Lot: a tragic yet enigmatic figure?

It is understandable that, in Torah portions containing key events such as the founding covenants of our nation and God’s command for Yitzchak to be sacrificed, characters peripheral to the primary Patriarchal plot will struggle to hold the attention of most readers. One such supporting role in recent parashiyot is that of Lot, the unfortunate nephew of Avraham.

The popular view, which arises from Rashi’s presentation of accompanying midrashic material, perceives Lot as a redundant and even obstructive third-wheel in the Abrahamic juggernaut – a burden on Avram and Sarai as they traipse through treacherous territories facing various trials and tribulations from menacing monarchs.

However another understanding of the role of Lot emerges from the analysis of a number of other commentators. Judaism Reclaimed explores the position of the Radak and Netziv, for example, who portray Lot in a more positive light as primary student and heir apparent of Avram’s venture.

From the Torah’s first mention of Avram and Sarai’s divinely-ordained odyssey, we are informed of “the souls which they made in Haran” – as Rashi explains: “Avram converted the men and Sarai the women”. However the verse mentions Lot here as well seemingly implying that he too played a role.

When Avram and Lot’s shepherds quarrel, they separate on good terms and travel in their own directions. Lot’s decision to relocate to “sinful and wicked” Sodom is portrayed in a negative light by Rashi, who accuses him of prioritizing his portfolios over his spiritual welfare. Lot’s conduct in Sodom however, does not clearly point to a man who is betraying his Abrahamic roots.

Rather than focus on financial gain, Lot appears in yesterday’s portion as having pursued a leadership role as a judge who could perhaps re-educate and set a positive example for the sinful Sodomites. When strangers appear at the gates of the city, Lot takes a courageous moral stand, persuading them to stay in his home despite the clear and obvious dangers involved.

Lot of course is a deeply flawed hero, as the continuation of the story makes apparent. The fact that he is willing to cast out his daughters to the frenzied mob in order to save the guests demonstrates – as the Maharal points out – that he is only superficially mimicking the acts of his teacher, Avraham, without effectively internalizing what kindness and love for others really entails. Perhaps the aspiring kiruv-rabbi bit off more than he could chew by aspiring to single-handedly realign the moral compass of Sin City? Either way, his appalling actions show the biblical reader why, while he may have been deserving of being saved from Sodom, Lot was not worthy of being a building block of the Chosen Nation.

Avraham, however, does not seem to have been aware of the severe shortcomings of his prime student. When God informs him that Sodom and the five towns are set for imminent destruction Avraham is dumbfounded. Despite God having made it clear that these towns are thoroughly evil, Avraham seems inexplicably convinced that a righteous remnant remains that can positively influence the city’s morality. After all, his loyal student had – several years earlier – left him to set up the first Aish/Chabad house in Sodom: Surely there must be 50, 45, 40, 30, 20, 10 local residents who had been positively swayed by his efforts?!

In a pattern that would be repeated with Yishmael and Eisav, Avraham’s loyalty to his student and nephew leads him to grasp in vain at the hope that Lot is sufficiently righteous to continue his path. Only when God’s hints become increasingly clear and impossible to ignore, Avraham is forced to accept the reality of Lot’s failure and the Torah proceeds to the creation of the next generation of Avraham and Sarah’s family as the continuation of their covenant and teachings.

First posted to Facebook 17 November 2024. For comments and discussion, click here.

Circumcision: divine duties and human morality

The command of circumcision, which features in this week’s Torah portion, has become an important battleground in recent years for those seeking to challenge religious practices on apparent humanitarian grounds.

This challenge forms part of a bigger question of the interplay between mitzvot and morality in Judaism. In its chapter on Torah and universal morality, Judaism Reclaimed approaches first from the point of view of Rambam, maintaining that the Maimonidean perspective rejects the very notion of God being subject to or working within human conceptions of morality (although there is far more to discuss on this, see my post here).

Others however follow a more Hirschian approach which seeks to explain the Torah’s teachings as representing the pinnacle of morality. Mitzvot which may initially appear to present a moral challenge are accounted for by pointing to our lack of divine knowledge, wisdom and perspective. Circumcision itself is understood by R’ Hirsch to contain a rich array of profound symbolic moral teachings (a sample of which are well presented in this podcast by Simi Rivka Lerner here).

In this post I would like to focus on a fascinating essay on the subject by Rabbi Nathan Cardozo in his recent book on Bereishit (my review of his book is here). Rather than trade in apologetics and attempted moral justifications, Cardozo goes on the attack, arguing that

[T]he whole premise on which these objections are based is the result of a profound misunderstanding of what human beings are all about, what moves them, and what make their lives meaningful. To be truly alive is only possible when one lives for some supreme goal. There are values in life that surpass our concern for the mundane, and many of us are prepared to make highly uncomfortable – even painful – sacrifices in order to live by those values.

Instead of focusing on the right of parents to wound their newborn son, Cardozo turns the tables asking

What right do we have to bring children into the world without giving them a higher mission? While Socrates teaches that the unexamined life is not worth living, Judaism teaches us that a life without commitment is a life not lived. To deny our children this is to withhold from them true joy, and the capability to withstand major challenges, as well as the chance to experience the highest, truest value of living in this world.

Cardozo the proceeds to evaluate a more fundamental question of parental rights

But shouldn‎’t we also ask ourselves honestly whether we have the right to bring a child into this world at all? Is that not a much greater injustice than circumcision? After all, even with today’s medical knowledge, many children are tragically born with all sorts of deformities or illnesses, often crippled and handicapped for life. Others may suffer at some later stage in life, contracting diseases, experiencing violence, and even becoming victims of war and other atrocities…Subconsciously, we all know that we have the right to bring a child into the world because there is something about life that overrules all objections against it. If we did not believe this, it would be completely prohibited to risk bringing children into the world, knowing full well how much harm and pain they will probably encounter. Only if we understand that life is of invaluable importance – and not merely a matter of physical survival – can we live a life of grand spiritual import.

The discussion then proceeds to investigate the underlying difference in priority and perspective between Judaism and the contemporary Western society

Western society is rights-orientated, and secular ethics is deeply rooted in this distinction. One of the great contributions that Judaism…has made to this world is the concept of duty. Judaism does not believe that people own their bodies, and are therefore free to do with them whatever they please. Judaism, and most monotheistic religions, believe that the human body is a loan granted by God, Who is the ultimate Owner…

The rite of circumcision is the Jews’ way of passing on life’s meaning to their children, by obligating them to fulfil the Jewish people’s covenant with God, sealed thousands of years ago. It is duty we talk about, and there is no growth except in the fulfilment of one’s duties. For Jews, circumcision – the promise to live life with a great mission as its guide – is God’s seal imprinted on human flesh. And it is only proper that this sign of allegiance be imposed upon the body, for after all, it is not the soul that needs to make the commitment. The soul is already committed to its mission.

Cardozo concludes powerfully that

The claim that it may hurt for a moment, and that it interferes with a child’s self-determination, is totally disproportionate to its infinite spiritual value. The child, from the very beginning of his life, is physically and symbolically reminded that living a life of higher meaning requires sacrifice, but is also the source of both ultimate happiness and the notion of mission.

One final point, many readers may be questioning at this point why the divine seal of meaning appears to be an exclusively male notion: do women not also require or deserve such an imprint of Judaism's divine mission?

Rabbi S. R. Hirsch addresses this question in a passage we expand upon in Judaism Reclaimed's chapter on the Jewish view of gender. R' Hirsch highlights the unexpected placement, in parashat Tazria, of the commandment of circumcision amidst the laws relating to ritual purity of a new mother and Niddah. Among other things, R' Hirsch understands the Torah to be drawing a parallel between the dedication to divine mission that circumcision symbolises for the male and the symbolic moral significance offered for women by the laws governing the Niddah cycle.

First posted on Facebook 29 October 2020, here.