Wresting With Perfection

The following is a revised version of Rabbi Gerson's Vayishlach sermon on December 6, 2014.

As we turn to the Prophetic selection, which our ba'al maftir will chant shortly, this week’s haftarah could be called, “What goes around, comes around.” The prophet blasts the nation of Edom for standing by as Jerusalem is captured and sacked by Bavel (Babylonia). Not only does Edom refuse to come to Judah’s aid, the Edomites participate in the looting of the city! Playing on the ancestral link between Edom and Esau, Ovadiah sees Edom’s actions as a betrayal between brothers.

This sword cuts both ways. Given Jacob’s treatment of Esau, as told in Parshat Vayetze last week, the fall of Jerusalem could be seen as the ultimate payback for Jacob’s treachery to Esau. While Ovadiah’s revenge fantasy against Edom leaves me cold, I agree with Ovadiah that a real man helps his brother in his time of need. 

My colleague, Rabbi David Wolpe, tells the story of how his childhood friend once attended a play starring the great Zero Mostel. He had the misfortune to be late and Mostel, spotting him trying to sneak in the theater, stopped the performance and asked for the house lights to be turned up. "You — yes you, the one who is late" he said, pointing to the humiliated friend. "I want you to know what you missed." Mostel then acted out the entire play to that point by himself, inhabiting all the roles. My friend was embarrassed but also delighted to be the spur to such a tour de force. 

Most of us find it difficult to inhabit the lives of others. If we are straight we find it hard to imagine what it is to be gay; if white, to be black; if always rich, to be poor, and vice versa. But in order to live truly moral lives we need imagination. To project yourself into the experience of the other is essential to leading a good and compassionate life. 

This week’s Torah reading has several well known narratives, among which is the central focus of our second trienniel reading this year:  the story of Dinah, Yaakov’s daughter, and the vengeance of her brothers upon her oppressors.

It’s the second of these that seems appropriate for mention today. In short, Yaakov and his camp dwell near the clan of a man named Shechem and his father Hamor. Shechem sexually assaults Dinah, bringing shame and dishonor to her family, so her brothers Shimon and Levi trick the men of her clan into circumcising themselves and then massacre them during recovery. The verses quoted above are the end of the story: Yaakov confronts his sons with the terrible implication of their deed, and they answer back with their understandable- but not really justifying- motivation.

Note that Yaakov doesn’t exactly tell Shimon and Levi was morally wrong to trick and kill the men of Shechem’s camp. Rather, he points out that it was very, very unwise, since now his family will have a bad reputation and may be at the mercy of stronger forces. On the other hand, we have a strong hint that he really did think Shimon and Levi did a terrible thing: at the end of his life, on his deathbed, Yaakov refers to Shimon and Levi as mean of wanton violence and he curses them for their anger and wrath.

My sense is that Yaakov knew that Shimon and Levi, still hot with emotion, could not be persuaded of their guilt in perpetrating a crime upon innocents. Yes, Shechem raped or seduced Dinah, but even if one argued that Shechem deserved to die for what he did, that hardly justifies killing the men of his clan, unless one reasoned that they would strike back in retaliation, which in turn merely proves Yaakov’s point about the cycle of violence. So rather than denounce his sons as criminals, he tells them what he thinks they might be able to hear: that they were unwise and party to unforeseen consequences.

Shimon and Levi answer their father: “should our sister be treated like a whore?” as if one crime naturally justified another in a world that respects only brute force. It’s the impeccable logic of violence, but I think Yaakov is trying to make the point that there is rarely perfect justice in this world, and sometimes we have to settle for the justice we can in order to avoid greater crimes and more bloodshed.

Indeed, Jacob, had many reflections on justice and fairness in this world.  His many years in exile with Lavan's family made him the object of explotation and deception – even as he wrestled with his own guilt over having co-opted his twin brother Esau by deceiving their father into giving him the much-sought-after blessing.

In the adjacent story, let us recall, Jacob grappled with his issues – in literal fashion – at the bank of the River Jabbok.  If we think about it, Jacob's life was filled with struggles and, at certain points, holy confrontations. I am told by mavens of the sport that wrestling is not a team deal, but, rather, calls upon its subscribers to prepare, condition, and be ready to go at it with all of one's singular force.  The ideal wrestling matches leave the two fighters, each to his/her own strengths.

As we recall the altercations of recent weeks in Ferguson, New York, and Cleveland, in which, respectively, a young man became engaged in a showdown with a police officer, let us be cognizant of the space that both parties occupied – one of great hostility, for sure, but also one in which the antagonists drew from their respective conditions.

In the spirit of Zero Mostel, let us imagine what it must have felt like to be either one of them.  Specifically, I ask you to think about what it must have been like to be the cop; the situation brought to bear split-second judgement and a great deal of fear.  From my reading of the testimonies of several police officers, there is a profound fear that washes over law enforcement officials when they enter street conflicts.  This begs our attention, and, as citizens, invites our support of efforts such as those by the New York and Denver Police Departments to work on re-training their officers to be better conditioned for confrontations on the street.

There is no perfect justice in this world, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive for the justice we can achieve; it means that everybody, on all sides of a conflict, may have to take some share of the responsibility in avoiding further cycles of violence and retaliation. It means that in an America where all too often, minority communities experience the police as using unjustified force, resulting in needless deaths, wisdom dictates humility and contrition on the part of those who wield force. There is no perfect justice in systems created by fallible human beings, but the logic of retaliation and rage only ensures further injustice upon innocents. Human beings are experts at finding justification for their baser actions, but breaking cycles of violence means backing down, even at the cost of honor.

We can always find reasons to hate. The hard part is pushing hate aside to measure our response to tragedy, so that the pursuit of justice is not merely a cover for the logic of vengeance. The difference between justice and vengeance is the most important thing in the world at times like these, and the responsibility of everyone who cares about a decent world for our children.

Moreover, all religious traditions have a version of walking in another's shoes. Empathy alone is not enough to make sound judgments. But if we cannot feel our way into lives different than our own, we will forever be trapped in a one act, one person play.