Arrogance and the Metzora Leper In Quarantine

This is the essence of my first zoom lesson on the weekly Torah reading which I will deliver on Sunday evening at 7 pm via this link Zoom link: ChabadHouse.org.au/Zoom

A Muslim friend wrote to me in advance of the lesson: “...Please kindly explain the theological reason why Allah SWT did or did not prevent the virus mutating out of a wild animal in Wuhan into a human and able to spread worldwide, affecting already 500,000 and collapsing the world economy? ... The facts in front of us are COVID has affected all levels of Muslim counties, Iran, Indonesia, etc. Christian centres like Spain and Rome, and the superpowers - USA and China”.

It must be said that anyone who thinks they can read the mind of God is both arrogant and mistaken. Jewish scholars have rejected this kind of speculation. (1) Instead of definitive answers I will simply explore some sacred texts and see what light is shed. 

While it is wrong to assume one knows why others suffer, it is appropriate when we suffer to examine our deeds to see if there might be some sin we are being punished for, or perhaps a lesson here for improvement (2). However, an alternative explanation, if we could call it that, is that sometimes God causes us to suffer out of love rather than punishment. (3) 

In this quest for some meaning in the current human tragedy of coronavirus and the hardship challenge of isolation and in light of the Torah reading about the Metzora-Leper it is appropriate to explore this ancient process. The Torah requires a person who shows some symptoms involving his skin being discoloured (among others) to be tested/inspected (4) and quarantined for seven days at home (5). If the symptoms increase in severity a more intensive response was required in which “his clothes shall be torn, his head shall be left bare, and he shall cover over his upper lip; and he shall call out, “Unclean! Unclean!”…Being unclean, he shall dwell apart; his dwelling shall be outside the camp”. (6)

The most common way of explaining this is that the Torah is discussing a miraculous condition rather than a medical one. (7) However, a minority view in our tradition explains this as a contagious disease, in which those doing the inspecting were exposed to real danger. (8) We also know of one sage, Reish Lakish,  who was so insistent on social distancing that he threw stones at a Metzora-Leper who stepped out of his isolation. (9)

There is also a very strong tradition that this condition is a consequence of gossip or slander. (10) The basis of this is the story about Miriam, the sister of Moses, who is struck with this condition immediately after speaking critically about her brother Moses. (11) 

I would like to focus on a second case study about a very proud Aramean general named Naaman. We are told that he “was important to his lord and treated as one highly regarded… a great warrior, who was a leper”.   When he sought treatment from the prophet Elisha he came with his entourage, “his horses and chariots”. He stalked off in a rage when the prophet did not come out and pay homage to him, but instead sent a message to him to bathe in the Jordan river. (12) 

A more subtle and spiritual interpretation is that the condition of becoming a Metzora is the result of a deficiency of the process of wisdom - Chochma, [which in mystical terms means the capacity to receive new ideas in a general undefined and very open way] which fails to balance the faculty of analytical understanding. This imbalance is a subtle form of arrogance. When we intellectually analyse ideas we can be quite egotistical and self-conscious. In contrast to this process is the process of wisdom which is linked to humility. (13) 

The ritual at the end of isolation included a part of a cedar tree and a hyssop and letting a bird free (14). The cedar and hyssop represented the journey from arrogance, symbolised by the tall cedar to humility represented by the hyssop. The releasing of the bird, symbolised the reintegration of the leper into the community and the hope that this condition will not return (15). 

I will reiterate my point that we dare not assume that Covid19 is a punishment but we can use it as a stimulus for reflection. As we are forcibly isolated and disoriented during this time, let those of us who are privileged to have homes and our basic needs met at this time, dedicate some thought to cultivating humility and openness to wisdom and guidance to imagine a better way of being and living - not only when this is over, but also right now. To my Muslim questioner, with whom this post began and for all Muslims Ramadan Mubarak, may this special time assist in your own spiritual growth.  

Notes and Sources

1) Pirkey Avot/Ethics of the Fathers 4:15 Rabbi Yannai said: it is not in our hands [to explain the reason] either of the security of the wicked, or even of the afflictions of the righteous./ talk by the Lubavitcher Rebbe 1991  Sicha, Tenth of Teves 5751

2) Lamentations 3:40

3) Talmud, Brachos 5a, and in the second explanation drawing on Proverbs 3:12  

4) Leviticus 13:2-4

5) Rashi

6) Leviticus 13:45-6

7) Maimonides Yad Hachazakah Laws Tumaat Tzaraat 16:10

8) Bechor Shor on Leviticus 13:46 and Meshech Chochma on Leviticus 13:2

9) Yalkut Shimoni Metzora, 557

10) The Talmud Arachin  16a & b. Midrash Tanchuma Metzora 3

11) Numbers 12:1-10

12) Kings 2 5:1-4, 9-12 Australians would recognise a  self- important man struggling to accept being cut down to size. 

13) Likutei Torah by Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi Beginning of Metzora  

סיבת הנגעים הוא מחמת הסתלקות החכמה …ע"י התבוננות (בינה) נולד האהבה והשמחה ורשפי אש והוא בחינת הרצוא …[אבל ע"י החכמה] נמשך הביטול [למעלה מ] בחינת יש מי שאוהב

14) Leviticus 14:2-7

15) Midrash Tanchuma- Metzora 3

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Resurrected Nihilist Graffiti Artists - Neither Expectation Nor Despair

I just spent Passover together with my family at home, including three adult-children who normally live overseas, sharing many formal abundant meals, playing board games, and walking in the local forest (still allowed in Australia) as expected. Actually, not quite as expected. I played fewer board games with my kids, slept later and had more naps than I had expected. On reflection, Passover with my family was both draining and joyful. I think having unrealistic expectations might have something to do with it. 

In messages from my Christian colleagues at Together For Humanity I heard about how their families have been celebrating Easter, with sweet-filled coloured eggs and “Easter trees” as usual, but challenged by the absence of physically participating in the normal church services. 

With both of these special times just behind us, I think it is a good time to think about how we deal with unmet expectations. On one hand, it is useful to recognise that many of our expectations can become like an undefined implicit ‘contract’ between us and family members, life or God. The trouble is that neither our family members nor God have ever agreed to deliver everything that we think “should happen”. When this reality sinks in, at whatever level of loss, there is a temptation to swing to the opposite extreme and fall into despair and declare “our bones are dried out, and our hope is lost...” (1).

That last sentence is part of one of my favourite Passover texts: the prophet Ezekiel’s account of the resurrection of a valley of dry bones (2). As a teenager, I first engaged with this story at a talk by the late Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe spoke movingly about our responsibility for each other’s spiritual life. He referred to the part of the story where the prophet was instructed to speak “the word of God” to the dry bones and in response to the word the bones came to life. 

The Rebbe passionately implored his followers to reach out to Jews whose relationship to Judaism was dead and had completely dried up (3), to inspire them with the word of God (4). A few days later I remember looking at a High School basketball court and thinking about how some of the players, estranged from their Judaism, might be those 'dry bones' and my responsibility for my fellow Jews to speak the word of God to them. My sense of responsibility has evolved since then, but it continues to be fired with a belief in the great human capacity for change, despite the evidence that people often choose not to change much at all.     

There is some debate whether the dry bones story is just a metaphor, and if it was non-fiction, who were the people whose bones were in the valley? (5). I am particularly interested in the opinion that the dead had been a group of people who desecrated the holy temple walls with drawings of insects. Their implicit, very dark message was that human life was meaningless. Human life, their grafiti argued, was as transient as that of short lived insects, who have no bones and thus leave no trace after their death (6). One feature of despair is that one can never be disappointed again, because one expects the worst. Of course, despair also means abdicating all responsibility to do anything that could alleviate suffering and improve things. 

The resurrection of these very same individuals was a repudiation of their nihilism and an affirmation of hope. Human life can be meaningful and beautiful. Ezekiel's words still inspire me and others millenia later, as does Abraham Lincoln’s speech at Gettysburg (7). Lincoln asserted in that brief talk in 1863 that “the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here”, yet his powerful words about sacrifice and “government of the people, by the people, for the people”  still moves people today.     

At a time when humans are confronted by our mortality, and how that highlights the animal-like struggle for survival, it is important that we not lose sight of our capacity to be sublime. Some will not rise to the occasion, and this is to be expected, but others will. Contrary to the defeatist views of the insect themed graffiti artists, the human spirit can soar to high places, even in difficult times. Hope is not a denial of the reality of death and disappointment, it is the deliberate decision to forge on despite pain, because a better future, although not certain, is possible.  

Notes

1.     Ezekiel 37:11
2.     .Ezekiel 37:1-14.
3.  Talmud, Sanhedrin 92b
4. Schneerson, Rabbi M. M., - the Lubavitcher Rebbe (1986), https://www.chabad.org/therebbe/article_cdo/aid/2511571/jewish/Dry-Bones-Before-and-After-A-Call-to-Shluchim.htm
5.  Sanhedrin, ibid.
6. Maharsha commentary to Sanhedrin 92b.
7. This amazing 271 word speech is so short I will include it here in my notes:“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. http://www.abrahamlincolnonline.org/lincoln/speeches/gettysburg.htm 

Increasing Closeness During Social Distance - Vayirka

Photos taken by me, of the same mushrooms on my
forest morning walks near St Ives, one day apart. 

In a weird way, I am feeling more emotionally connected now than I have felt for a long time. I feel like I’m a bit Aboriginal with their kinship system, or that I am moving from an “I and It” orientation to a “We” centred way of being (1).  

A week ago, there was a moment when I stood looking at empty shelves in the St Ives Coles supermarket. Potatoes, other vegetables, eggs, pasta - all gone! It seriously disturbed me. I am embarrassed to write this. People have died and will continue to die from this disease, while many others have lost their jobs, and spouses and children in abusive homes are suffering extreme distress.  It seems wrong to think about anything else. However, the reality is that we humans are spiritual beings living in animal bodies, and we’re desperately dependent on our next feed. There are things that we describe with pronouns like “it”, that are very important to us.

My children recently arrived back from Crown Heights in New York where the rate of contagion is high. Usually that is an occasion for hugs, but not this time. Fortunately, we have some space in the house to cordon off areas for them to be isolated in, but I am worried about the spread of this plague, so I am self isolating and working from home. While I like my 'things', like my office, it is more important to do my bit for the broader effort and stay home. I must sacrifice an “it” for the sake of the “we” that is the other humans in this city. The Torah’s word for sacrifice is essentially the same word as closeness (2) and the intention of the animal sacrifices in the temple was to create closeness with God (3).

People like me, who are privileged to be able to continue our jobs and earn a living from home, should spare a thought for those who cannot. I think of service workers in the US, such as those described by Jesse Jackson many years ago: “...women, who [put their own lives at risk to] clean out the bedpans of the sick, wipe the sweat of fever on their foreheads, change their clothes - and when they got sick, couldn't lie on the [same] bed they'd made up every day”! (4)

The term social distance is inaccurate (4). What we need is physical distance between bodies, rather than social distance between our spirits. Yet, we are seeing some evidence of the latter. Angela Kim, an Australian nurse with Asian ancestry recently wrote on Facebook: “I just saw a post with a picture of Asians on a bus saying they are hoarding from regional places. If this is true, I'm sorry. I myself am an Asian and I am deeply saddened to see people panic buying and being selfish during the crisis. But myself, my family, my friends and my colleagues being Asian, are not like them... So many times I get called out with racist comments on the street with anger. ...Generalisation occurs easily when there's fear and anger. ...please have an open mind, not all Asians are the same”.

Angela’s anguished post touched me. Other posts address generalisations about religious Jews' compliance with distancing. These are just some examples of the pain people are experiencing. A silver lining for me at this difficult time has been to tune in more strongly to other people. I am using social media and my phone more intentionally as a means of care, compassion and companionship. On Sunday, my family and I got dressed up for a cousins’ wedding in New York and recorded ourselves dancing in Sydney, as a way of being there for a family member. I am noticing wonderful anecdotes of kindness on social media. I hope that the terrible sacrifices and the suffering caused by this virus might lead to a brighter future for some people, in some way. But I am focused on the here and now - to increasingly support each other, as well as care for ourselves.

Notes

1)     From a conversation with Michelle Brenner, influenced by the work of Dr. Alan Watkins and others. 

2)     Korban, קרבן is the word for sacrifice, while Karov קרוב is the word for close. The root of both is ק.ר.ב.

3)     Likutei Torah based on Leviticus 1:2. It elaborates there on the spiritual meanings of various sacrifices, eg. to sacrifice an ox is to commit to reduce aggression, while a sheep represents selfish indulgence as manifest in sheep spending their days eating grass.

4)     https://www.nytimes.com/1988/01/19/us/the-basic-speech-jesse-jackson-from-a-tradition-of-marching-for-jobs-and-rights.html  

5)     Ghassan Hage in a facebook post on 16.03.2020 “we spend so much time teaching students the difference between social and physical distances and here is the world normalising the usage of social distancing to mean physical distancing. what’s required is physical distancing, right?”

Reflecting on Jewish Marriage Sexual Ethics Lesson with Muslim Teens

A group of senior Muslim high school students, their teachers, a Catholic Priest and I, a Hasidic, bearded Rabbi, sat down recently for a discussion about Jewish marriage and sexual ethics as part of their Studies of Religion course.

I told the students what they needed to know for their course about weddings. I noted that In Judaism there are two distinct ceremonies. In earlier times these typically happened first in the home of the bride’s parents and then that of the groom’s parents (1) but today are done at the same time with only a symbolic break between them. I shared that I found it interesting when two Muslim that I know got married, it was not a one-step process. I attended a Nikah religious wedding ceremony in a Mosque and a wedding feast with loud Lebanese drums.

I was more interested in talking about marriage than weddings. I shared a memory with the students from a time when I was not much older than them. I had watched a scene in the movie, ‘Fidler on the Roof’.  The devoutly religious Jewish husband turns to his wife Goldeh, and asks her, “Do you love me?”. She finds the question bizarre and wonders if he had indigestion.  She replied: “Do I love you? for twenty-five years, I've washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house…milked the cow.  After twenty-five years, why talk about love right now?”

As a young man I was terribly troubled by the implication that in my very orthodox world we could not expect to ever be in love. I had read some novels, and romantic loved seemed marvellous, but not for me, it seemed. Years later I realised that due to modesty, ultra-orthodox couples don’t show affection to each other in front of other people, making love invisible.

I explained to the students that Goldeh’s list of twenty-five years of caring action also reflects a Jewish idea about the feeling of love being a product of caring and loving behaviour. In the Torah we read that Isaac brought his wife Rebecca into his tent, he married her and he loved her (2). In that order.

I shared with them a Kabalistic teaching about Adam and Eve first being created back to back as a double human (3), one side female and the other male. “But God split them so that they could face each other, face to face, light in light” (4). Marriage is meant to be about a powerful experience of connection between a couple. Unfortunately, for many people in our time the mundane requirements of earning a living and housework leave little energy for anything else.

We are human beings, not machines. For this reason, we also need to consider sexual ethics. Due to the syllabus requirements, the students and I spent some time on technical questions about restrictions and exceptions relating to contraception and abortion. But we also got around to the requirement for consent for sex within marriage, and guidance about the right way being that the couple should have sex; when they are not angry with each other but rather out of joy (5).

We discussed pleasure. Specifically, Jewish teachings that encourage men to consider women’s sexual pleasure. Part of Jewish marriage is a contract called a Ketuba that stipulates a husband’s obligation to be available to his wife sexually.

I was pleased to learn from the Catholic priest that it was not correct that Sex is the original sin. He explained that it is more appropriate to think of a child being born into a morally troubled world.

A few days after the session at the Islamic school, I was reflecting on all of this and it got me thinking about the Jewish attitude to pleasure. Not just as a requirement of kindness from a husband to his wife.

One explanation of why snakes are not Kosher is because they “go on their bellies”. This is interpreted as being symbolic of a person being pleasure-driven, both in terms of food and sex (6). However, I recently read that God creates our desires (7). I don’t believe sexual desire or pleasure are bad, it is only when it is out of balance with other ways, being such as altruism, attentiveness to others in a range of ways, and being of service.

This is the heart of the matter: human beings, essentially similar, but significantly different in various ways, connecting in understanding each other and ourselves. 

 

Notes and sources 

1. Lamm, N. 2008, The Jewish Way in Love & Marriage
2. Genesis 24:67, The Baal Haturim makes the point that this love was unconditional in contrast to the “love” or lust refered in the case of Amnon whose conditional “love” for his sister Tamar vanished after he had intercourse with her.  
3. Genesis 1:27 states: in the image of G-d he created him, Male and Female He created them. This implies that the first human was both one and two, and is therefore referred to both as “him” and “male and female” and them”.
4. Zohar part 3, 44b
5. Maimonides, Yad Hachazaka, Hilchot De’ot 5:4
6. Chida, Vayikra, Parshat Shemini, 41, p.40
7. Kedushat Levi, Vayigash, section beginning with Oh Yevuar, p. 105, elaboration in Slater, J. 2004, Mindful Jewish Living, Compassionate practice, Avis Press, p. 311

Dis/Connection and Crown Heights Jews and Blacks - Vayechi

I walked toward the forest in St Ives, this past Monday, as I do most mornings, but this time tentatively. Australia is burning! A place that is usually a refuge for me, teeming with bird sounds, animal life and tranquility, now feels ambiguous, even somewhat threatening, possibly on the verge of igniting with deadly fire. Many Australians have lost their lives, many more their homes or farms and we have lost so many animals.

A week earlier, I walked toward another oasis of nature: Prospect Park, at the edge of Crown Heights, Brooklyn, where I visited my parents over Chanukah.  It is usually a calming walk and I often like to go when I visit. This time was different. Religious Jews were being attacked on the streets of New York, one had been murdered in a shop in New Jersey and another was stabbed at home in Monsey. I hesitated as I thought: was I safe? Would I be attacked? 

These two causes call me as I write. Living in Australia, I feel empathy with my fellow Australians. Their suffering and terror stirs my heart to compassion and concern. Yet, I am also a Jew from Brooklyn, and my recent visit is pulling my attention to the simmering situation there.

Navigating between our ties to, or disconnections from, various places is explored in my Jewish tradition. Our patriarch Jacob, born in Canaan, is said to have only truly been alive during his last seventeen years, living in exile in Egypt (1) where he finally found happiness (2).  Yet, his new home was not where he wanted to be buried, among the fundamentally different Egyptians (3), instead he insisted that his body must be returned to the Holy Land (4). Even when Jacob was alive, he considered it important that his family remain apart from the Egyptians (5).

This way of being in a place but not of the place (6), reflects my own experience growing up in Brooklyn, which came back to me on my recent visit. While I was there I caught up with a black friend from Sydney, Mohamed. I showed him around Crown Heights, starting with my childhood home. I showed him a large apartment building with black families near our old home, and reflected how, in the twenty years I lived there, I never learned the names of any of my black neighbours. This wasn't unique to me. This kind of disconnect from our non-Jewish neighbours was a common feature of growing up as a Chasidic Jew in Crown Heights. 

I find it hard to write about my old neighbourhood. It is simple enough to speak about my experience, to acknowledge that I was racist then, and felt fear and loathing of my black neighbours. It is also a matter of historic fact, that in 1991 an Australian Jew, Yankel Rosenbaum, was killed by a black man, part of a hateful anti-semitic mob. I will never forget the terror I felt in 1991 when I returned from Australia, to what felt like a war-zone, and came to be known as the “Crown Heights riots”. In 2020, another black man from Crown Heights is in custody for  stabbing a Rabbi in his home, over Chanukah. But there is so much more to this tension, both past and present, that is contested and sensitive.

Ultimately, this blog post is far too brief to fully explore the painful history or current dynamic between Jews and African Americans in Crown Heights. However, I want to at least take an interest here in the efforts to bridge the divide between the two communities (7). It is good to see role models of inter-communal friendship going to schools and engaging children in conversation. However, as someone who has been using this approach - going to schools as  Muslim-Chrisitian-Jewish panels modelling goodwill, for almost two decades, I have learned that this strategy, while valuable in its own right, needs to be part of a multi-faceted approach (8). One important element that research recommends is ensuring that participants in intergroup contact, in cases where there has been tension, are assured that this contact is sanctioned by authority figures on “their side” (9).

One suggestion I offer to my old community is to utilise religious education to guide children how to truly coexist, while also honouring our religious traditions of being separate. This is not at all simple, but it is eminently doable. It could begin with discussion of behaviour, such as the halachic principle of supporting needy and sick non-Jewish people, not only Jews, as part of 'the ways of peace' (10). It should involve exploration of what it means to be truly ethical in our ways of thinking and behaving toward one non-Jewish or black neighbours, to strive to make them so “beautiful” that G-d Himself would be proud of us (11). The children might be invited to ponder how it came to be that so many Egyptians deeply mourned the death of a Jewish man, Jacob (12). Perhaps, as one commentary suggested, throughout the years Jacob lived in Egypt, he spent time sharing his wisdom with wise Egyptians (13), not just hanging out with his Jewish grandchildren.

Eventually this discussion arrives at the question of identity. Who are we as Jews and human beings? G-d created humans with a common ancestor to prevent discord (14) based on beliefs in superiority (15) or ideas of purer lineage (16).

As for me, like people of various faith backgrounds and none, I must turn my attention to the needs and suffering of my fellow Australians at this difficult time. 

 

Notes:

 A big thank you to my learned and skillful editor, my son, Aaron Menachem Mendel Kastel. 

1)     Midrash Hagadol, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 47:28, 81, p. 1724. 

2)     Lekach Tov, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 47:28, note: 81, p. 1724. 

3)     Old Tanchuma, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 47:29, 114, p. 1730, "they are compared to Donkeys and I am compared to a sheep..."  

4)     Genesis 47:29-31.

5)     Midrash Hagadol, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 46:34, 188, p. 1700. 

6)     See also Likkutei Sichos, Vol. 20, pg. 235-242 and especially pg. 241.

7)     https://www.wnyc.org/story/attacks-against-jews-crown-heights-stir-old-fears-and-new-dialogue/

8)     Halse, C (2015), Doing Diversity, report on research project, Deakin University, https://www.education.vic.gov.au/Documents/school/principals/management/doingdiversity.pdf.

9)     Alport, G. in Pedersen, A., Walker, I., & Wise, M. (2005). Talk Does Not Cook Rice: Beyond anti-racism rhetoric to strategies for social action. Australian Psychologist, 40, 20-30.

10)  Talmud Gittin 61a. See Rabbi Jonathan Sacks' elaboration of this concept in The Home We Build Together, Continuum Books. See also statement in the Talmud Gittin 59b. That all of the laws of the Torah are for the sake of the ways of peace.

11)  Kedushas Levi, end of parsha Vayechi, Sifrei Ohr Hachayim edition, Jerusalem, p. 116.

12)  Genesis 50:3.

13)  Rabbi Moshe David Vali, Ohr Olam, Genesis Vol. 2, Hamesorah edition, p. 464.

14)  Talmud, Sanhedrin 38a.

15)  Rashi ad loc.

16)  R. Yosef Hayim (1835 – 1909), better known as the Ben Ish Chai, in Ben Yehoyada, ad loc.

Communication without common language – Jewish Reflection on Abu Dhabi Muslim Peace Forum - Vayigash

My translation earphones went silent for a few minutes, as I sat at the Forum for Promoting Peace in Muslim Societies. For three days in Abu Dhabi, from December 2-4, mostly Muslim, but also Christian and Jewish; religious leaders, academics and politicians spoke to the delegates in Arabic, English and French.

The speeches were simultaneously translated into the other two of the three main languages. That worked, until Imam Abdullahi Abubakar (83) from Nigeria spoke in his native language; Hausa.

This Imam had risked his life when he confronted an extremist gunman seeking to kill two hundred and seventy-five Christians that he had sheltered in his Mosque and home. The softly spoken, bearded, black man in the blue turban had told the attacker to kill him first, and succeeded in saving the lives of the Christians.

While many words were spoken at this Forum, it was his heroic deed and our inability to understand him that captured both the spirit and a challenge of the forum, respectively.

As someone who is concerned about bridging the divide between Muslims, Jews, Christians and others, I found  the forum reassuring. It was convened by one of the most accomplished Islamic authorities in the world, Sheik Abdul Bin Bahya.

There were many hundreds of guests, from a vast number of countries from Mauritania to Afghanistan. They were predominantly Muslim leaders, as the main object was change within the Muslim global community. However, many sessions included Christian and Jewish speakers as part of interfaith panels, demonstrating their commitment to dialogue by putting it into practice.

There was also lively, more informal interaction outside the sessions, between religious leaders of the various faiths present. I noticed the acclaimed US Muslim leader Hamza Yusuf deep in conversation with one of the US based senior Rabbis late into the night. A UK based Imam was delighted to chat with me about Muslim and Hasidic spiritual singing. These are just a few of the examples I saw.

On the other hand, there was a lot of potential for dialogue that was not realised. The language barrier was a big factor. The Jewish delegation of more than a dozen rabbis, based primarily in the US and Israel, as well as two women, and similarly, many of the delegates from across Asia and Africa, simply did not have any common language with which to connect. I often felt bad, as I walked past people with unfamiliar cultural dress and we just looked at each other, silently.

Our gracious Abu Dhabi hosts provided us with certified Kosher hot food that was served in a side room. On some occasions, some of us took our food out to the area where others were eating and joined them for meals. On other occasions many of us chose to stay with our fellow Jews during the meals.

One day over lunch we discussed an alternative approach to a tradition that seems to legitimise a view of non-Jewish people as inherently antisemitic. One of the rabbis raised an alternative version of that passage, which applies only to a particular person in a particular time. Perhaps more such internal conversations occurred within each faith group, complementing those held between people with different faiths.

One strategy that facilitated dialogue was the small group breakout session.  I joined twenty delegates in the South East Asia group. We discussed local words that carry the spirit of the forum. In Indonesia they have a word for “religious moderation”: Wasatia.

As part of Wasatia they strategically moved the study of the caliphates from the religious law syllabus to the history section. An evangelical minister from Mindanao, in the Philippines, taught us the word Kapua that combines being a good neighbour with seeing oneself in the other. I offered the term Ahavat Ha’ger- love of the powerless stranger.

On reflection, I think I was too worried about words. The most moving part of the breakout session was heartfelt sharing in Arabic by an older Mufti, also from Mindanao, whose people have finally reached a peace agreement with their government. I did not understand what he was saying but it touched me because I could feel it came from his heart, rather than an artificial performance from his head.

Another highlight was the Koranic singing and message of Farid Ahmed, in a wheelchair, from Christchurch. His wife was murdered in the attack but he forgave the killer. His heartfelt message to the white supremacists was: we don’t hate you!

The forum culminated with the signing of a charter for a new alliance of virtue. It is hoped that this covenant between people of all faiths will enable us to relate to each other as partners rather than as the “other”.

So I am less concerned about how much the words, spoken or unspoken, at the Forum will matter in the implementation of this noble effort. Instead I look beyond the words, to the sincerity in the hearts of those present, and to the deeds already being undertaken by many in that room and beyond it.

This reflection was first published in plus61J.

Postscript: Shortly after my experience in Abu Dhabi I spent two weeks with my parents and four of my children in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Recent alarming Antisemitic violence, including murder and stabbings - perpetrated by many Black individuals - made me feel less safe walking some streets there, but more importantly, highlights the need for engagement between these communities. Yet, the primarily English-speaking Hasidic Jews and Blacks, who live there side by side, have such profound cultural differences that they might as well be speaking different languages.

In the Torah reading this week we read about a plea for the life of a Jewish youth, by the Hebrew speaking Judah to the Egyptian speaking Viceroy. “I beg of you my master, may your servant please speak a matter, into your ears?” (1). This is interpreted as a specific request: can I speak to you directly rather than through the interpreter (2). Judah’s deep respect for the viceroy (3) combined with his sincerity and pathos in making his case would come through despite the language barrier and touch the heart of his listener (4). There must be some implications in this insight, for Jewish and black communities in the New York- New Jersey area at this time. I am still mulling over what is happening and my experience there, however, it is clear that gaps between the communities can be bridged if deeply felt goodwill and respect will be in evidence in the unspoken communication between the vast majority of the members of these communities.

1) Genesis 44:18.

2) Midrash Habiur, manuscript cited in Torah Shlaima on Genesis 44:18, 65, p. 1636; Kedushas Levi, in 2008 Ohr Hachayim edition, Jerusalem, p. 100.

3) For example: his comparison of the Viceroy to the Pharaoh in Genesis 44:18, as understood by Rashi (first explanation), Seforno and R. Moshe Dovid Vali, Ohr Olam (Genesis Vol. 2), second explanation, Hamesora Publishers, Jerusalem, p. 364.

4) Kedushas Levi, ibid. [ It should be noted that the Kedushas Levi states  that Judah assumed that the viceroy would understand Hebrew, unlike the approach I've taken to make this point in this article. However this point of his, regarding the emotional impact of direct interpersonal communication, is really an independent insight, that it goes beyond that which is captured in the words themselves..]

Belonging and Difference Vayerah

On Wednesday night I listened to Ian Thorpe speak at a dinner in aid of my brother’s charity, the Jewish House. Ian talked about his experience as a world record breaking Olympic champion swimmer, who also struggled with mental health challenges. He gave a riveting account of the mental struggle to win an Olympic swimming race in the last few seconds after being behind. But more importantly, he touched on his experiences of coming out both as gay and as someone suffering depression.

Mr Thorpe did not elaborate on his experience of coming out. However, the need for acceptance by people we care about and a feeling of belonging among them, is so important to all of us. As I explored the Torah reading this week I learned that Abraham was also concerned about his social ties. Abraham had been instructed to circumcise himself as a sign of a covenant between him and God. However he was concerned that this act “would set him apart from his generation, in his skin and flesh. This might lead to him not being able to welcome guests anymore as they would stay away from him…” (1) This surprised me a little, because I had the impression of Abraham as the Iconoclastic outsider - champion of monotheism is a world of polytheism - who embraced his “otherness” (2).

On Thursday morning, I reflected on my experienced at the dinner where I sat among some 1000, mostly Jewish guests, who were there in aid of the Jewish House’s services for people in crisis, such as homelessness, mental illness, and domestic violence. While I on the same page as the crowd last night regarding support for the needy, I wonder how many of them agree with my interfaith work. When it comes to that aspect of me, do I fully belong? It is useful for me to keep in mind that Abraham combined otherness in pursuit of his vision and principles with caring about being connected to his community. Indeed, at the end of the night, one guest shared with me her belief in the spiritual validity of my work with people of other faiths. 

The combination of being accepted and being true to oneself is not always easy. A choice one needs to make is whether to hide some parts of ourselves or "come out". Abraham consulted his friends about the merits of going public about his next step in otherness and decided he would publicize his decision to circumcise himself  (3).

The flip side of this is accepting that sometimes there are communities that won’t accept you and might not even be worth belonging in. Abraham’s nephew, Lot, sought to integrate with the xenophobic society of Sodom. (In Jewish tradition, the wickedness of Sodom was primarily expressed in their cruelty to visitors or poor outsiders). Lot appeared to succeed when he was appointed as a judge by the Sodomites (4). This thin veneer of acceptance of Lot by Sodom fell away quickly when Lot showed his commitment to hospitality. An angry mob of Sodomites reminded Lot that he was an alien and threatened him (5).

It is not easy to accept the fact that some social connections are not working and one needs to move on. Lot was instructed by angels to leave Sodom before it would be destroyed and take him down with them. Yet, Lot hesitated, and had to be dragged out of Sodom (6). Lot and his wife were warned not to look back (7). It is important not to ruminate about what might have been. However the separation from Sodom was difficult for Lot’s wife and she turned back, perhaps in sadness about those left behind (8). The consequence of turning back for Lot’s wife is that she was instantly turned into a pillar of salt (9). 

It is entirely appropriate to seek closeness with one’s communities, even if there is not a perfect value alignment, but there are times when separateness is appropriate. In those cases, it is ok to be sad, but it is important “not to look back”.

Notes

1)     Toras Hachida, Vayera 5, p. 103, based on Midrash Rabba

2)     See Likutei Likburim by the 6th Lubavitcher Rebbe, R. YY Schneerson, who talked about the concept of Ivri as one is on the “other side” to the rest of society

3)     Toras Hachida, ibid

4)     Rashi to Genesis 19:1, based on Bereshit Rabba 50:3

5)     Genesis 19:9, as interpreted by Sacks, J. (2009) Covenant and Conversation, Maggid, Jerusalem, p. 112-114

6)     Genesis 19:16

7)     Genesis 19:17

8)     Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer 25,  in Torah Shlaima, 145, p. 812

9)     Genesis 19:26