The preoccupation of the first sections of Genesis with names – their origins, explanations and histories – indicates to us that a name implies more than a mere word of superficial identification. It goes deeper than that. For if it were only a matter of verbal tag, as it were, then a number would suffice. Instead of Abraham, Isaac or Jacob, numbers one, two, and three would do. More so – it would be more accurate, more scientific, and would involve less duplication.What then, does a name imply? It implies a singular and unique individuality, a definite and defined personality. A name is a word which brings to mind a man’s character, the totality of a person. This is true even for lifeless bodies. A star, for instance, may be characterized by mathematical coordinates, a definite velocity, a certain number of light-years from the earth and from the nearest star, and so on. Yet the professional astronomer soon begins to feel that these heavenly bodies have personalities and characters of their own. He develops an intimate friendship or kinship, so to speak, with the subject of his studies. And so, astronomers, violating the rules of their own discipline, begin to call their stars by unscientific names of all sorts. Our medieval philosophers speak of the stars as בעלי-נפש, soul-endowed. Soul indeed. Stars, by legend, myth, and their own character are as individuals. How does the Psalmist put it? מונה מספר לכוכבים, לכולם שמות יקרא, G-d numbers the stars, ‘tis true, but he also gives them names. And if it is so with a lifeless body, then certainly so with a human being.So then, a name indicates individuality, and all the forces that an individual can exert upon his environment. And this is what the naming of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and all the others means. This business of having a name, of expressing your own individuality and personality, is the very opposite of the abdication and yielding to the sinister mass forces which we face today. Owning a name is the symbol…

Now that the debates are all over and the smoke from the verbal battles of the recent campaigns cleared, we can begin to seriously analyze some of the moral overtones of what has been thought, said, and done. One issue which can stir the imagination of a religious teacher is that of “greatness.” Both candidates have been described as “great” even by their opponents. And both have spoken reverently of the “greatness” which is the future of America. May I use this issue not as a text, but as a pretext; I wish to discuss with you not the greatness of nations but the striving for greatness in individuals and in institutions. No man worth his salt, and no institution worthy of its members, will ever be satisfied with remaining mediocre, half-baked and only half-good – because half-good means also half-bad. A real man will, in all humility, strive for greatness. This desire for greatness may be only a dream, but it is human to dream. No animal or machine ever dreams or daydreams. Shakespeare writes: “But be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.” This morning we are not going to discuss those who are born great – for that is a gift of G-d. Nor are we going to discuss those who have greatness thrust upon them – that is the gift of society. We are more interested in the second class: those who achieve greatness. And our problem is, how does one achieve greatness? Or better, realizing that greatness is not something that happens to you suddenly, but is acquired slowly and painfully, we should ask: how does one mature into greatness? In short, what, according to religion, is the prerequisite for greatness?Our Rabbis found the answer to that question in today’s Sidra, and they had some remarkable things to say on that matter. Remember how G-d, in that dramatic revelation, promised Abraham a son; well, Sarah bore that son unto Abraham, and the child was called Isaac. And then, the Torah tells us: Vayigdal…

Our Father Abraham, in this morning’s Torah reading, indulges in one of the most fascinating, dangerous and popular sports known to mankind: debating with G-d. So unique is this controversy between Abraham and G-d, that I think it is one of the most remarkable passages in all the Bible. Listen to the Torah’s account of the debate:“The agents went on from there to Sodom, while Abraham remained standing before G-d. Abraham came forward and said, ‘Will You sweep away the innocent along with the guilty?’ What if there should be fifty innocent within the city; will You then wipe out the place and not forgive it for the sake of the innocent fifty who are in it? Far be it from You to do such a thing, to bring death upon the innocent as well as the guilty, so that innocent and guilty fare alike. Far be it from You! Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?’ And G-d answered, ‘If I find within the city of Sodom fifty innocent ones, I will forgive the whole place for their sake.’ Abraham spoke up, saying, ‘Here I venture to speak to my lord, I who am but dust and ashes: What if the fifty innocent should lack five? Will You destroy the whole city for want of the five?’ ‘I will not destroy if I find forty-five there.’ But he spoke up again, and said, ‘What if forty should be found there?’ ‘I will not do it, for the sake of the forty.’And he said, ‘Let not my lord be angry if I go on: What if thirty should be found there?’ ‘I will not do it if I find thirty there.’ And he said, ‘I venture again to speak to my lord: What if twenty should be found there?’ ‘I will not destroy, for the sake of the twenty.’ And he said, ‘Let not my lord be angry if I speak but this last time: What if ten should be found there?’ ‘I will not destroy, for the sake of the ten.’ Having finished speaking to Abraham, G-d departed; and Abraham returned to his place.” (Genesis 18: 22-33)This, then, is the great debate between the man whom G-d loved, and the G-d whom the man worshipped.I say it is fas…

Politics is in the air this week. It is in the annual American Show of the Year. It has its sordid aspects – the half-truths and innuendos which seem inevitable. It has its genuinely humorous aspects – the display of righteous indignation, the brickbats, the half-serious assertions by every candidate that the Republic stands or falls on his election. And above all, it has its glorious aspects – the fact that it is a game open to all, the fact that ultimately it is the people in whom the power resides and that it is democracy which is our form of self-government.However, it is not politics that we wish to speak about tonight, nor is it that which you came to hear in this synagogue. I want, rather, to define the attitude of this pulpit to a problem shared by religious leaders and those interested in government, by the clergy and the practitioners of politics in its nobler sense. And that is: to what extent, if any, is it permissible or advisable for the clergy to “mix” in politics. For that is what does occur – in any larger city than this, you will find, every year at this time, that some clergyman of some faith has some kind of statement about some political issue or personality. For a good number of years, in Zionist circles, it was common knowledge that Rabbi A, a renowned Zionist personality, was a strongly pro-Roosevelt backer and Rabbi B was – and today still is – an equally staunch Republican. This was assuredly a clever way of assuring success either way by showing support for both parties. It was clearly a deeply ingrained political view by each of these two well-known public figures, who happened to be Rabbis. In Springfield this year, there has been a matter of Catholic criticism of the composition of an educational committee. Such examples can be multiplied many times. Well, what view should we take – as both religious Jews and loyal Americans?First, let me state unequivocally that a Rabbi’s task is not to be a political commentator. If he is, he prostit…

In this Sidra, which records some of the greatest events in the history of mankind, such as the “Akeidah,” and through whose holy passages there move such spiritual giants as Abraham, Isaac and Sarah, we find one character more distinguished by the shadow in which he is hidden then by the light which is cast upon him. He flits through the last two portions in an incidental sort of way, a bit mysterious, never fully capturing our attention, seemingly a character accidentally and fortuitously rescued from total oblivion of history only because he had a great uncle. He is a man who intrudes upon sacred history, and never really becomes a part of it. This man is Lot, the nephew of Abraham. And perhaps his very importance lies in the fact that he is not a major character, a chief actor in the historical drama, but rather a secondary, stage-hand type. Why is that important? Because we can identify with him more easily than with Abraham. Most of us are not great, not giants, not Abrahams, but ordinary mortals with ordinary foibles and weaknesses, ordinary virtues and ordinary goals. Lot is the average man, and from him and his life, the average Jew can learn more in a negative way than perhaps even from Abraham in a positive way. In the life of this man we can see the pitfalls before all of us, the dangers in the life of every man, so that he can teach us how not to live and what not to do.Lot cuts a tragic figure indeed. He was given a number of real advantages early in life. For one thing, he had a rich uncle – Abraham – who set him up in business. This same uncle provided him with a Jewish home, a decent life, education. Lot proved loyal to Abraham even after he left him to settle in Sodom, the city of wealth and corruption. Even there, he still keeps many of the things he learned from Abraham, such as hospitality. He leads an “underground” Jewish life. He is the nephew of Abraham inside, the judge of Sodom outside. He becomes a respected member of their society. He is…

The story of the Akeda, which we read this morning, is, together with the revelation at Sinai, the central event in Jewish history and religion. One of the most remarkable aspects of this episode is the one word by which Abraham accepts upon himself this historic trial and its mental agonies and spiritual sufferings. God called to him, “Abraham!” and, in magnificent simplicity, the response is forthcoming: Hinneni, “Behold, here I am,” or, “I am ready.”One of the commentators, R. Abraham b. Rambam – the only son of Maimonides – emphasizes the quality of this response by contrasting it to that of Adam. He writes, mah rav ha-hilluk, “How great the difference,” bein maamaro hinneni, u-maamar zikno Adam va-ira ki erom anokhi va-ahavei, “between Abraham, who answered the Divine call with the word hinneni, and Adam, who, when God called out to him, “Where art thou?” answered, “I saw that I was naked so I hid.”Now, this comparison is somewhat disturbing. The answer of Adam is, after all, the response of a human being pursued by God who demands an explanation for a terrible failure, whereas Abraham’s response is to a Divine call not necessarily connected with any human offense. Is this not, then, an individual comparison? Is not Abraham great enough in his own right and without seeking to enhance his reputation at the expense of his grandfather Adam?The answer I wish to offer is one which, I believe, not only justifies the comment of R. Abraham b. Rambam, but has the widest ramifications both for a proper understanding of the Bible and for our own lives. This answer is that both – Adam and Abraham – were, in a sense, being reprimanded!The story of the Akedah begins with the words va-yehi ahar ha-devarim ha-eleh, “and it came to pass after these things.” What things? asked the Rabbis. In their answer, they indicate that the words of the Bible imply some severe introspection. Ahar hirhurei devarim shehayu sham; the Akedah took place after deep meditation and self-analysis by…

The portions we read these weeks afford us an intimate glimpse into the society of the ancient Near East – its manners and its morals, the values it cherished and those it ignored. Even more important, it acquaints us with the lives of the founders of our people, the three Patriarchs who flourished in that society and because of whom we are what we are today. However, the Torah is not just an attempt to satisfy our curiosity about ancient history, and the Bible should never be considered as merely a kind of literary anthropology. The Torah is a living guide for all ages, and that is why the tradition saw in the narratives about the Patriarchs not just the recording of significant history but also the inter-play of symbols that are relevant to all times, including our own. Hence, the Jewish tradition considered the three Patriarchs as archetypes of some of the most important ideas and principles in human existence. Thus, Abraham was identified with the quality of hessed, that of generosity and love and charitableness. Isaac embodied the principle of pahad, which literally means fear, but is meant to indicate reverence or awe or piety. Jacob, the last of the Patriarchs, symbolizes emet, truth and honesty.Now, Scripture certainly offers abundant support for this -2- identification of the Patriarchs with the specific virtues we have mentioned. But does this mean that Abraham, for instance, was exclusively devoted to hessed, and that he was not a man of pahad or emet? Do we not know that Abraham was distinguished by his God-fearing character, and that after the incident of the Akedah, the Lord said to him, ”Now I know that you are God- fearing?" Did not, indeed, all the Patriarchs share in all three virtues?Of course they did. Yet there is good reason why our tradition specifies one virtue for each Patriarch. This was ex- plained by one of the great teachers of Musar, that noble ethical movement within Judaism in 19th century Lithuania. R. Simchah Zissel Ziv of Keim tel…

At the beginning of this week’s Sidra we find the tired, aged, post-operative patriarch Abraham looking for guests to invite into his home. The Rabbis declared that this was the greatest virtue of Abraham: hakhnasat orhim, hospitality. In this Abraham was preeminent, greater than all other Biblical personalities. Thus, Job too was hospitable: he built his home so that it contained four doors, one in each direction, to make it easier for any wayfarer to find his way directly into his house. Abraham, however, went a step further: he sat at the entrance to his tent looking actively for any strangers who might need his assistance. Now, this is more than a charming and didactic narrative; it has become a normative part of Judaism, a halakhah. Thus, the Mishnah teaches that hakhnasat orhim is included in one list together with the precepts of honoring father and mother, doing kindness to others, visiting the sick, dowering a poor bride, and paying one’s last respects to the dead. Hakhnasat orhim is more than a desert virtue, a life-and-death necessity for the Bedouin. It is relevant to every age, even more so to a society as mobile as ours, and therefore so plagued with loneliness and friendlessness. An analysis of the theory and practice of hospitality will teach us the deeper meaning of hakhnasat orhim, and also give us an insight into the overall quality of the Jewish ethical personality.The first thing that we must understand is that hakhnasat orhim is not just a reflection of a gracious character. It is fundamentally an act of religious commitment.The Rabbis expressed that in their statement that gedolah hakhnasat orhim mi-kabbalat pnei ha-shekhinah, “Hospitality to the wayfarer is greater than receiving the divine Presence.” They gather this from the Biblical story at the beginning of this morning’s Sidra. We find Abraham in the midst of a divine revelation (vayera elav ha-Shem), but before it has proceeded very far Abraham interrupts the revelation in order to wai…

Our Sidra opens this morning with the revelation of God to Abraham. We are not told what it was that God told the patriarch, but the Rabbis inform us that the Lord, as it were, was performing the commandment of Bikkur cholim, visiting the sick. Abraham was an old man, he had just been circumcised, and he was indisposed. It was at this time of his recuperation that God paid him the visit. Reading of this account affords us the opportunity to speak about the Jewish view of sickness and health, and especially one of the most significant and cherished precepts in the Torah, that of Bikkur cholim, visiting the sick. First, it is unquestionable that health is an important value. Judaism raises shemirat ha-guf, care for the body, to the level of a mitzvah or precept. Maimonides had taught, long before Benjamin Franklin, that a sound mind depends upon a sound body. To deny that health is a great value is to fly in the face of the facts of Jewish teaching. Every four weeks we offer a special prayer at the advent of the new month in which we ask for chilutz atzamot, health, and three times every day we turn to God and pray, refaenu, “Heal us, O Lord.” Those who suffer from illness, either themselves or in their families, can surely appreciate the great blessing that good health is.And yet, I question the implicit prejudice of many uninformed and semi-informed people that health is Judaism’s chief value. Thus, for instance, they interpret the laws of Kashrut and Mikvah as primarily hygienic regulations, when in fact they are not such.Furthermore, we are all acquainted with the Yiddishism, “Abi Gezunt” – as long as you are well. You've lost a fortune? – “Abi Gezunt.” You failed a crucial test? – “Abi Gezunt.” You are getting a divorce and breaking up your home? – “Abi Gezunt.” Your children are marrying out of the faith? – “Abi Gezunt.”“Abi Gezunt” is based upon a philosophical assumption which I deny, namely, that health is the highest value. Perhaps this overemphasis on heal…

I find myself returning again and again to the theme of tradition and innovation in Judaism. We are incessantly bombarded by shrill cries for change from the religious Left, as if a truncated tradition is equivalent to progress, as if “adaptation” is a magic word that will solve all our problems. At the same time, I am perplexed and even vexed by the doctrinaire inertia and resistance in some circles to the least change, as if the fact that something never has been done is sufficient reason never to do it. I am proud and happy to be part of an unbroken tradition of law and teaching and worship and philosophy that overarches the generations, that links me through my parents and grandparents with the Rishonim and Tannaim on to Moses and Abraham. But I am distressed when “tradition” becomes an excuse for insensitivity to new needs, for refusing to confront new issues.The whole subject of change is, of course, too large to discuss within the confines of a sermon. So let us set down certain axioms: we are not talking about the Halakhah. In Halakhah, change is generally not the accepted rule. The few places where it can take place require a high degree of technical competence, and cannot be decided by plebiscite. But I am concerned by the tendency of some people, especially religious folk, to act as if the world never changes, who evince symptoms of the hardening of cultural and social arteries, and who fear that any deviation in procedure – which they themselves may have set down some years earlier – will wreak havoc in the Upper Worlds. What ought to be said about these other, non-halakhic aspects of our problem?First, it is important to stress that while there is little likelihood of significant change in the Halakhah, it demands of us that we change! When you stop changing, you stop growing, and when you stop growing, you in effect stop living. Of course, tradition – the Tradition – encourages innovation and change within us, and calls it, teshuvah, repentance. Spiri…