The Crouching Sin

Parshat Bereshit

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The stage is set. The first two sons of Man have brought their offerings to their God, and He has favored the younger's dedication. The older brother is disheartened, and it shows on his face.

Says God, "What are you so frustrated? Why has your face fallen? If you do good, you will lift up! But if not, then sin lies crouching at the door. It desires to get you, but you can rule over it." (4:6-7)

            

In the next verse Kayin kills his brother.

The story is incomplete. Why Kayin killed Hevel is unclear. Was he provoked? Was it self defense? Did he even understand that his act could be fatal? Was the murder premeditated? Or an error? There are a myriad of interpretations hinged on the question of what the "sin crouching at the door" might be. As God's statement was the last thing Kayin heard before he committed murder, one can argue it was the trigger that unleashed his rage. But what did God mean?

In a lecture on repentance delivered in 1987, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein explained the "sin that crouches at the door" as the most blatant obstacle to proper observance of the Law and commitment to God which plagues a particular hashkafic (philosophical) community.

"…[It] is not the same sin at every door. Each door, each domicile, each community has its particular sin, a specific spiritual danger indigenous to it, endemic to that group or that individual." Quoting the Chafetz Chaim, he notes that different generations have different pitfalls. Some "succumb to idolatry, others to desecration of Shabbat, some to sins between man and his Maker, and others to interpersonal sins."

At the same time that he declared the sin plaguing the Religious Zionist community (ie "Modern Orthodox" community in the United States) to be one of "shikhecha," forgetting God, or "lacking the immanent sense of God felt so deeply, keenly and pervasively in other parts of the halakhically committed Jewish world" (which is indeed a problem), he defined "avodah zara" – beyond idolatry – as "superstition and misguided conceptions of God."

Rabbi Lichtenstein does not need my stamp of approval. His assessment of our community is spot on. But I think his definition of avodah zara is also quite noteworthy.

Looking to rabbis (people) as role models is wonderful. Idolizing them and turning them into flawless human beings is idolatry. Many rabbis exhibit excellent judgment all the time. Some make mistakes. The real Gedolim acknowledge their mistakes.

Kosher laws are quite special. Making an obsession about invisible parasites – and thus declaring water, lettuce, broccoli and strawberries unkosher – is idolatry. (No one is interested in eating infested vegetables. Remind people that bugs are not kosher, but don't wage war on fruits and vegetables!)

Modesty is one of the most important Jewish traits. But making a religion solely about personal definitions of such – when the law is somewhat flexible, and in some cases changes based on the standards of the general society – is idolatry! Modesty is not just about length of clothing and size of head coverings.

A chupah is a public event that declares a man and woman united in marriage. This allows them to be seen together in public, and to sit together at a wedding or any simcha other than their own wedding. Who has separate seating at their family Shabbat table?

Why do advertisements for communities and retirement homes in magazines only feature males in the photographs? Is it such a crime to see a photograph of a little girl, a mother in modest dress, or an elderly woman in a wheelchair? This is our world. This is life.

           

Mandating to others how to live, and judging their "frumkeit" based on externals (not calling a Kohen or Levi to the Torah or not counting a bar mitzvah for a minyan on account of a T-shirt or their not being from "your crowd") is not only the most disgusting form of sinat chinam (baseless hatred), but is also a form of idolatry. 

I received the following email in response to a debate about metzitzah that I posted on my blog, in which a pro Metzitzah b'Peh person told me that he cares not about Jews or people (or babies) in general, but only about "God and Halacha": "The 'pious' Jew who only cares about 'God' and His rulebook is clearly off the derech… whatever he is worshipping it is not God. He [has] invented a God to worship and [has] created an imaginary rule book… to replace the much more challenging reality [of what it means to be an observant Jew]."

Kayin could not overcome his crouching sin, perhaps his passion, and it caused him to kill his brother.

           

For some Jewish people, worship of the "avodah zara" I have described is their crouching sin. On account of it Judaism is ultimately denigrated, the shouting matches which ensue, and the negative feelings exacerbated through criticizing others all come at the expense of the, perhaps unanticipated, desecration of God's name which appears in television, newspapers and blogs fueled by misinformation, yes, but also improperly presented information which depicts Orthodox Jews as being hopelessly stubborn or blinded by their own faith.

            

In Kayin's case, his sin lay in his inabilities: to discern the flaw in his gift to God, to learn from his mistakes, and to see that he could live in harmony with his brother, despite their differences, and that each had a unique way of relating to God. If they could only respect the other approach – live and let live and stop telling the other what to do in the most intolerant of ways – they could have lived in harmony.

The saga of brother versus brother need have never unfolded so tragically.

Making The Most Out of Life

With the return of Gilad Shalit to Israel, alive and in one piece (at least in body - who knows what his mind has been through?), an image many had doubts we would ever see, there is cause for celebration for the positive end to his personal ordeal. Many question the math of a 1,027 person exchange, many of whom are convicted murderers who literally have blood on their hands, as being a fair price to pay to get Gilad back. I will not render an opinion in this forum on that question. It was surely a difficult decision, and I do not envy the Israeli leaders who brokered this deal, for the aftermath of this exchange which rests on their shoulders.


It did get me thinking, however, about a famous film that raised a similar question. It's hard to compare the storylines, and perhaps I am stretching things, but the quotes I present here from the movie "Saving Private Ryan" are provocative conversation starters, and certainly fit in line with my parsha piece this week. I present the quotes first (lifted from imdb.com), unedited, followed by the dvar torah on the first parsha of the Torah. The spaces between lines indicate that the quotes are from different parts of the film and are not presented as straight dialogue.

Private Reiben: You wanna explain the math of this to me? I mean, where's the sense of riskin' the lives of the eight of us to save one guy? 

Sergeant Horvath: I don't know. Part of me thinks the kid's right. He asks what he's done to deserve this. He wants to stay here, fine. Let's leave him and go home. But then another part of me thinks, what if by some miracle we stay, then actually make it out of here. Someday we might look back on this and decide that saving Private Ryan was the one decent thing we were able to pull out of this whole godawful, shitty mess. Like you said, Captain, maybe we do that, we all earn the right to go home. 

Captain Miller: He better be worth it. He better go home and cure a disease, or invent a longer-lasting light bulb. 

Captain Miller: You see, when... when you end up killing one your men, you see, you tell yourself it happened so you could save the lives of two or three or ten others. Maybe a hundred others. Do you know how many men I've lost under my command? 
Sergeant Horvath: How many? 
Captain Miller: Ninety-four. But that means I've saved the lives of ten times that many, doesn't it? Maybe even 20, right? Twenty times as many? And that's how simple it is. That's how you... that's how you rationalize making the choice between the mission and the man. 

Captain Miller: [weakly mutters something] 
Private Ryan: [leans in closer] What, sir? 
Captain Miller: James, earn this... earn it.         [Captain Miller dies shortly after he says this]

Old James Ryan: [addressing Capt. Miller's grave] My family is with me today. They wanted to come with me. To be honest with you, I wasn't sure how I'd feel coming back here. Every day I think about what you said to me that day on the bridge. I tried to live my life the best that I could. I hope that was enough. I hope that, at least in your eyes, I've earned what all of you have done for me. 
Ryan's Wife: James?... 
[looking at headstone] 
Ryan's Wife: Captain John H Miller. 
Old James Ryan: Tell me I have led a good life. 
Ryan's Wife: What? 
Old James Ryan: Tell me I'm a good man. 
Ryan's Wife: You are. 

Parshat Bereishit

After she finished reading Dara Horn's recent novel "The World to Come" my wife said to me, "The last chapter is amazing." I have not yet read the book, but I did read the last chapter. It's filled with Dara Horn's style of weaving Jewish titles, terms, and quotes in her narrative, and is a joy to read. Especially if you "get" all the references.

In the chapter, two souls who already lived spend some time with a "not-yet," a soul who is soon to be born, on a journey to the Tree of Life that is guarded by the sword described in Bereishit 3:24.

The male character wants the not-yet to eat from the tree, while the female character does not. She says, "You actually, genuinely want him to be born and never die." When the male character (the not-yet's deceased grandfather) proceeds to scream at her saying, "WHY NOT? Why can't he have what we didn't have? Why should his children have to watch him die?" her response is, "Because that's what makes it matter."

It's a chilling image, one imagines taking place in a heavy rainstorm, at a tottering bridge, before the world is about to end. The scene is very powerful and dramatic.

The Torah lists the concern that a person might eat from the Tree of Life and live forever as one of the reasons for the expulsion from the garden (3:22-23), but it does not say why living forever would be a problem.

In fact, Radak points out that original command of 2:16-17 included instructions that allowed people to partake of the Tree of Life: "You may eat from every tree except the Tree of Knowledge." Once they partook of the Tree of Knowledge, mortality was introduced – they were condemned to die one day. On account of this, they were expelled from the garden, lest they eat from the Tree of Life and extend their lives beyond their now-allotted years.

Radak feels God could not command them "Do not eat from the Tree of Life" because it had already been permitted to them. Furthermore, experience shows they don't do well with one commandment not to eat from a specific tree. Therefore they were taken out of the garden to avoid the problem altogether.

Ramban speaks in less cryptic terms when he says, "God wanted His punishment decree to be fulfilled with the death of man. Were he to eat from the Tree of Life, God's decree would have been thwarted, delayed, or he might even live forever." The problem with the Tree of Life, therefore, was that it would take away the punishment the humans were meant to get for eating of the Tree of Knowledge. (Chizkuni)

In the most spiritual of the answers I found, the Alshich looks at the practical side of living forever, and though he does not mention the cathartic stage we go through in death directly, he says "Were he to eat of the Tree of Life and live forever, he would never achieve a tikkun" or a correction for his mistake. Rashi even describes how a person who lives forever will steer people after him, making himself into a god-like figure.

It does not seem that immortality in and of itself is a bad thing (assuming one doesn't fancy himself a god on account of it). But for Man who was punished for partaking of the Tree of Knowledge, living forever would remove the punishment, and the possibility it would bring for the soul to make amends. For Man who needs to achieve atonement or to receive forgiveness for an error, death brings about such atonement and forgiveness. For Man to bring a correction to the soul, such a correction could only come about when the body no longer stands as interference to the soul.

Death also brings closure to a life lived – sometimes well-lived, sometimes long, sometimes tragically short. Knowing of our own mortality, we set goals for the lives we live, and if we are lucky enough to apportion our time right and stay focused, we can spend a good portion of our lives working towards and achieving our goals. The knowledge that we have a finite amount of time makes our individual journeys on this earth matter, and makes our existence matter to those we touch in our lifetimes.

The mark of a life well-lived is being missed by those who survive us once we are gone. Were we to live forever, we would never be missed, and we would lose our relevance. We might even ask God to end our existence, as did many Biblical and Talmudical figures (Moshe, Eliyahu, Yonah, Choni Ha'Magel, to name a few, as well as the elders of Luz (Sotah 46b) )

May we merit to always live our lives noting the incredible gift of life we have been given. May we also find the resilience to make the most of our lives so that when our time on earth comes to an end, we need not look back with any regrets.

As the female character says to the not-yet born in "The World to Come," "The test comes later." And her male counterpart says, "Later. During every moment of every day of your life."