© Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff
The Torah reading for today is the famous story of the Akedah—the binding, and potential sacrifice, of Isaac. The story is, to say the least, an odd one. It begins with G-d commanding Abraham to sacrifice his son, his only son from his beloved Sarah, the son he loves most, Isaac. The command makes our moral sensitivities bristle, or, at least, it should. How could a supposedly good G-d command something so heinous? It is a question that has been asked for centuries, not only by those who have read this Biblical story, but also, and more important, by all those millions of people who have felt that life, at some point or another, has dealt with them unfairly. What have I done to deserve this? Why do bad things happen to good people? Is there no justice? It’s not fair!–These are the cries of the heart that we have all experienced, to greater or lesser degrees, and it is their ubiquity, the very fact that we share these feelings so profoundly, that explains the resonant power behind the story of the Akedah.
It was not chosen as the Torah reading for this day by accident. Instead, it was chosen on this birthday of the world to reflect the most fundamental, albeit painful, truth of existence. Life isn’t fair.
If that were all the Torah was trying to tell us, it would be an important message to be sure. But remember that the story in the Torah does not stop there. The story in fact has something of a happy ending. Isaac is not sacrificed. Abraham is rewarded, not for following G-d’s initial command, but rather for the purity of his G-d fearing motives and, importantly for us Conservative Jews, for his willingness to adapt to changing circumstances in order to reach a higher level of spirituality. And thus we learn from this story a myriad of lessons, among which are:
that we must never be frozen in our views of what G-d demands of us;
that physical deeds and external rituals are not the sine qua non of religious life, but rather are a reflection of that more crucial sign of devotion called by the Rabbis avodat halev, the “service of the heart”;
that Judaism ultimately takes an optimistic view of being, bolstering the belief that life, in spite of its many negative vicissitudes, ultimately can be hoped to turn out for the best—which indeed, its does, more times than not.
Were we to stop here, and simply summarize the lessons the Akedah has already taught us, dayyenu, it would perhaps be enough. But then we would miss what may be the most crucial lesson of all, what we could call the lesson of limits. What G-d is telling us in no uncertain terms in the Akedah is that there are limits for everything—even limits on how much one should sacrifice to G-d. How remarkable. You could imagine G-d as voracious—“Give me everything!!!”. But no. Examining the Akedah story, it is as if G-d were saying, “Your devotion is touching, but enough is enough. Even I can’t demand everything.”
Put another way, what the Akedah seems to be about is—restraint. Abraham binds Isaac, restrains him; while G-d restrains Abraham; while, at the same time, G-d demonstrates self-restraint. And through the centuries we have learned the value of restraint so well that we react instinctively and negatively to G-d’s first, seemingly unrestrained, demand that Abraham sacrifice Isaac. With chutzpah that is both remarkable in its brazenness and a supreme achievement of human civilization, we turn to G-d and say, with full confidence, “How dare you demand so much! Is there no limit to your demands? You have no right to expect us to give you everything!”
And, unbelievably, it is precisely this chutzpah, this awareness and defense of limits, that G-d wants us to have. In the year past, we have seen so many terrible examples of what happens when people refuse to recognize that there are limits to all things.
We have witnessed with sadness and disgust the consequences of failing to observe the limits of appropriate behavior on the part of the candidates for the presidency. And, as a corollary, we have witnessed the tawdry consequences of a lack of restraint in the political process that has forced us to rub our noses in this whole sorry mess. I can say for myself that the next time I hear the words e-mail, foundation, beauty contest or tax returns I’m going to run out of the room screaming with my hands over my ears.
We have witnessed with fear and loathing the consequences of religious fanaticism, where suicidal zealots refuse to recognize that there are moral limits to what they may and may not do to serve their cause.
We have witnessed with pain and frustration how nations like North Korea refuse to recognize any limit in their mad dash to become nuclear powers—even if it means that their people starve to death.
We have witnessed with anger revelations concerning the plunder of Jewish wealth during the Holocaust, the bankers and art dealers and corporate leaders who for decades masked their unlimited greed and vulgar rapacity under a thin veneer of stylish formality and supposed sophistication.
We have witnessed with horror and revulsion how innocent black people have been killed by police who could not show self-restraint; and how dedicated police have been assassinated by people who deluded themselves into thinking that the intensity of their anger was justification for a descent into barbarism and slaughter.
And we have witnessed most recently the fiasco at Wells Fargo, where hundreds of millions of dollars were stolen from unsuspecting customers; where thousands of low level employees were fired while management continued to go along its merry way; and where no one stopped to ask why a company that has a market capitalization of $300 billion could not restrain itself from stealing a hundred bucks from millions of little old ladies.
On the grand geopolitical scale, the lack of restraint seems almost endless. But equally painful, and perhaps even more devastating, is the lack of restraint on the personal level. Here, I am not focusing on the blatantly immoral transgressions of those who lack restraint, whether in sexual harassment of their employees, or psychological abuse of other family members, or of lashon hara, inappropriate speech, tearing apart the delicate fabric of community we work so assiduously to build.
No, I would like to focus on the lack of restraint which, as in the case of Abraham our Father so long ago, stems from good motives rather than evil ones. Perhaps I can illustrate this with a story.
Not too long ago, I was visiting some of our congregants in the hospital. I happened upon a young Jewish doctor whom I had previously invited to come visit us at CBT. Looking somewhat shell-shocked, and bone-tired, he glanced up from the patients’ charts he was reviewing. “Rabbi,” he said, motioning to the nurses’ station in which he was sitting, “this is my synagogue. I don’t have time to be anywhere else. Can you believe, it’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and this is where I have to spend my time.”
I was profoundly moved by the combination of pain and exhaustion he was feeling. He was not able to set limits to his professional responsibilities, and it was eating him up alive. Please understand, this is not a critique. No doubt, the professional responsibilities he bears on his shoulders are awesome, and considering how deeply dedicated he is, it’s nearly impossible to show restraint in the face of them.
But restrain himself he must. Otherwise, he’ll just have to wait for the heart attack he is headed for, G-d forbid, and then, perhaps, he’ll be prepared to make the hard choices. It’s just truly a pity that he’ll have to wait that long, if he survives at all. We all know the old adage about how people have trouble making it to a simcha, but they can always get there for a funeral. But this is a new, and troubling modern variant—they can’t even make it to their own simchas, especially not the everyday ones, which ensures that they will make it to their own funerals much faster than one would otherwise think.
And that young doctor is not alone. I see active workers in the Jewish community wandering about in a daze from all the meetings they are attending—without ever having the time for prayer, or study, or the performance of mitzvot that would liberate them rather than confine them. No doubt the communal needs are great. But how long can one go on giving without ever being renewed and refreshed? There must be a limit.
I see parents struggling to, as the expression goes, “give their kids everything.” And surely we would all agree that raising good children is a moral imperative of the absolute highest order. But are there no limits? Is it really healthy for the family as a whole if the individuals in it never have a chance to look out for themselves as individuals, and if parents never have a chance to renew their identity as lovers and friends? As much as G-d wants us to be good parents, that much He doesn’t demand.
My sister, who is with us today, has a comic on her refrigerator, where a doctor says to a patient, “Well, you can exercise one hour a day, or be dead 24 hours a day. Your choice.”
It’s really our choice.
As many of you know, I am enamored of bumper-stickers and T-shirts and commonly repeated lines from movies and TV. Just as a review of the siddur is the best way to learn about what Judaism stands for, so too I believe it is these artifacts of popular culture that quickly tell us where our society is and where it’s going. There is a popular slogan that I’m sure all of you have seen. The topic can vary, but it always goes, “So many X, but so little time.” The X can be women or men, or golf courses, or fishing holes, or apps, or, if you are a Rabbi, books, but the message is the same—we have to hurry up so we can do it all and have it all.
But there is a limit. As painful as it is for me to admit, there are going to be a lot of wonderful books that I’m not going to be able to read in this lifetime, even with the 4 extra months of limited mobility that Hashem just handed me. There are going to be corners of Eretz Yisrael that I will not get to explore. There are going to be words of love and affection that I will not get to express to my bride. And as I already have painfully learned, there are words of admiration and gratitude and respect that I will not get to express to my parents, of blessed memory. And on and on.
For there are limits to everything, including to the length of our lives. And so the question we must address today is, “How can we live in the face of that terrible knowledge that even that which is most precious to us has a limit?” And the answer of the Akedah is, I believe, that what matters is not the mere quantity of our actions but rather the profound intensity of our passions, which are reflected in, and give meaning to, what we do and experience. G-d is not interested in the sacrifice of others, however precious they may be to us. What G-d wants is for us to experience the awe of being in the divine presence. Our goal should not be to read a thousand books, but to give over our heart and mind to the transformative power of Torah and other great literature. Our goal should not be to work a million hours, but rather to approach the hours that we do work with complete conviction, firm integrity, and contagious honesty. Our goal should not be to say “I love you” endlessly, but rather to feel that love, and its transcendent power, infinitely.
It may be that, considering the state of things, we may be more inclined to experience worry than wonder. And that might drive us to work all the harder for the things we believe in so deeply, not least social justice and racial equality, with no limit on ourselves. But this would be a mistake. The more deeply we experience the wonder, the more powerfully we will be able to address the worry.
If we can remember that we are human beings, not human doings, if we can remember that the ultimate achievements are those within us, if we can remember that there is a limit to everything concrete and material, then we can allow the lesson of the Akedah to transform and renew us. Ultimately, when all is said and done, there is only one thing that is truly without limit, and that is the wonder we can all feel at the majestic expanse of our existence, with all its triumph and tragedy. It is hard to image a more liberating and empowering insight than this. May G-d, in the year to come, help us to feel that wonder as individuals, to shape our community around it, and to transform the world with it. And we will be truly blessed.
Amen.