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Parshat Lech Lecha: A World Aglow

Lekh L’kha 5780 / 9 November 2019

November 13, 2019

This week, I was awakened in the middle of the night to the sound of sirens, of fire trucks passing through the neighborhood. The next morning, on a drive on the New Jersey Turnpike, I noticed the trees aglow with the colors of flames, leaves flickering yellow, orange and red. 

I thought of Avraham Avinu, Abraham, the founding father of the Hebrew nation, who receives his call to service in this week’s Torah portion. 

Adonai says to Avram – Lech Lecha –  “Go forth from your land, from your kindred, from your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make a great nation of you and will give you blessing and will make your name great. Be a blessing!” God calls to Avraham. (Genesis 12:1-2)

The text of the Torah tells us very little about why Avram (as he is originally known) is chosen to receive God’s blessing and to carry God’s blessing in the world. Our ancient rabbis, in the midrash, try to fill in the gaps in the narrative. They imagine the backstory – offering the following parable:

“There was a man who was traveling from place to place when he saw a Birah Doleket – a palace in flames. He wondered: “Is it possible that the palace has no owner?” 

The owner of the palace looked out and said, “I am the owner of the palace.” So Abraham our father said, “Is it possible that the world lacks a ruler?” G‑d looked out and said to him, “I am the ruler, the Sovereign of the universe.”  (Genesis Rabbah 39:1)

In this parable, it is not God who makes the first move to tap Avram. Rather, Avram has a sense that there is more to the world than what appears to the eye. He asks a question, and in that question, he creates an opening for God to enter his life.

The language of the midrash, this parable about the palace, is fascinating and can be read in different ways. The Hebrew term for the palace – “Birah Doleket” is often understood to mean a palace in flames. In this interpretation, Avram sees a structure on fire and wonders who is in charge and who has the power to help set things right. Birah Doleket can also be read as an illuminated palace. Perhaps Avram notices the palace of the world aglow with beauty, shining with light and wonders about the source of all the splendor.    

There is truth to be found in both of these readings. I like to imagine that Avraham’s gift was that he saw both the beauty and the horror in the world and reached out asking, “Who is responsible?” Who could create a world of such magnificence, with the moon aglow in the sky, the trees bursting into color and the ocean churning. With caterpillars and blue whales, with the light of human souls, each one entirely unique? And who could create a world of such pain, where there is sickness and terrible violence and injustice, where people do all they can to be a blessing and suffer nonetheless? 

Yes … And. Elu v’Elu. Both of these things are true. Our Jewish tradition, in its delicious wisdom, asks us to hold on to both of these stories of our reality at once – the beauty and the brokenness. To hold both the brokenness and the beauty of the world in our hearts at the same time. 

At a Jewish wedding, when our cups overflow with joy, we shatter a glass, a nod to grief, personal and collective. At the Passover Seder, as we rejoice in our redemption, we spill wine from our cups to acknowledge the Egyptians who suffered as God set us free. On our most joyous festivals, when we are gathered together, we pause for Yizkor. Sitting as a community, we invite in the fullness of each of our emotional experiences. As Jews, we are asked to remember always, the world as it is, the world as it was and the world as it could be. Reality is multi-layered. Jewish practice trains us to be and to feel more than one thing at once and to say: Yes…And. Ah, yes, this, too. This, too, shall pass.

This past Sunday, I had the privilege of watching my younger brother, Adam, run in the New York City Marathon. I took my toddler, Shir, to meet him just before the marker for Mile 24, on the East Drive of Central Park, under a canopy of colorful foliage. As the runners streamed by and racers pushes through on wheelchairs, to the exuberant cheers of dear ones and strangers, I cried. Races make me cry. I cry each year watching the Broad Street Run, too. Something about the resilience and the endurance of humans on the go, and the uninhibited love and support flooding a city breaks my heart open. Adam paused from his run to say hello to us. He bent down to kiss his nephew in his stroller, saying, “I hope I can get back up again.” And indeed, he did. He finished his first marathon and we are all still kvelling.

This year, a friend named Seth Galena, also ran in the marathon. Seth ran his 26.2 miles for his daughter Ayelet Yakira, of blessed memory, who lived 26 months and died of complications from a rare genetic disease almost seven years ago. When Ayelet was diagnosed at age one, her parents learned her only chance of survival was to find a bone marrow donor. They started a campaign of bone marrow registration drives and inspired hundreds of people around the country and the world to enter international bone marrow registries. Through their efforts, they found 170 matches for strangers in need of bone marrow transplants. This year, Seth saw that one of the bone marrow registries, DKMS, had a team for the marathon. Like Avraham, he had a lekh lekha moment. 

Seth wrote, “I suddenly felt the need to raise my hand and jump into the marathon like they – and so many others did for my Ayelet. I felt the responsibility to get back out there, both in running and in life. It was my turn to race, train and be mindful and present of the loss of my daughter, and carry her with me…I managed to finish the race after some rough moments. The highlight was hobbling past my family’s cheer squad at mile 24. My wife, Hindy, and our three children we’ve had since our loss – Akiva, Talia, and Gavi – going gonzo for their marathon maniac of a dad. Tears of joy in my eyes helped me surge through and embrace the soreness everywhere else riding that high home.”  You can read his story here: https://www.insider.com/dad-ran-new-york-city-marathon-in-memory-baby-daughter-2019-11.

In taking in the staging of the marathon on Sunday, the runners flanked by rows of supporters to their left and to their right, I thought of the Jewish ritual of how we hold mourners who are leaving the graveside. Those present form two rows and the mourners walk through as we say, “HaMakom Yenachem Etchem – May God comfort you among all those who mourn for Zion and Jerusalem.” May God, whose name “HaMakom” means “The Place,” embrace you now and always. May the places where people gather to be with you as you are, bring you solace. May you know that you are not alone.

An Abraham of a different time – Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel writes, “Every human being is a kind of reminder of God, and all things are like traces of God’s footprints in a barren desert. Through all things in the world it is possible to come close to the Source.”

So here we are today – all of us – with all we are carrying – as we celebrate the joyous occasion of Jacob’s Bar Mitzvah. Shabbat is a time to step out of the rush of routine, to take in the world around us, to touch the mystery, to take out our spiritual magnifying glasses to go in search of God’s fingerprints and footprints. 

Perhaps, as we contemplate the braided wicks of the Havdalah candle tonight, or the flames of our shabbat candles next week, we will remember Avraham and his Birah Doleket, the palace on fire and the palace full of light. We will honor his ability to hold the brokenness and the beauty in the same breath. We will think of the questions he asked that led him on his quest for God, who was waiting for him.

This Shabbat, like Avraham, let’s ask big questions. Who is the caretaker of this palace aglow? How might we partner with God in taking care of this great earth and the souls who inhabit it? How might we come close to the Source? How can we make our lives a blessing for ourselves, for our creator and for all beings everywhere? In our asking these questions, may we find ourselves met by the Holy One in search of our presence.

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