Hagar & Ishmael Expelled, by George Soper

By Joel Lazar

A sad tale is told in this coming week’s parashah, Lech Lecha. It is the heart-wrenching tale of an insulted and jealous master, the matriarch Sarah (still ‘Sarai’ here) and a scorned maidservant and concubine (Hagar) who falls pregnant and is driven from home. How are we to make sense of the seeming arrogance of a subject towards her master and the justification of her harsh response?

It is very rare that a woman’s pregnancy is mentioned in any significant detail in the Bible. The birth of a child perhaps; the building of a legacy, the beginning of a new life; the traces of a new story. Thus, when a pregnancy is granted attention by the text, we are drawn near; much like with Jacob and Esau where the text and commentators describe the epic battle between the forefathers of two nations transpiring within Rebecca’s womb.

Mention of Hagar’s pregnancy here is significant. Hagar uses it as fuel for ridicule and inadvertently elicits the wisdom of Proverbs (30:21):

“For three things the world is disquieted, and for four it cannot bear: for a slave when he becomes kind; and a fool when he is filled with food; for an unloved woman when she is married; and a handmaid that is heir to her mistress”

Hagar’s actions seem to reflect an almost unforgivable level of arrogance and haughtiness from a woman sitting on the lowest social rung of society.

In curt response, Sarai imposes a more strenuous work routine on Hagar; one that evokes the Jewish slavery under Egyptian task-masters – that of inuy. This treatment drives Hagar away from her only home whereupon she is ‘found’ by an angel of God who declares that he has heard her “affliction” and consoles her in her pain.

This brief account begs a question that cannot be ignored: Were Sarai’s actions justified?

On many levels, Sarai seems to be a character deserving of criticism. Both the text and the angel that finds her weeping confirm that Hagar indeed suffered affliction at the hands of Sarai.

Further, no less than thirty-six times does the Bible demand of us not to oppress the stranger in our midst. Worthy of note is the oft-quoted reason for this edict; “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt”. That Hagar is described as an “Egyptian maidservant” is significant; it is a prescient hint of the lessons the Jewish People would one day learn as slaves to foreign rulers and the moral responsibility that would consequently be placed upon their shoulders. In most, if not all, instances whereupon the Torah mentions the relationship between the Jewish master and non-Jewish slave, there is no mention of the obligations of the slave; no prescription of the duties and respects he or she owes to the master; only rights.

But how should a person in Sarai’s situation truly have been expected to act towards a maidservant and ‘foreigner?’ What could be expected from the member of a society of which Sarai was part?

In a pre-Sinaitic era, it may follow that Sarai and Avram’s dealings with Hagar are to be judged not in accordance with Jewish ethics but rather by reference to the universal standards of their contemporaries.

The Hammurabi Code (Law 146) gives a more precise outline of principles adopted by contemporary society to deal with circumstances identical to that of Sarai, Avram and Hagar:

“If a man takes a wife and the wife gives her maidservant to her husband and he bears sons (through the maidservant) after which the maidservant demands equality to her mistress on account of her giving birth to sons, her mistress shall not sell her for money; to slavery she must subject her; together with her (other) maidservants shall she be regarded”

The situation in which our biblical characters find themselves was not uncommon. The existence of maidservants, mistresses and tensions within a household demanded a legal regulation of practice. According to the code above, it was both legal and socially acceptable for a mistress to inflict her maidservant with a more strenuous work routine and a reminder of her place within the nuclear family, namely, outside of it.

Sarai (supported by Avram, whether actively or passively) acted as her contemporaries did; asserting dominance in her household and denying her maidservant equal status. Further, unlike the Hammurabi Code, which permits the subjugation of a rebellious maidservant who has already given birth, Hagar’s womb is not yet ripe when she ridicules her mistress, possibly further justifying Sarai’s harsh response. Pregnancy was far from an assurance of birth in those times.

Given Sarai’s psycho-emotional and socio-historical situation, each to be considered in equal measure, what fault can we find in her actions? On what basis could we find such a scathing rebuke as Ramban’s (on Genesis 16:6): “our mother sinned in this affliction [against Hagar]; so too did Avram in allowing it to happen…”?

In the eyes of Ramban it could not be any clearer – our forefather and foremother sinned greatly. His commentary continues, “God heard her [Hagar’s] affliction and gave her a son [Yishmael]…to afflict the descendants of Avram and Sarai with all kinds of afflictions”.

In attempting to reconcile these polar ethical expectations, we may find a powerful message:Sarai and Avram’s behaviour served the minimum standards required for the stability of a functioning society, but added nil to the moral fibre of it. Ramban’s view of moral uprightness (commentary on Deutoronomy, 6:18) is poignant here:

“…man should do what is good and right in every matter; he should include in that a compromise beyond the letter of the law”

It was incumbent upon Avram, to whom the Zohar (parshat Lech Lecha) ascribes the trait of chesed (kindness), to guide his household in the ways of kindness, beyond what any natural or social law might have required of him. In failing to do so, Sarai and Avram fell into the temptation of society’s minimalistic ethical demands and were deaf to the higher demand of God.

***

What system therefore should guide the character and practice of the modern-man? One may turn to universalistic, subjective or intuitive ethics. Yet subjective ethics are just that – subjective and unstable –subservient to the dominant culture that perchance holds the world in its palm. As that civilization is inevitably toppled by another, its ethics easily fall with it.

Otherwise, modern-man rests his morals on the law, such that actions that receive no socio-legal critique ultimately become the norm or even the desired norm. Yet this has obvious limitations. Slavery, for example, was once accepted (legal) and now is not. Does that mean slavery was ever right? Moreover, governments are severely limited in their capacity to enforce moral behaviour on their citizenry, nor should they desire to. As Eliezer Berkovits points out in his book, Not in Heaven:

“The moment a society attempts to rule over the conscience of its members…dictating their personal value system, it becomes immoral and cease[s] to be a democracy…[however] it [the Torah] does involve the private conscience; it does present the Jew with an entire system of values, with a complete way of life to be followed”

Judaism must battle the torrent of societal approval and always take a check-and-balance. Judaism requires us to go beyond; to be eternally critical of the status quo (sometimes for no other reason than it is just that) and to ceaselessly ask: How can we go one step further?

This idea is based on a shiur given by Dr. Chezi Cohen at Yeshivat Maale Gilboa

Greenhouse at Kayam Farm

By Joel Lazar

There’s more than one way to do Judaism. That is the unfaltering message that has accompanied me since my arrival to the Star Spangled States one month ago. And more than ever, it is a reminder that Australian Jewish-ness is yet to fulfil its communal potential.

Six months ago I took a sabbatical of sorts. At the tender age of twenty-two. A self-imposed hiatus from the familiar ebb and flow of university and community life in Melbourne in an effort to break the dry surface and find what I imagined to be a wellspring of creative Jewish thought and way of life. It was a pilgrimage of one, whose hand would lead me to the Jewish centres of Israel and America. It was a head-first dive into religious and communal liminality where all Big Questions, in spite and on account of their ‘heresy’, deserved my response. There was an intellectual imperative that all answers, due to their innovation and creativity were to be absorbed.

Four months spent at a Halakhically earnest yeshiva in Israel (Maale Gilboa), served as a bright spark to lead the way. I’ve tended to view the orthodox yeshiva world, with its seven am to eleven pm shteiging (lit. rise; ascend – col. Jewish study) as falling within the traditional bounds of Jewish life. Which isn’t a criticism per se. I recognise that that style of learning is Jewish tradition manifest; an act of taking the life of what once was and constantly checking for vital signs – maintaining a steady pulse and heartbeat.

This yeshiva however was unlike any other. Unpacking the historio-anthropologic influences of Jewish law and practice was never shied away from. Recognising the human, but no less divine, authorial influence of texts traditionally attributed solely to the One author, was not untouchable. Nothing was sacred and thus everything was sacred. It was an exciting place to be in.

Then came America where a number of experiences fertilized my long-felt feeling that the Antipodean Jewish community needs a No-Doze of Jewish creativity. It all started with a donkey, a couple of Jews and a farm. Kayam Farm in Reisterstown, Baltimore County.

Kayam farm is a Jewish community farm. Its mission is “to embody and inspire social and ecological responsibility by transforming…community through hands-on Jewish agricultural education.” Significantly, it is also an educational farm. During the summer they operate an active Summer Kollel (Jewish learning space; house of learning) through which participants spend mornings immersed in agricultural work, learning the skills and trade of organic plant and soil management, animal care and sustainable land practice. Afternoons bring farmers together to study texts that relate to Jewish agricultural principles, delving into Jewish perspectives on social welfare and justice, charity, food and environmentalism. School groups of various Jewish denominations and religions pass through the farm every few days in religious homogeneity and in a multi-faith context.

Notwithstanding the general environmental messages that filter through to the youngest minds there, it is the freshness of Jewish creativity that lingers long after the bronze pink sun begins to set each warm, Kayam night. Jewish groups frequent there for spiritual retreats and community building exercises. Jewish women discuss and discover the strength of their ancestors in the Matriarch’s Orchard. Volunteers (such as myself) come here and receive an injection of Jewish life that draws people near. This is not kiruv in the traditional sense of the word. Amidst the pyrotechnic show of fire flies and the new budding of nectarines, this nascent farm, only five years young, sends a bold message whose echo grows with every season, saying: This is place for a unique I in Judaism. Our tradition is not a cooking show with its host proudly declaring, ‘here’s something we prepared earlier’. True, relationship with tradition is an indispensible ingredient in sustainable religion, but what we eat should not be last week’s (or last century’s) cooking; it is today’s meal.

Surely there exists a place for every individual, as they are, within a deep and vibrant Jewish communal life.

I have now been learning in an intensive, two-month summer learning program at Mechon Hadar. It is a Halakhically egalitarian Yeshiva in New York, the first of its kind in the Jewish world and the brain child of a number of Jewish men and women who saw the unfulfilled potential of Jewish community and learning – and acted upon it. The place is a wholly unique phenomenon in the Jewish world of learning. Director and Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Shai Held, was recently awarded the Covenant Award, the most prestigious American accolade for a Jewish educator. Hadar is making waves and inspiring many Jewish communities around America to find Jewish answers for the plethora of American Jewry’s contemporary questions. It’s exciting. A significant part of the yeshiva’a mission is requiring students to carry out “projects” after the program’s end. These projects are intended to extend Hadar’s effect on the Jewish world through the alumni who become its many branches. Past projects have included dovening workshops for shule-communities, ‘Beit Midrash in the Living Room’, bat mitzvah training with a feminist lens and the release of a Jewish journal of ideas at Yale College.

Australia has its sparks. Secular Jewish learning group Ayeka in Melbourne, the outdoor-experience-meets-learning festival, Limmud Fest and Jewish Aid’s Derech Eretz trip to remote indigenous communities come to mind as stand-out creative products of inspired Australian Jewish thinking and initiative. Galus cannot be ignored in this category either. These are examples of community members fusing what they care deeply about and bringing it into the realm of their Jewish-ness . It is the re-birth of the ‘I’ in community life. It is the implementation of that which is quintessential to Jewish thinking – that Judaism is hardwired with the capacity to respond to every aspect of the human condition. The success of that response rests entirely on the motivations and creativity of its forbearers. Us.

Inspired from the Jewish experiences I’ve had in the last six months, this is a call to our communities. To be bold. To gather like-minded community members, whether that be across gender, generation and denomination, who feel a certain void that needs filling and create something new. To be Adam the Second. To dream big for us all and aspire to eventually say: “it is very good” (Genesis 1:31).

This piece is an affirmation that every Jew not only has the potential to affect his or her community, and do so in accordance with their personal world-view, but that it is incumbent upon that person to leave their mark and show that our community can and should be quirky, innovative, effervescent, active and alive. More than anything – it should be a place for us all.

Have you ever had an idea for our community that you would love to see come to fruition? Why haven’t you done it? What would you need to get it off the ground?

Galus is a perfect forum via which we can give life to vision.

If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And when I am for myself, what am I’? And if not now, when? (Hillel, Ethics of our Fathers 1:14)

The gang from the classic Generation X film, Reality Bites (1994) - a gap year on a kibbutz could have done them the world of good.

One week after the graduation of the class of 2009; Joel Lazar reflects on his gap year in Israel in 2008, beginning university, and navigating the gaps between personal fulfilment and parental expectations.

It was one week before my departure. I was jet-setting off to Israel for one year to find that which no VCE subject could provide. I was off to find meaning, to explore my Jewish heritage and the history of my people.  Sitting with my Glaswegian grandfather discussing the amount of money he could only dream of spending when he was my age and which I was about to spend on my trip, he asked me a question that few dare to ask themselves on trips of this nature: “Why are you going?”

The question is always, “what are you going to do?” Never why.  My grandfather questioned jokingly, with a hint of ultra conservative, old fashioned disapproval. “Why don’t you get an education and a real job?” was what he was really asking. But to me it was somewhat lost in translation. It hit home much harder than he intended. It was difficult for me to verbalize a response and I experienced a sudden moment of alarm.

Who spends $15,000 on something and when they don’t even know what it is for? I conjured what I felt was the right answer, that I wanted to see Israel properly, see what it really was and not what my teachers at Jewish day-school told me that it was, to understand its societal dualisms and tensions, to experience life and Judaism’s uncharted waters. But mostly, what I hoped, but at that moment was the least certain about, was that I would discover about what was important in life. Discover what life is all about, why you live it, and who you live it for.

I ended up spending the latter half of my year away trying to convince my family that changing my course preference from Law/Commerce to Law/Arts in order to pursue my true interests (and abandon my disinterests) was not going to ruin my life and all my future career prospects. I was told that my real-life education could still be pursued outside university and despite the time limitations that often accompany working life, being an avid reader I would find opportunities for further learning. It was an ostensibly straightforward approach to tertiary education; suffer now to reap undoubted future rewards. I was not willing to accept that. The present is certain. The future is not. The trade-off seemed commercially unsound.

That lesson was not easily learnt though. For me it found its origins in the following personal anecdote. During my trip I went on a day-trek with two friends up to the northern-most part of Israel, to the Banyas, an Eden-on-earth rainforest to which people flock in order to breathe in the most breathtaking waterfall in Israel. After a long hike amid soaring temperatures we were goal-bound on swimming in the crystal waters that collected at the waterfall’s feet.

To gain access to the waterfall we had to walk through the rainforest. We arrived at 3:30pm and just as we were about to enter, a park ranger arrived and in a stern Hebrew accent informed us that no one was permitted to walk the track after four. The hike usually takes an hour to complete and we were scheduled to arrive at the waterfall after four. Mustering scrounges of words from the odd Hebrew newspaper clipping and a substandard Hebrew school education I pleaded, “We’re really strong hikers and we’ll do it double-time. Don’t be like that. Please let us through.” He phoned through on the two-way, informing his co-ranger that three hikers would arrive in about 45 minutes and to let them through. Who would have thought that a shampoo advertisement in a discontinued Israeli newspaper from the 90s could help you cajole a park ranger?

We began the hike and moved quickly. It was an incredible track with hanging vines and ancient trees from whose roots seeped the very evidence of time. Bridges stretched over rushing rivers. Leaves streaked all shades of green and brown floated above and rays of sunlight refracted off every surface giving the forest a heavenly glow. Given our 45 minute limit, we sped through it all, snapped a couple of photos but mostly jogged through it to reach the waterfall. Half way through we came across the first trickles of the shallow river that lead into the waterfall’s pool. You could wade right through it, splashing around to the echo of the vestiges of your childhood. The water’s clarity epitomized nature’s perfection. Children were playing in the river and just living.

My friends and I were exhausted and perspiring after racing through the track and not taking in a whole lot. My friend Simone suggested, “Let’s just jump in the river! You’re never too young.” Despite my equally tempting inclination, I reminded her that we didn’t have time; they were about to close the track to the waterfall. Displeased with the response but accepting its apparent sensibility, she agreed, and we all continued. Then we saw it through the clearing, the most aesthetically perfect piece of nature I’d seen in quite some time, if ever.

But as we approached we realized that although there were huge numbers of people standing around, no one was swimming. There was a wooden fence around the perimeter. It was an observation deck. No swimming allowed. Our hearts dropped. It was so close. We could feel the moisture in the air, pricking our noses, inviting us in. We looked at each other in disbelief. Hot. Sweaty. No swimming allowed. So we decided to turn around quickly and walk back only five minutes onto the track to swim in the stream.

We had travelled no more than a cricket pitch only to be met by a pot-bellied park ranger. “No re-entrance at this hour in the afternoon. Access to the entrance is via the track on the mountain side.” We missed it. Everything. We missed fully appreciating the heavenly journey because we were racing to the end. We missed a swim in the stream because we were racing to the end. There was no end. Every step was simply one to pass the time; a stepping stone to something we were certain was bigger and better than the present. Even the eventual site of the incredible waterfall was tainted by bitterness and disappointment.

One could walk away from that, as we did, trying to remain positive that we saw the beautiful track and take it in our stride that, “these things happen”. But what’s the use of living if you don’t learn? I took that saga as one of the strongest life lessons learnt to date; that, within reason of course, live for now, not for later.

With career building, money saving and global economic crises I recognise that you have to think ahead and plan; and I expect that I’ll do those things. My grandfather can find solace in that. I’m studying Law at Monash which hasn’t been the most riveting subject thus far, and in doing that I’ve acknowledged that life isn’t entirely about the present. If it were, the bar graph on my bank statement would never reach pencil-length and I’d be drunk a whole lot more. But I refuse to accept that I need to make three years of university life extremely painful (probably negatively influencing my life outside of uni as well) simply because something bigger and better might be on the horizon.

I started Law/Commerce and discontinued the Commerce units five weeks into semester. I’ve recently applied for a Diploma of Writing and I’m doing what I know is good for me.

Did I find what I was searching for when I took a gap-year? In so many ways I am thrilled to say yes. I unearthed so much about life’s universal and personal importance. I discovered through experience that you don’t use the present as fuel for life’s future journeys. Those events may not come and fuel burns only once.

This article was first published in Lot’s Wife.

Source: www.Nostal.co.il

By Joel Lazar

As a heavily involved youth leader, I, like many others, have become increasingly concerned with the decline in chanichim (movement attendees) over the past few years. Beginning some decades ago, the decline has been widespread, affecting movements whose ideologies span labour Zionism to religious Zionism, secular to orthodox and Israeli pioneering to Diaspora-conservationist. After completing an intensive three day seminar with 150 like-minded movement leaders from around Australia, I’ve come to realize the paramount importance of a counterculture ideology (Wikipedia – it is truly All Knowing) in the sustenance and growth of youth movements in contemporary society and in Melbourne no less.

The concept of counterculture is closely attributed to members of the Beat Generation of the 1950s and 1960s in America. The writers, poets, musicians and ideologues of that era were those whose voices and actions were defined by their opposition to mainstream culture and politics. The counterculture establishment gave birth to the civil-rights, anti-war, feminist and free-speech movements. Members of that culture plainly identified a surrounding culture that was unacceptable in their eyes and warranted change. Change is what they achieved.

It was a very similar value system that spurred the establishment of the youth movement phenomenon in the early 20^th century Eastern Europe. The very grain of society was anti-Semitic and goes without saying, did not exactly possess an unyielding aspiration for the birth of and return to a Jewish national homeland. Characteristically, a strong Jewish and Zionistic counterculture lead the impassioned youth of that period in undertaking the boldest Zionistic endeavour to face Jewish youth in our national history. Harnessing a burning desire to rectify social and communal injustices as well as attain a historico-national dream, they sought like-minded youth, equally willing to devote their lives to a collective cause and thus, youth movements were born.

Unfortunately, counterculture ideology has decelerated to a slow meander. One could easily attribute our ideological withering to a lack of once-in-a-generation leaders like Mordecai Anielewicz or Joseph Trumpeldor (legends of Hashomer Hatzair and Beitar respectively) who zealously lead their movements against mainstream culture. Equally, one could claim a dearth in outlets towards which and around which we can focus our energies; nation-defining moments such as the First Zionist Congress, the first Aliyot to Israel or the Declaration of the State of Israel. But in complete intellectual honesty, we come to realize that both those reasons are no cause to be swept up in the slow hum of Western apathetic ‘progress’.

The movements of the past, whilst lead by names now immortalized, were driven by an unyielding group mentality, the power of the kvutzah, without which nothing could have been achieved. Asefot (committee meetings), held dutifully and democratically in most of the movements as well as personal testimonies relating the raw hardship of ideological life, are testament to the essentiality of the collective. Regarding national causes to draw forth our energies, there are no less of them in contemporary Israeli and Australian society. On the middle-eastern front, enemies still seek to destroy Israel and society there is very far from perfect; public education, governmental hierarchy, poverty and the wellbeing of minority-groups are all challenges that have no short-term solutions. In Melbourne and Australia there exist social deficiencies that include homelessness, Aboriginal and immigrant disadvantage, drought, intolerance and social and cultural friction. In our Jewish community there is a need for more accessible Jewish and Zionist education and even stronger support for the aged, poor, frail and broken. Evidently, there is unfortunately no lack of causes.

Each movement has a constitution and value system that has the potential to upturn worlds. All that is required is an army of youth to seize those values, arm themselves and go to battle. But few soldiers appear forthcoming. The value system our society has come to adopt is a commoditised, instant-gratification, apathetic, ideologically-void one. It is a highly influential culture that promotes comfort and apathy to change. This culture adversely affects the mission of our youth movements in that “the competitive and materialistic climate has crowded out the pioneering ideals and romanticism” that youth movements once possessed (Jewish Virtual Library). It was precisely those ideals that upturned worlds.

To embrace a modern-day counterculture would be to turn off one’s iPod and Facebook. To be counterculturally religious would mean standing impervious to an increasingly irreligious and Godless surrounding. To possess socialist values would mean resisting and even combating a capitalist culture that brazenly supports child slave labour. To be an environmentalist would mean actively assisting in curbing carbon emissions and water wastage. To be Zionistic would mean, without shame, to publically identify with Israel’s right to exist.  To be Jewish would mean to live Jewish.

To embrace counterculture in this way would mean to care when most people don’t. And the greatest effect that counterculture ideology can have on the world is when lived out maximally, as it once was; with all ones heart and all ones soul (the Shema prayer). The world doesn’t need token gestures, for they abound in our world and lead mostly to self-aggrandizement. Youth movements must shy away from such activity if they are to achieve their true purpose.

Youth-movement ideologies are hard-wired to embrace counterculture. Those with the greatest hope not only of physical survival but of ideological success are those that boldly act against cultural, social, religious and political norms that are identified as being false, corrupting, valueless or unjust. When the youth of our community are lead to internalize that idea that thirteen-year-olds courageously combated demonic Nazi forces in the Warsaw ghetto and Jewish seventeen year olds established a kibbutz movement upon which modern-day Israel now stands, they will know the value of swimming upstream. They will collectively stretch out their hands to those in need and act in ways they know to be right.

This article first appeared in the Hineni Iton.

Most of Joel’s life is occupied with fighting for the Jewish and Zionist cause as a madrich at Hineni. He loves his Judaism, the Jewish People and the power of words. He’s about to begin his second year studying Law and a Diploma of Writing at Monash Jewniversity.

He says: “My mind is like a little child who, on his way to the ice-cream truck, gets distracted by a butterfly, and diverting his course towards the winged creature, is suddenly transfixed by a ball rolling along the path which the child never quite reaches – he arrives home and can’t account for anything that just transpired; but he’s certain he was on the cusp of greatness. I’m still waiting on that cusp.”