Lech Lecha
With the opening of Lech Lecha, I realize again how difficult it is to go beyond these two not-so-simple words. Go. Go where? What constitutes a journey, especially in our minds? How do we hear the voice of God: Commanding as in the domain of the Leviathan, or insistent as a mosquito? And how do we understand Lech lecha in the context of understanding the mitzvah of circumcision, brit milah?
I am without that marker of covenant that so concerns God. I am a woman, so covenant holds differently for me; it is not engraved so much on, but in, my body. Covenant is not a marker on my body; I am, in the language of prayer, circumcised on my heart, and thus my soul. Perhaps, for women, our menses can be regarded as a covenant of blood, allowing us to bring children into this world. Yet, that act of begetting, as Bible often references generational continuity, is more an act of physiology than covenant. And, of course, many women do not bear children.
Creation, copulation, castration, and now circumcision and covenant – these “c” words all carry a heavy weight, a kaved, of relationship. These words demand: They demand other becomes as-one, they demand an action that is transformative, changing what was to what is, and now, a cutting that mysteriously becomes covenant. God has demanded this “ot,” as a sign of love, not just of body, but of soul.
Let’s consider that moment of first circumcision we read about in this parashah: Abraham takes a knife, or perhaps a very sharp stone, and then must bring that sharpened edge to his foreskin. It is an almost unimaginable act. I have seen the hands of grown men cup their own genitals, as they wept whilst attending a bris. This act summons another moment, a memory of Avraham holding a knife – the Akedah. Is brit milah, the removing of the orlah, perhaps a foreshadowing of that equally unimaginable act – a father sacrificing his own son – summoned by that same demanding voice of God?
Our Sages had their own questions. Bereshit Rabbah 49.1 suggests that God helped Abraham with this deed, stretching Abraham’s foreskin so that Abraham could make the cut. In another reading from Tanhuma Ye’lammedenu, Lekh lekha 17, a scorpion bit Abraham on his foreskin, thereby conveniently circumcising him. One can feel the squirming, if not to say severe discomfort of these male readers – who ask themselves just how did Avraham manage to accomplish this act?
And so once again, I will return to Don Isaac Abarvanel, who cites Rambam, (not by name, but by idea), when he says that “the nature of the quarry ought to be evident in what was hewn from it,” in reference to Isaac as a descendant of Avraham. Circumcision might be the ultimate identifier, the ultimate mark of Jewish continuity. Abarvanel knew that in his day, many Jews were choosing conversion to Christianity; conversion enabled them to live, circumcision was a signifier of danger. Questions of authenticity hung over them, like that knife in Avraham’s hand, hovering over his beloved son Yitzhak. Were their vows truly authentic? What was hewn from the quarry was now in mortal danger.This question cannot help but bring up the “disappeared” in Argentina, the search for brit milah by vicious Nazi’s. And we must ask – did the mark of Cain become brit milah?
Today, the ritual of brit milah is found to be in question by the very community that has held this “ot” or sign of covenant for millennia. Circumcision has oddly also become a question of authenticity. The word “intactness” is used by those opposed to brit milah, implying a greater authenticity of body, at the very least for those who have not been circumcised. But who has an intact body – are we not all marred (or perhaps mirrored) by the vicissitudes of life?
Evolving new traditions is an oxymoron for many. Yet, we must listen to the many modern-day would-be conversosin our midst. Ferdinand and Isabella are not on the throne, but the lure of Gentility remains. How will we respond? Judaism is a culture of reminders; the function of our mitzvot is to draw our attention to that larger vision that Abarvanel and our Sages sought. One-ness of body and soul with God. How will we pack this vision of authentic covenant with us on our journeys? Lech Lecha. Go.
And, don’t forget to pack the mohel jokes.
Shabbat shalom.

                    
Vayeira or the Many Shades of Shylock
October 21, 2018 by Rabbi Lynn Greenhough • From the Rabbi's Desk Tags: vayeira •
If we hold Wisdom as an entity apart, however metaphorically, then Wisdom-as Torah existed prior to Creation. Wisdom is viewed almost as an architectural plan, which God then used as a blueprint. Our Sages understood Wisdom-as-Torah as a foreshadowing, a device that preceded Torah-as-historical document which by nature, entails looking back, giving the reader a history.
Within Wisdom, there was a glimpse, perhaps the briefest of appearances, of what was to come. We see this apparitional collapsing of physical entity into belief much later in the precise architectural plans for the Temple found in the Books of Kings. These plans were written from memory into word, which then functioned as a fulcrum of both memory and hope, as necessity required. In this way, Torahfunctions within tenses almost as God’s description of Self: I was, I am, and I will be.אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה, Torah, becomes that liminal opening, a poteach.
All this is a bit like opening a compressed file on our computers – which this week opens to Vayeira. And Vayeira opens, with just such a liminal appearance, at the very threshold of Abraham’s tent. A question arises of just what, or whom, Avraham saw. The “text” describes a visit by God and/or three men/angels. Abraham was initially head-bent-down whilst recovering in his tent, yet he immediately lifts his eyes and arises. “They” are present in front of Abraham, and yet distant enough that he must run towards them. So too do we experience both the imminence and transcendence of a personal, yet distant God.
We know when we feel the Presence of God –if only for the merest of moments, (with credit to Anaxagoras). Anaxagoras lived in Greece prior to Socrates, and he was also a philosopher. He noted that, “Appearances are a glimpse of the unseen.” Unseen? Who appeared to Abraham? What did he glimpse?
Further into Vayeira, on the way to Sodom, we encounter Abraham in a verbal duel with God: Who shall live and who shall die?I can’t help but cite Ann Coulter here, who stated that she…”gets a little belligerent when not enough protesters show up at my appearances.” I would like to suggest that perhaps God feels a bit like Coulter. God needs many more of us to show up, challenging and arguing, as did Abraham. Maybe God is saying to us here, “Welcome Me, yes, but argue with Me, challenge Me,be My ezer knegdo, be strength-against-Me.”
I recently watched a documentary about “The Merchant of Venice.” The focus of the presentation was Shylock and the question was Shakespeare’s intention; was it to make Shylock an object of derision? Or was Shakespeare’s intention to plead for the humanity of this man, a Jew? Was this play trying to make what was unseen, seen? His characters are like Matryoshka dolls, nestling within themselves, providing glimpses of tragedy within what was ostensibly a comedy.
“Am I not man like any other, do I not bleed”? Shylock demands. And Avraham asks of God – “are these people of Sodom not Yours?… Will you even obliterate righteous with wicked?” Shylock and Abraham become one with their questions. The courts convene. One court consists of Avraham trudging beside his God. He and God have both chosen each other – in love. But Abraham is dogged – he is not letting God off on any hook. And God too is resolute. There is no happy ending. Not for Sodom.
Shakespeare’s play also ends unhappily, with Portia demanding that Shylock not only be denied his pound of flesh, but that he be punished. Shylock, for his very asking that his bond against a Venetian be redeemed, must now convert to Christianity – a fate so false to Shylocks soul that it is painful to look up. We feel a blade slice through our soul, and we sit like Avraham, our heads bent down.Aach. What will we see when we look up?
Appearances. We think we know what we see. And yet even God wonders what to reveal, what to conceal. God asks, “Should I conceal from Abraham what I do?” Glimpsing what seems concealed, glimpsing that moment where we become Thou, in Buber’s language –this is our journey. God and Shakespeare, Abraham and even Ann Coulter – we all want what is unseen to become seen. Perhaps, with chochmah, with Wisdom guiding us, that holy blueprint can live within us, and guide us towards such a glimpse. An appearance. Vayeira. Shabbat shalom.