reconciliation? Who ought to seek out whom to propose settling all outstanding issues between them amicably? Certainly, the answer is Lot. He is younger, he i…

When we are introduced to Abraham in today’s Sidra, we meet the greatest revolutionary in all the Western world, perhaps in all humanity. It is Abraham who taught the world a purified concept of monotheism, the idea of worshipping One Supreme God. But we must not imagine that this greatest of all ideas occurred fully mature to Abraham in a sudden inspiration. Abraham, as we trace his story through the pages of the Bible, does not appear to us as a static individual. He undergoes development and growth. And even after he has discovered the authentic Jewish truth of one God, we find him proceeding from level to level, ever growing higher.In the Sidra we read today, we find one passage in which Abraham addresses two questions to God, and these two questions symbolize two levels of faith and religion in the life of Abraham. And at the same time, they tell us, the descendants of Abraham in the twentieth century, how we must proceed from strength to strength in our religious insight.The first question is posed after God promises Abraham that his reward will be very great. At this point, Abraham turns to the Almighty and says to Him, my Lord God mah titen li – what will You give me? The second occurs shortly afterwards, after God has promised Abraham that he and his descendants will inherit the Land of Israel. Abraham says, my Lord God ba-mah eda ki irashenah – literally, “how will I know that I indeed will inherit it?”The first question, that of mah titen li, shows that Abraham has reached that plateau of religious understanding, where he is able to ascribe everything of any worth in the world to God. Abraham knows that, in an ultimate sense, it is God who provides, and He who denies. He recognizes that the only Source to whom to turn for the satisfaction of one’s needs is – the Almighty. No individual, no matter how powerful, no government no matter how benevolent, can replace God as the Provider of man’s greatest and most cherished needs. Therefore, Abraham turns to hi…

In modern times we have come to realize that self-interest, or plain egotism and selfishness, constitutes one of the most powerful forces in the universe. Thoughtful people conclude, therefore, that we ought to harness this immense reservoir of energy for constructive purposes. Certainly, skyscrapers are built, and schools founded, and hospitals established, books are written, and elections won, and business increased, not primarily because the people who do these things are concerned with the general weal or social health or science or esthetics or national economic growth. They are done because people want to make more money, or build a reputation, or simply have the satisfaction of doing things bigger and better than anyone else. Cynical though that sounds, all of us recognize the truth in it. It is a fact. The nail in your shoe hurts more than the fatal accident on the next street. And one flattering remark, one little compliment, buoys your spirit more than the news that ten people were saved from disaster.Religion nowadays also tends to capitalize on that insight. Thus such phenomena as Christian Science to something called “Jewish Science,” and the Power of Positive Thinking to the promises given by leaders of every religion that what they have to offer will bring more happiness and psychological well-being.Popular morality, too, exploits this idea. We are told to practice honesty, not because it is right, but because “honesty is the best policy.” We are discouraged from committing a crime, not because crime is wrong, but because “crime doesn’t pay.”Perhaps there is something to all this. Perhaps to some kinds of mentality, or even to all kinds of mentality, this appeal to self-interest yields results and makes the world a better place to live in. But if this is all there is to it; if we work on the premise that man is only a self-seeking, egotistical animal, out only for himself – then we are in a sorry mess, and religions which accept such a view without p…

I address myself this morning to a problem that really requires much more than one sermon for adequate treatment, but which should be dealt with in at least one sermon. It is a theme about which the pulpit must not remain silent. The problem is often expressed in the form of this question: can I not be good without religion? Is it not possible to be decent without accepting all the minutiae of religion? Is not a good heart sufficient without observance of all the ritual?That question has recently been answered, in a sophisticated fashion, by a number of theologians who have declared – borrowing a phrase from Nietzsche, the spiritual father of Nazism – that “God is dead.” This means that God has no relations with our world, He is unconcerned with man, and that therefore He is irrelevant and meaningless. Hence, they conclude, we must construct a morality in human terms, without reference to traditional religion; we must devise a secular ethic and propound a Godless goodness.How shall we respond, we who are believing and observing Jews, we who deny that – Heaven forbid! – “God is dead,” but who insist, instead, on affirming undying faith in the Torah’s Elokim hayyim, the living God of the Bible?First, we cannot deny that there are good people who do not believe in God. We have all met such people in our own personal experience. However, Judaism maintains that such goodness cannot last forever. The moral instincts that prevail today are but the residue of a religious reservoir which is rapidly drying up. We are living off the ethical interest from the quickly dwindling religious capital of two generations ago. For ethical living is the branch of a tree of life, of which the roots are religion. When you cut off the root, the branch does not wither immediately, but eventually it must die. So, ethics is a natural consequence of religion. Reject religion, and within a few generations ethical living and moral instincts must die as well. Second, secular ethics, Godless goodn…

In the very first revelation to Abraham, God promises the patriarch: “And I will make of thee a great nation, and I will bless thee, and make thy name great, and be thou a blessing.” The Talmud (Pes. 117b) identified the four elements in this verse in a most unusual yet familiar way. The benediction, they said, refers to the Shemoneh Esreh prayer, and the promise was that henceforth and for all time the Name of God was to be linked with Abraham, with his son, and with his grandson. So the Rabbis said: ve’e’eskha le’goy gadol, zehu she’omrim Elokei Avraham, “And I will make of thee a great nation” refers to the expression, “The God of Abraham.” Va-avarekhekha, zehu she’omrim Elokei Yitzhak. “And I will make thee” refers to the expression, “The God of Isaac.” And va-agadlah shemekha, “I will make thy name great,” refers to the expression Elokei Yaakov, “The God of Jacob.” Thus it is that in the very beginning of our Shemoneh Esreh we bless God Who is Elokei Avraham, Elokei Yitzhak, and Elokei Yaakov – God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob.However, there is yet a fourth element in that promise, the final one, namely: ve’heyeh berakhah, “And be thou a blessing.” What does this mean? To this the Talmud gave the following answer: Veyakhol yihu hotmin be’khulan, one might think that because the Name of God is linked to all three patriarchs, that therefore the climax of the blessing, its hatimah or seal, would similarly include all three patriarchs. Therefore God says to Abraham, ve’heyeh berakhah, “Be thou a blessing,” to indicate that bekha hotmin, the seal or climax of the blessing would mention only the name of Abraham and not the name of his son Isaac or his grandson Jacob. Thus it is that the seal of the first blessing of the nineteen of the Shemoneh Esreh is: magen Avraham, “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, Shield of Abraham.”What a strange remark! We can understand Abraham’s joy at knowing that his child and grandchild would, like him, be bound up with the divine Name. W…